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Telling herself it was time, she asked the question that had gnawed at her all the way from Río Seco. “What happened here after you took me to Mexico, Bull? Can I still be arrested for shooting Ham Prescott?”
Bull exchanged glances with Jasper. “What happened is a story for another time,” he said. “But no, you’re not likely to be arrested. The shooting was ruled self-defense.”
“Which is exactly what it was,” Jasper added.
“And Ferg Prescott? When he learns I’m back, will he come after me?”
Again, Bull glanced at Jasper, then shook his head. “You did Ferg a favor. He hated his old man and wanted him out of the way. If he was set on revenge, he’d have taken it long before now. The story’s old news, Rose. As long as you keep your head down and don’t make a fuss about it, you should be fine.”
“I understand,” Rose said. But in truth, she didn’t understand at all. Large pieces were missing from the picture, and Bull didn’t seem inclined to fill them in. Maybe later, when she got the chance to talk with Jasper alone, she could ask him for the full story.
For now, the evening’s conversation seemed to be over. Bull rose from his place at the table and massaged the invisible kinks in his lower back. “Roundup time in the morning,” he said. “Unless you’re up before first light, you won’t see us for breakfast, Rose. But Bernice will be here in case you need anything.”
“Didn’t you say you were going to call the Rangers?” Jasper reminded him.
“Oh—that’s right. You’ll have to get the men started without me. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve talked to them.”
“No problem,” Jasper said. “Coming, Rose? I’ll show you to your side of the duplex.”
“Thanks,” Rose said. “Just leave it open. I’ll be along after I’ve cleaned up here.”
After the men had gone, Rose put the leftover food in the fridge, rinsed the dishes, and loaded them in the dishwasher. She could hear the muffled sound of the TV from Bernice’s apartment off the kitchen. She hoped Bernice would appreciate not having to clean up after the late supper. The woman had been friendly to her. Rose would do her best to keep things that way.
She left by the kitchen door, stepping out into the cool spring night. A stone’s toss from the back steps was the chicken coop she and Jasper had built together, its wire mesh sides anchored securely in the ground to keep out marauding coyotes, snakes, and weasels. The chickens had gone to their nest boxes. From the deep shadows, Rose could hear their soft clucking, like the muted conversation of old women at a quilting bee. The comforting sound gave her a sense of home. Were these chickens descendants of the ones she’d rescued from her grandpa’s place and left behind when Bull had rushed her off to Mexico? Maybe Jasper would know.
At the far edge of the backyard, she could see the blocky outline of the duplex. A glowing red dot and the faint aroma of burning tobacco told her Jasper was waiting for her on the porch.
She could see him now, leaning back in the old cane rocker she remembered from the past, with his boots on the porch rail and the dogs sprawled nearby. He put his feet down and gave her a grin as she mounted the steps.
“It’s early yet. I know you’re tuckered out from driving, but I was hoping you might want to sit and visit a spell.” He nodded toward the empty chair beside him.
“Thanks. I’d like that.” Rose came up onto the porch and sank onto the chair.
“Can I offer you a cold beer, now that you’re legal to drink it?” He held out a bottle of Dos Equis, streaming with condensation. Rose took it from him and popped the cap. The first sip was icy on her tongue—a delicious shock.
“Thanks,” she said. “Nothing ever got this cold in Río Seco.”
He let her drink in silence for a few moments. Clouds drifted across the sky. An owl called in the darkness.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
There was a world of concern in Jasper’s question, but Rose wasn’t ready to tell anyone about what had finally driven her out of Mexico. “I’m as well as could be expected,” she said. “But the whole time I listened to Bull tonight, I was trying to fill in what he wasn’t telling me.”
Jasper tossed the butt of his hand-rolled cigarette over the rail into the dirt below. “I take it you’re asking me for the whole story.”
“Yes, if you don’t mind. To start with, what happened after Bull took me away? All I remember is that Ham was lying there, bleeding on the ground. Then Ferg showed up and hauled him to his truck, and Bull was yelling at me to get my things.”
Jasper took his time, as if piecing the story together. “When Bull took you away from here, he was acting in your best interest. In fact, he may have saved your life.”
“I understand,” Rose said. “That?
??s what I’ve always believed.”
“Ham was hurt beyond savin’, but as you know, he didn’t die right away. He was still conscious and talking when Ferg drove off with him.”
“So he could’ve told Ferg that I shot him.”
“Maybe, but only one person knows for sure what Ham said, and that’s Ferg.”
