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Tonight the two of them sat on the porch, listening to the crickets and watching the sunset fade into twilight. Supper was over, and Will had fallen asleep in one of the big parlor chairs with his leg resting on a footstool. For Beau, it was a rare, quiet moment in his hectic day, a chance to breathe easy while he and Jasper planned the next day’s work.
“If you want to start chaining brush tomorrow, get Ralph and Packer to do the job,” Jasper was saying. “They did it last year, and did fine. But make sure they check the oil in the tractors first. You don’t want to burn out the engines.”
“Thanks, I’ll make a note on that.” Beau had come to rely on Jasper’s experience, and he made sure Jasper knew it. Bathed in the glow of appreciation, the old foreman stood a little straighter these days and even walked with a bit of spring to his step.
Weighing on Beau’s mind tonight was another matter—a minor incident that had happened that afternoon. He’d walked into the stallion barn to find Lute sprawled on a pile of clean straw, fast asleep with an empty beer can next to his foot. When Beau had dressed him down for sleeping and drinking on the job, the young slacker had responded with a smart-mouthed remark that would have gotten any other employee fired on the spot.
Beau would have sent him packing, but Lute was Sky’s relative, and Sky was gone. Knowing how Sky wanted to help the boy, Beau was reluctant to fire him without Sky’s involvement. At the time, he had settled for tearing a verbal strip off Lute’s hide and threatening him with worse if he didn’t straighten up. Lute had muttered an excuse, picked up his shovel, and resumed his work.
That should have been the end of it, but as he was walking out of the stable, Beau had glanced back over his shoulder. He’d caught Lute staring at him with a look of such intense hatred that it made his blood run cold. Beau had chosen to keep walking. Now he wondered if he should have taken action then and there. The boy was trouble.
Beau was about to ask Jasper’s advice when a pair of headlights appeared around the distant bend. Coming up the long drive, fast enough to leave a plume of dust in its wake, was a big, low, white car. As it came closer, still visible in the twilight, Beau recognized it as a vintage high-end Cadillac.
“Oh, hell.” Jasper stood. “If that’s who I think it is, I don’t want to be here.” He hobbled off the porch, pausing before he headed around the corner of the house. “Bull always said to look out for snakes and Prescotts—especially if they show up at your door. Damned good advice if you ask me.”
By the time the mafioso-sized car pulled up to the entrance, the old man was out of sight. Beau rose, waiting at the top of the steps as both front doors of the Cadillac swung open. Congressman Garn Prescott, wearing tan slacks and a plaid Western shirt with a bolo tie, stepped out of the passenger side. His driver was slower to exit. Beau glimpsed high-heeled boots extending beyond the door, then long, slim, denim-clad legs.
Behind Beau, the porch light clicked on. Its glow revealed a long-limbed beauty with a model’s figure and a wild mane of auburn hair. Clad in a simple ballet-style black tee and weathered jeans, she looked like a young Julia Roberts—very young, Beau realized as the light struck her face. Probably not much over twenty. Had the congressman found himself a hot new girlfriend? In a place like D.C., stranger things had been known to happen.
“Congressman.” Beau came down the steps, hand extended, to welcome the visitor. Garn Prescott wasn’t his favorite person, but Texas hospitality was an honored tradition.
“Good to see you, Beau.” Prescott’s handshake was a politician’s, firm and hearty. “How’s Will? I was on the way home from picking up my daughter at the airport and thought I might drop by for a minute and check on him. Is he up to having visitors?”
Beau glanced at the girl,
who was hanging back, as if she found her father’s manner embarrassing. Prescott’s daughter. Now that was a surprise.
“Will’s doing better. He still needs rest, but you’re welcome to come in and visit. You, too, Miss Prescott.” Beau glanced back at the girl. “It is Miss Prescott, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Lauren.” The girl spoke with quiet confidence, but seemed ill at ease. Until now, Beau hadn’t even known Prescott had a daughter. This one struck him as a princess type, especially given what he recognized as $800 boots on her elegantly narrow feet.
“Lauren’s my daughter by my first wife,” Prescott explained. “She grew up with her mother, but now that she’s finished college, and since she’s my only child and likely to inherit my share of the ranch, I’ve talked her into spending some time here.”
“Really, Daddy, why should Mr. Tyler care about all that?” Lauren demanded.
“I want people to know who you are and how you fit into the family, Lauren,” Prescott said. “It’s important.”
Beau mulled over what he’d heard as he ushered the pair through the entry. Prescott’s longtime wife, Evelyn, had died of a sudden stroke two years ago. Until now, Beau hadn’t known that the congressman had been married before Evelyn or that he had a child.
The sound of voices had awakened Will. He was sitting up, looking tired but alert as Prescott strode into the parlor.
“Please don’t get up, Will.” He hurried across the room to shake Will’s hand. “I heard about your mishap, and I’ve been concerned about you. How are you doing?”
“Better than the damned snake, thanks. Have a chair, Garn. I couldn’t help overhearing that this young lady’s your daughter. Please have a seat, too, Miss Prescott. Beau, would you mind rustling up something for these folks to drink? I’ll have the same. What’ll it be?”
“Bourbon if you’ve got it.” Prescott settled into an armchair that was angled toward Will.
“Nothing for me, thank you.” Lauren perched on the arm of the sofa like a bird about to take flight. Beau sensed that she was here under some duress and wanted nothing more than to get this visit over with. Sitting there with her long legs crossed in front of her as if to show off her hand-tooled designer boots, she made a fetching sight. When word got out that she was an heiress, her father would be fighting off suitors.
Prescott glanced toward his daughter as Beau handed him his drink. “Honey, I’ve got a bit of business to discuss with Will,” he said. “You’ll probably be bored. Maybe we could prevail on Beau to take you outside and show you around. I know you like horses. The Tylers have some of the finest animals in the state.”
He turned back to Will, as if assuming his wish would be carried out. Lauren shrugged, rose, and glanced expectantly at Beau.
Beau was curious about what the congressman had to discuss. He would have chosen to stay and listen. But escorting a pretty girl around the moonlit yard was hardly the most onerous job in the world. Putting on a smile, he offered her his arm and led her toward the front door.
“Enjoy.” As Prescott shot them a sly grin, Beau was struck by a thought.
Good Lord, could the old weasel be matchmaking?
