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Bull walked Tanner outside and stood watching from the porch as he climbed in his truck and drove away. As Tanner glanced in his rearview mirror, one thought struck him. Bull Tyler was everything that Ferg Prescott had ever wanted to be—and that he never would.
* * *
“So it’s true.” Ferg’s fist clenched on the desk top. “Bull really gave her that property.”
“Checked it out myself,” Garn said. “That kid at the recorder’s office thinks I’m his best buddy. Buy him a beer after work, and he’ll tell me anything I want to know.”
“But that’s one of the most valuable pieces of ground on the Rimrock. What the hell was Bull thinking?”
“Maybe that giving the land back to Rose was the only way to keep us from getting our hands on it. There’s a clause in the deed forbidding her to sell it to anyone but the Tylers. And if she dies without an heir, the parcel goes back to the Rimrock. All tied up in a neat little package with a bow.” Garn grinned, as if he were enjoying his father’s frustration. “So I guess that leaves us up the proverbial creek without a paddle.”
“You’re saying we should give up?” Ferg cast a contemptuous glance at the son he’d never wanted. “Prescotts don’t give up. Haven’t you learned that by now?”
“Are you about to tell me you have a plan?” Garn’s eyebrow tilted, giving him that cynical expression Ferg had always hated.
“One plan, at least. You seem to like the little bitch well enough. You could marry her—maybe even knock her up.”
“What?” Garn’s jaw went slack. “No! I mean, she’s a sexy little piece, and I’d sleep with her at the drop of a hat. But marry her? Hell, the woman’s too old for me. And with that mark on her face . . .”
“There are remedies for things like that. Besides, you wouldn’t have to stay married forever—only long enough to become her legal heir.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Garn said. “But for your information, Dad, I’m planning a future in politics. When I get married, it’ll be to a proper girl with the family name and money to advance my career. If you’re so all-fired anxious to have the woman and the property in the family, you can damn well marry her yourself!”
With that, Garn stalked out of Ferg’s office and slammed the door behind him. Ferg shook his head, a bitter smile teasing a corner of his mouth. He’d been only half-serious about Garn marrying Rose. At least he’d had the satisfaction of seeing his son truly rattled—a rare thing these days. But damn Bull Tyler to hell for the way he’d tied up that creek property. This time there seemed to be no way around it.
He was pouring himself a shot of bourbon when the door opened again, this time without a knock. The man who slipped into the room, closing the door behind him, was muscular and weasel-eyed, with a military tattoo on his shaved head.
“I told you not to come here, Deke,” Ferg said.
“Then you should’ve brought me the cash at the Blue Coyote, like we agreed.” Deke Triplehorn spoke with a slight lisp.
“If you wanted to be paid, you should’ve done the job right.”
“I hit the bastard. I saw him fall off his horse and go down before I lit out.”
“You winged him. He’s fine, and madder than hell. In my book that’s not worth a nickel. I thought you were a dead shot.”
“Sun was in my eyes. But my time’s worth something.”
Swearing under his breath, Ferg opened a drawer, took $500 out of petty cash, and handed it to the man. The scheme to frame Bull for the cattle theft and the ranger’s murder had seemed like a good idea at the time. But too many things had gone wrong. He needed a simpler, better idea.
“You want I should try again?” Triplehorn asked.
“Not now. It’s too late for that. But there might be something else down the road. I’ll be in touch.”
“Fine.” Triplehorn pocketed the cash. “You know where to reach me.”
“I do. And don’t show up here again. It isn’t safe.”
After Triplehorn had left, Ferg downed the shot of bourbon and poured himself another. He didn’t enjoy working with half-crazy scumbags like Triplehorn, who’d blackmail his own mother if there was anything to gain by it. But he had enough dirt on the man to protect himself. And when certain matters needed arranging, it helped to know the kind of people who’d do anything for money.
Now what was he going to do about Bull, the woman, and that creek property?
* * *
From the shade of the porch, Garn watched Triplehorn drive off in his army surplus Jeep. The bastard had some nerve, coming to the house. But as far as Garn was concerned, he’d never been here.
Garn knew his father was a crook and that he hired scumbags like Deke Triplehorn to do his dirty work. But Garn’s only concern was his future in politics, and that meant keeping his own reputation spotless. That meant making like the three little monkeys—see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil. Someday the father he hated would be dead and gone. When that day came, Garn planned to put the ranch up for sale and use the money to advance his career, complete with a beautiful, blue-blooded wife and connections to powerful people.
