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She faced him, standing at his eye level on a higher step. “I’ve waited eleven years. That’s long enough.”
“Tomorrow, Rose. I’ve had a rotten day. I don’t need this.”
“All I’m asking is ten minutes,” she said. “Long enough to make it clear where we both stand. You owe me that much.”
“I owe you ? Damn it, I saved your life.”
“And you took my land. Come sit down. There’s a cold Tecate waiting for you on the porch.”
Grumbling, Bull followed her up the steps. The woman was like a pesky mosquito that wouldn’t go away without a t
aste of his blood. Too bad he couldn’t just swat her and go in the house.
The beer, as promised, was waiting on the side table next to the rocker. Bull sank into the chair, popped the cap, and downed half the bottle in one long swig. It wasn’t his favorite brand, but it was cold and tasted good. Night-flying insects buzzed around the porch light. The muted sound of a radio, playing twangy country music, drifted from the bunkhouse across the yard.
“What happened to your car?” he asked as Rose took a seat opposite him.
“I sold it to buy the truck. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about.” When Bull didn’t reply, she continued. “I stopped by the courthouse earlier and checked the deed to my property. My name isn’t even on it. Just yours.”
Bull had anticipated that much and had his answer ready. “You’d just killed a man, Rose. The only way to protect you was to get you out of the country and wipe out any evidence that you were ever here—that included your name on the record. If I hadn’t done that, there could still be a warrant out for your arrest.”
Her derisive snort told him what she thought of that explanation. “Jasper told me how you were arrested and tried for the shooting, and how you were acquitted. You could’ve brought me back then.”
Bull finished off the beer. “It still wasn’t safe for you here. Ham was alive and talking when Ferg hauled him into the truck. There’s no way he wouldn’t have told Ferg that you shot him.”
“So why did Ferg blame you?”
“Because he could. He could put me away for good and then hire somebody to take care of you—or do it himself, although that wouldn’t be Ferg’s style. He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. What I’m saying, Rose, is that as long as you’re here, you’ll be in danger.”
“I can’t go back to Mexico.”
“I understand. But you could go somewhere else. Anywhere you want. If it’s money you need—”
“No!” She was on her feet, the porch light reflecting fire in her eyes. “That parcel of land is my legacy. My grandpa meant for me to make a home there, and that’s what I intend to do. Keeping it from me is nothing short of thievery, Bull Tyler!”
Tossing the empty bottle off the porch, Bull rose to his feet. His height and bulk dwarfed her petite size, but she didn’t back off. “I think your ten minutes are up, Rose,” he said.
Her stubborn chin jutted higher. “Fine. We can talk again later. Meanwhile, I’m expecting you to come up with a fair and honest plan to return my property.”
In your dreams, lady. Bull kept the thought to himself as he strode to the front door. Fairness and honesty didn’t enter into his decision to hold the land. That acreage on the creek, with its year-round water supply from below the caprock, was vital to the survival of his ranch. To turn it over to a defenseless woman, who couldn’t hope to hold it against the Prescotts, would be like slitting his own throat.
As he opened the door, a question struck him. Even before he turned back to ask, Bull knew the answer. “You didn’t waste any time selling that old Buick,” he said. “Who bought it from you?”
“Ferg Prescott made me a fair offer, and I accepted it,” she said. “He paid me in cash.”
Bull turned away, stepped into the house, and slammed the door behind him.
Bernice had left dinner warming in the oven, on a pie plate wrapped in aluminum foil. Bull shoveled down the food, his appetite gone. Ferg and Rose—Lord, didn’t the fool woman know she was dealing with the devil?
It didn’t take a genius to guess what Ferg had in mind. Befriend Rose, win her trust, help her get her land back, then move in and take control, maybe even have her killed. Ferg was capable of anything.
Would Rose listen if he tried to warn her? Not likely, Bull groused to himself. And certainly not tonight. For now, all he could do was keep an eye on the situation and hope Rose would see the danger. It wouldn’t hurt to put in a word to Jasper. Maybe Rose would listen to him.
Shoving his worries aside, he dragged himself down the hall to the master bedroom. The door to the boys’ room stood ajar, the dim light casting a beam across the floor. Pausing, he inched it open far enough to look into the room.
His sons lay asleep in their twin beds, their eyes closed, their hair falling like rumpled silk against the pillows. Will was sprawled beneath his quilt, his arms and legs outflung as if he were flying in his dreams. Beau had drifted off reading a book, which lay open on the floor where he’d dropped it.
Tired as he was, Bull lingered a moment, his heart contracting. Now that Susan was gone, these two boys were all he lived for. The land, the cattle, the backbreaking work that kept it all going, was for them—a legacy to enrich their lives and pass on to future generations. To protect that legacy, he would fight for every inch of ground, against all comers.
