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“Did she mention that parcel of land?” Bull took a seat at the kitchen table.
“She did. She wants it back. For whatever my advice is worth, I think you should give it to her.”
“I figured that’s what you’d say. But that land is our only access to the creek and the cattle tank we built to hold the water. We can’t afford to lose it.” Bull got up, heaped a plate with bacon and eggs, and sat down again. “The best I could do is offer her a different piece of land in exchange. Do you think she’d go for that?”
“I wouldn’t bet on it. That thirty-acre parcel was her grandpa’s. He’s buried on it. And I don’t think she’d take kindly to your digging the old man up and moving him.”
“Well then, I’ll just have to tell her no.”
“Good luck with that.” Jasper rose from the table and carried his plate and cup to the sink. “I’ll be off with the boys as soon as the chores are done.”
“Go on ahead and get an early start on the roundup. I’ve got some time to kill. I’ll take care of the chores myself.”
“Fine. Let me know when we can expect a ranger out here.” Jasper left by the back door. Moments later Bull heard the sound of his truck starting up.
He made easy work of the chores, checking the pastures and adding water to the troughs and feed to the empty stalls in the horse barn. Rose’s old Buick was pulled up outside the duplex, but he saw no sign of life there. After driving straight through from Río Seco, she was probably worn out. Fine, let her sleep. He was in no hurry for the confrontation that was sure to come.
By the time he finished, it was nearly seven o’clock. Lights were on in the house. By now Bernice would be feeding his sons and readying them to catch the school bus at the end of the lane. Bull went into his den, sat down at his desk, and made a call to the regional office of the TSCRA Special Rangers. Clive Barlow, the man who answered the phone, was a longtime acquaintance.
“Howdy, Bull,” Barlow drawled. “What can I do for you?”
Bull had never been a man to waste words. “Yesterday we came up six cows short.”
“That’s a lot of cows—and a lot of cash to lose,” Barlow said. “Since you’re calling us, I’m guessin’ you think it’s rustlers.”
“What the hell else could it be? Cows don’t just sprout wings and fly away.”
“Simmer down, Bull. We’ve already got a man on it. Ferg Prescott called us last week. Seems he’s missin’ cows, too. We sent one of our rangers undercover to look into it, a new guy named Tanner McCade. When he checks in, I’ll let him know you’re havin’ troubles as well.”
“Blast it, Clive, don’t just pass the word. Send him over so I can set him straight on what’s happening.”
“Can’t do that, Bull. He’s undercover, workin’ as a hand for Prescott. It wouldn’t do for him to be seen talkin’ to you.”
Bull mouthed a curse. “So, does Ferg know who he is?”
“Ferg had to know to hire him on. But nobody else is supposed to know, not even you. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him about your trouble when he checks in.”
“Do that.” Bull slammed down the phone. Damned waste of time. Meanwhile, he was losing cows—and money. Hell, he’d be better off strapping on a gun and taking matters into his own hands. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d sent a rustler to the promised land. In the old days . . .
But the old days were gone, and these new times were different. Too many rules and regulations, with the law and the government looking over your shoulder. For now, all he could do was tell his men to keep a sharp eye out.
Still seething, he strode out to his pickup, swung into the driver’s seat, and roared out of the yard.
* * *
Standing in the shadow of the porch, Rose watched him go. She’d been awake since early dawn, but she’d stayed out of sight, not wanting to confront Bull until she knew more about what he’d done with her land.
She could see lights and movement through the window of the kitchen, where Bernice was probably making breakfast for the boys. Rose knew she’d be welcomed at the table. But she wasn’t ready to mingle, let alone get into a conversation about her own plans. She’d found ajar of instant coffee in the kitchenette of the duplex and made do with that for breakfast. Now that Bull had left, she was ready to visit the place where she’d taken refuge with her grandfather after fleeing the foster system, and where she’d stayed until he was murdered by Ham Prescott.
The sunrise faded to a blue morning as she drove the Buick behind the outbuildings and onto a deeply rutted dirt road that led north along the east boundary of the ranch. Her grandfather’s land wasn’t far—a couple of miles at most—but the going was slow. Rose had to balance the wheels between the high center and the outside edge of the road to keep from scraping the Buick’s undercarriage.
Maybe the next time she came here, she could ask Jasper to lend her a horse. The old car would have to be sold or traded for a pickup that could handle the road and haul supplies for building her cabin. With luck, she might even find a collector and get a good price for the restored vehicle. But she was getting ahead of herself. First she needed to secure and hold the parcel that was her inheritance.
When familiar landmarks told her she was getting close, she parked the car next to a clump of mesquite and slid the .44 out from under the seat. Rose had long since learned not to take her safety for granted. The cartel was like a giant spider, the strands of its web reaching far beyond the Mexican border. Their agents could be anywhere, and look like anyone. If they’d traced her car, they could already be closing in.
And Ferg Prescott, whose ranch bordered her land on the far
side of the creek, could have his eyes on the place his father had killed for. Alone out here, she couldn’t be too careful.
