by Janet Dailey
The heat from the fireplace was making him sleepy. It was time he did something useful. Rousing himself off the couch, he strolled into the kitchen, where Kylie was putting the finishing touches on Christmas dinner.
For a moment he paused in the doorway, just taking in the sight of her—the way her blond hair curled softly around her heat-flushed face, the capable movements of her hands, the roundness of her body beneath the loose-fitting blue sweater that matched her eyes. Lord, but she was beautiful. He’d never known how much a man could love a woman till she came into his life.
Stepping behind her, he slid his arms around her swelling waist. The tiny flutter kick against his palm sent a thrill through him that was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. The baby, a boy, was due in three months.
When Shane thought of what he would have missed if he’d followed his dream of roaming the country on his bike, he could only shake his head. He was a happy man, and he owed it all to the blue-eyed angel who’d backed over his motorcycle, shattered his dream and replaced it with something far better.
“You smell good.” He nuzzled his wife’s neck. “Could you use some help in here?”
“Your timing’s perfect,” she said. “Henry and Muriel are on their way over. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Great!” The whole family looked forward to having Henry and Muriel come for Christmas dinner. The two of them had been married for nearly a year, and they still behaved like honeymooners. There was a new spring to Henry’s step, a new sparkle in Muriel’s eyes.
“So what do you need me to do?” Shane asked.
“I need you to lift the roast out of the oven. Let it sit a few minutes before you carve it. While you’re waiting, maybe you can put some ice in the water glasses. That’ll give me time to mash the potatoes and toss the salad. Oh, and Shane—”
“Hmm?” He’d turned toward the oven, but he paused to look back at her. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” She strode toward him, seized the front of his flannel shirt, and yanked him close. “Just kiss me, Cowboy.”
If you love New York Times bestselling author
Janet Dailey’s rugged cowboy heroes,
don’t miss the first book in her
The Tylers of Texas series,
TEXAS TRUE,
available now as a Zebra paperback!
“Big, bold, and sexy, TEXAS TRUE is
Janet Dailey at her best!”
—Kat Martin
He’s the one who got away.
The cowboy who claimed her heart before
taking off on a tour of duty, planning never to
return. But Beau Tyler is back, and Natalie
Haskell feels defenseless against the powerful
pull of the brawny soldier. Especially when she
finds herself suddenly widowed and needing
the shelter of his strong arms.
She’s the hometown sweetheart.
The girl Beau left behind but never forgot,
despite his battle-scarred soul. Now Natalie is
the real reason he’s staying on at the ranch,
despite rumors that he was somehow involved
in her late husband’s death. Because
something in Beau has stirred to life again—
something he believed his painful past had
destroyed. And not even wild horses can keep
him from the woman he still loves....
“Dailey confirms her place as a top
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When Virgil “Bull” Tyler left this life, it was said that his departing spirit roared like a norther across the yellowed spring pastureland, shrilled upward among the buttes and hoodoos of the Caprock Escarpment, and lost itself in the cry of a red-tailed hawk circling above the high Texas plain.
Later on, folks would claim they’d felt Bull’s passing like a sudden chill on the March wind. But his son Will Tyler had felt nothing. Busy with morning chores, Will was unaware of his father’s death until he heard the shouts of the husky male nurse who came in every morning to get the old man out of bed and into his wheelchair.
Will knew at once what had happened. By the time his long strides carried him to the rambling stone ranch house, he’d managed to brace for what he would find. All the same, the sight of that once-powerful body lying rigid under the patchwork quilt, the lifeless blue eyes staring up at the ceiling, hit him like a kick in the gut. He’d lived his whole thirty-nine years in his father’s shadow. Now the old man was gone. But the shadow remained.
“Do you want me to call nine-one-one?” The young man was new to the ranch. Bull had gone through a parade of hired caregivers in the six years since a riding accident had shattered his spine, paralyzing his hips and legs.
“What for?” Will pulled the sheet over his father’s face. In the movies somebody would’ve closed those eyes. In real life, Will knew for a fact that it didn’t work.
“We’ll need to call somebody,” the nurse said. “The county coroner, maybe? They’ll want to know what killed him.”
Alcohol and pain pills, Will surmised. But what the hell, there were protocols to be followed. “Fine, go ahead and call,” he said. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Bernice Crawford, the plump, graying widow who’d been the Tylers’ cook and housekeeper since Will’s boyhood, met him in the hall. Tears were streaming down her apple-cheeked face. “Oh, Will! I’m so sorry!”
“I know.” Will searched for words of comfort for her. “Dad thought the world of you, Bernice.”
“He was a miserable old man,” she said. “You know that as well as I do. But he carried the burden God gave him, and now he’s free of it.”
Will gave her shoulder an awkward squeeze before he turned away and strode toward the front door. He needed to breathe fresh air. And he needed time to gather his thoughts.
He made it to the wide, covered porch before the raw reality slammed home. Setting his jaw, he gripped the rail and forced himself to breathe. His father was dead. He felt the void left by Bull’s passing—and the weight of responsibility for this ranch and everyone in it that was now his to shoulder alone. The morning breeze carried the smells of spring—thawing manure, sprouting grass, and restless animals. Hammer blows rang from the hollow beyond the barn, where the hands were shoring up the calving pens for the pregnant heifers that had been bred a week ahead of the older cows. The rest of the cattle that had wintered in the canyon would soon need rounding up for the drive to spring pasture above the escarpment on the Llano Estacado—the Staked Plain, given that name by early Spaniards because the land was so flat and desolate that they had to drive stakes in the ground to keep from losing their way.
As he looked down from the low rise where the house stood, Will’s gaze swept over the heart of the sprawling Rimrock Ranch—the vast complex of sheds, corrals, and barns, the hotel-like bunkhouse for unmarried hands, the adjoining cookhouse and commissary, and the line of neat brick bungalows for workers with families. To the east a shallow playa lake glittered pale aquamarine in the sunlight. It made a pretty sight, but the water was no good to drink. With the summer heat it would evaporate, leaving behind an ugly white patch of alkali where nothing would grow.
Will scowled up at the cloudless sky. Last summer’s drought had been a nightmare. If no rain fell, the coming summer could be even worse, with the grass turning to dust and the cattle having to be sold off early, at a pittance on the plummeting beef market.
Will had managed the ranch for the past six years and done it as competently as his father ever had. But even from his wheelchair Bull had been the driving spirit behind Rimrock. Only now that he was gone did Will feel the full burden of his legacy.
“Looks like we’ll be planning a funeral.” The dry voice startled Will before he noticed the old man seated in one of the rocking chairs with Tag, the ranch border collie, sprawled at hi
s feet. Jasper Platt had been foreman since before Will was born. Now that rheumatism kept him out of the saddle, he was semiretired. But Will still relied on him. No one understood the ranch and everything on it, including the people, the way Jasper did.
“When did you find out?” Will asked.
“About the same time you did.” Jasper was whip spare and tough as an old saddle. His hair was an unruly white thatch, his skin burned dark as walnut below the pale line left by his hat. The joints of his fingers were knotted with arthritis.
“You’d best start phoning people,” he said. “Some of them, like Beau, will need time to get here.”
“I know.” Will had already begun a mental list. His younger brother, Beau, was out on the East Coast and hadn’t set foot on the ranch in more than a decade—not since he’d bolted to join the army after a big blowup with his father. The rest of the folks who mattered enough to call lived on neighboring ranches or twenty miles down the state highway in Blanco Springs, the county seat. Most of them could wait until after the date and time for the funeral had been set. But Will’s ex-wife, Tori, who lived in Blanco with their twelve-year-old daughter, Erin, would need to know right away. Erin would take the news hard. Whatever Bull had been to others, he was her grandpa.
Neither call would be easy to make. Beau was out of the army now and working for the government in Washington. He had kept them informed of his whereabouts, but an address and a couple phone numbers were about all Will knew about his brother’s life out East.
As for Tori—short for Victoria—she’d left Will eight years ago to practice law in town. Shared custody of their daughter had kept things civil between them. But the tension when they spoke was like thin ice on a winter pond, still likely to crack at the slightest shift.
The nearest mortuary was in Lubbock. He’d have to call them, too. They’d most likely want to pick up the body at the coroner’s. The body. Hell, what a cold, unfeeling process. Too bad they couldn’t just wrap the old man in a blanket and stash him in the Caprock like the Indians used to do. Bull would have liked that.
As if conjured by the thought of Indians, a solitary figure stepped out of the horse barn and stood for a moment, gazing across the muddy yard. Fourteen years ago, Sky Fletcher, the part-Comanche assistant foreman, had wandered onto the ranch as a skinny teenage orphan and stayed to prove himself as a man known across the state for his skill with horses.
“Does Sky know?” Will asked Jasper.
“He knows. And he said to tell you that when you’re ready, he’ll crank up the backhoe and dig the grave next to your mother’s.”
“Sky’s got better things to do.”
Jasper gave him a sharp glance. “Bull was good to that boy. He wants to help. Let him.”
“Fine. Tell him thanks.” Will looked back toward the barn, but Sky was no longer in sight.
Squaring his shoulders, Will took a couple of deep breaths and crossed the porch to the front door. It was time to face the truth that awaited him inside the house.
His father was dead—and the void he’d left behind was as deep as the red Texas earth.
If you love Janet Dailey’s rugged cowboy
heroes, read on for an excerpt from the
next book in the Tylers of Texas series by
Janet Dailey,
available now in hardcover!
TEXAS TOUGH
Janet Dailey
He’s everything she doesn’t need.
The quiet horse whisperer whose touch still
ignites her dreams—and is everything wealthy
Lauren Prescott is not. She can think of a million
reasons why she should never ever fall
into Sky Fletcher’s sure embrace again. Until
she clashes head-on with the dangerous complications
of her privileged life and needs his
protection like air
to breathe . . .
She’s more than he can resist.
The heiress Sky can’t get out of his heart, no
matter how much he tries. And being the
secret third Tyler son doesn’t change a thing.
All he wants from his two brothers is help
uncovering a dangerous conspiracy threatening
his land, their ranch, and the spirited
beauty he never should have touched . . .
The sun burned blood red through a lingering haze of dust. As it sank behind the buttes and turrets of the Caprock Escarpment, shadows stretched long across the heat-seared landscape. With each minute that passed, the two riders grew more anxious. If they didn’t find the missing man soon, they’d be searching for him in the dark.
Jasper Platt, the Rimrock’s retired foreman, had gone hunting early that morning. When he didn’t show up for supper, Sky Fletcher and Beau Tyler had saddled their horses and set out looking for him. Armed with pistols and flashlights, they rode out across the flat toward the dry alkali lake where the old man liked to shoot quail and wild turkey.
“I don’t like this.” Beau scanned the horizon with his binoculars. “The old man’s got no business out here alone, driving that ATV God knows where, maybe rolling it in a wash, or even running into those smugglers who’ve been leaving tracks all over the place. We need to make some rules and insist that he follow them.”
“And how do you think Jasper would take to your rules?” Sky spoke softly, sharp ears alert for any unfamiliar sound. “He may be old, but that’s no reason to treat him like a child. After all, he practically raised you and Will after your mother died.”
Beau exhaled a tension-charged breath. “Somebody had to do the job. Our dad sure as hell didn’t have the patience. Jasper was more of a father to Will and me than Bull Tyler ever was. I just hope we find him safe.”
Sky let the words pass. It was no secret that Beau Tyler and his domineering father, Bull, had clashed bitterly at every turn. After their last quarrel, Beau had left for the army and stayed away eleven years.
Sky, however, had nothing but respect for the hard-driving rancher who’d taken in a starving half-Comanche teenager and given him a job. In the fourteen years Sky had worked for the Rimrock, he’d learned that Bull could be harsh but never unfair. The man’s death this past spring had been a genuine loss. Sky was still reeling from the legacy Bull had left him in his will—the deed to one hundred acres of prime ranchland, the first thing of real value he’d ever owned.
“Maybe we should’ve brought the dog.” Beau’s words broke into Sky’s thoughts. Tag, the black and white border collie, was about Jasper’s age in dog years. The two were close companions.
“I didn’t see Tag at the house,” Sky said. “Jasper might have taken him along in the ATV. If anything happened to Jasper, that dog would stay right with him. Keep your ears open. Maybe we’ll hear something.”
Both men fell silent as the twilight deepened. Sky’s ears sifted through the night sounds—the drone of flying insects, the faraway wail of a coyote, the rhythmic ploof of shod hooves in the powdery dust. With scorching temperatures and no rain since spring, the land was drier than he’d ever seen it. The drought was a constant, gnawing worry. But right now the more urgent concern was finding Jasper.
“Listen!” Beau hissed. “Do you hear that?”
“Sounds like a dog!” Sky had caught it, too. Urging their horses to a gallop, the two men thundered toward the sound.
Minutes later they found the ATV. The open vehicle had careened and landed on its side in a hollow, where a minuscule spring seeped out of the ground. Protected by the roll bar, Jasper was sprawled belly down, one side of his face pressed in the water-slicked mud. The border collie stood guard, barking at their approach.
“Get the dog out of the way.” Cursing, Beau dropped to a crouch beside the old man, who was as much a part of the Rimrock Ranch as the land itself.
Gripped by dread, Sky held the dog’s collar, stroking and soothing the agitated animal while Beau, who’d had some medical experience as
an army ranger, checked for vital signs.
“Is he alive?” Sky asked, steeling himself against the answer.
“Barely. His pulse feels weak. Sounds like he might have some fluid in his lungs, too.” Beau worked a hand beneath Jasper’s head to lift his face clear of the mud. “I’d guess he’s been here awhile. Damned lucky he didn’t drown.”
Sky’s free hand whipped out his cell phone. “I’ll get Life Flight. Want me to call the house, too? Will and Bernice will be worried. And they’ll need to tell Erin.”
Beau was probing for broken bones. “Go ahead and call Life Flight. Then you can help me push the ATV off him and turn him over. I’ll phone Will when we’ve got him more comfortable.”
By the time Sky had finished the call, the dog was calm enough to stay put. Between them, Sky and Beau tipped the light vehicle back onto its wheels and pushed it out of the way. Jasper was semiconscious, muttering and moaning, his Stetson gone, his muddy white hair plastered to his scalp.
“I’ll take his head and shoulders,” Beau directed. “You support his hips and spine. On the count of three, we roll him onto his back.”
Crouching low, Sky worked his hands beneath the bony old body and waited for the count. Jasper had been on the Rimrock since before Will and Beau were born. By the time Sky showed up, he was already a silver-haired elder. Arthritis had ended his days in the saddle, but he remained a treasure trove of wisdom, humor, and experience. If he didn’t make it, his loss would devastate the ranch family.