by Janet Dailey
Bull nodded. “Fine. Get your things. We leave in a few minutes.”
The man grinned. “We have everything, señor. Even the money. Vámonos!”
* * *
For Bull, the next hours crawled with gut-clenching tension. He drove to the border with four men riding in the truck bed and the older one sitting up front to give him directions. A quarter mile short of the border, he let them out in Ciudad Acuña, drove across the bridge to Del Rio, and passed through the border without a problem. From there he followed a hastily sketched map to a wooded park in the older, Hispanic section of the town and waited in a nervous sweat. What if he’d misunderstood the directions to the meeting place? What if the men had met with an accident or been picked up by the border patrol?
An eternity seemed to pass before his passengers showed up, damp and laughing. They piled into the pickup, fitting lengthwise, like cordwood, in the bed. Bull covered them with a tarp and piled the mattress from the bunkhouse on top of them. The ride would be hellishly uncomfortable until they put a safe distance between the truck and the border, but the men accepted the conditions cheerfully.
It was almost dawn when Bull let the three men off at the gate of a ranch outside of Big Spring. They gave him the balance of the money and shook his hand.
“Others want to come north,” the oldest man told him. “Any time you want, they pay you. Some coyotes are bad. They take money, then rob my people and leave them, even kill them. But you are a good coyote. They can trust you.”
The words, meant as a compliment, weighed on Bull as he drove the rest of the way to the ranch with Carlos’s two sons. What he’d just done had been easy money, and it would be even easier the next time. One run every couple of weeks, with no free rides, would go a long way toward supporting the ranch until they could get the cattle operation paying again.
But what if he got caught and went to jail?
You are a good coyote.
Was he? That remained to be seen.
When he pulled up to the ranch house, Jasper was in the yard, hauling hay to the stock. He dropped the pitchfork and strode over to the truck as Bull climbed to the ground.
“You told me you’d be right back,” he said. “What the hell took you so long? I was getting worried.” He looked Bull up and down. “How’d it go?”
“Fine. Just more complicated than I’d figured.” He pulled the crumpled wad of cash out of his hip pocket. Jasper’s eyes widened as Raul and Joaquin spilled out of the pickup bed with their packs.
“What the devil have you been up to, Bull Tyler?” Jasper sputtered.
Bull gave him a quick rundown of what had happened. “These two men are Carlos’s boys. They’ll be working for us while they look for the men who killed their father.”
“And what about the money?”
Bull told him about the other men. “There’s more where that came from. If I can make a run over the border every week or two, it could make the difference between saving the ranch and having to sell.”
Jasper swore. “It might sound like good, fast money, but you won’t get rich runnin’ Mexicans, you young fool. The border patrol’s been playin’ those games a lot longer than you have, and they know all the tricks. You were lucky this time. But keep doin’ it and they’ll nab you for sure. Then you’ll be in for a long stretch behind bars—and believe me, this ranch won’t be here when you get out. Think about that while you get these boys settled in the bunkhouse. I s’pose we owe it to Carlos to take ’em in. But if anybody comes around, you’d damn well better keep ’em out of sight.”
Jasper stalked off and went back to work. Bull set Raul and Joaquin to cleaning out the bunkhouse while he made bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee for breakfast. He was starved. The boys would be hungry, too.
He’d been pretty much set on making more trips over the border. But Jasper’s advice gave him pause. He had some serious thinking to do. Meanwhile, at least he had workers to mend the fences and maybe help shore up the barn roof. And he had a little cash for feed and supplies and to get the phone service back. For now, he would concentrate on getting some work done. The bigger decisions could wait until later—or at least until the money ran low.
* * *
Two weeks after Bull’s return from Mexico, the weather was still bone dry. On the Prescott Ranch, the grass was turning brown. Cattle clustered in the shade or crowded around the watering tanks. Even the nights brought little relief from the dry wind. People grew tired and irritable. Tempers flared.
Susan had fled the house after a shouting match between Hamilton Prescott and Ferg, who’d crept in after one of his late-night visits to town. When Ferg had found his father waiting up for him in the living room, the confrontation had exploded, growing louder and louder until the two were practically screaming at each other.
“I’m not a baby, Dad! I’m a grown man, and a man’s got his needs! What I do at night is none of your damn business!”
“Hell, boy, it was my business when you were fifteen and got a preacher’s daughter pregnant! It cost me a bundle to hush up her family! And you had to go and pick a girl who wouldn’t get an abortion! I’m still sending them money to support the little bastard, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to saddle me with any more of them! If you’ve got needs, for Christ’s sake get married and be done with it!”
Susan had buried her head in the pillow and done her best to ignore the raging quarrel, as her father was likely doing. But after fifteen minutes she’d given up. She’d rolled out of bed, pulled on her clothes and sneakers, and arranged the pillows in her bed. With her hair twisted under her cap, she’d pocketed her miniature flashlight and slipped out the back door.
Clouds drifted across the night sky, blown by the dry wind that never seemed to stop. Needing to stretch her limbs, Susan set out on foot. Maybe if she walked far enough and fast enough, she could forget what she’d heard. She didn’t want to be privy to the Prescotts’ dirty secrets. All she wanted was peace and quiet.
The neighboring ranch, the Rimrock, was a mile from the Prescott house by way of a dusty, rutted road. She knew whose land it was. Hamilton Prescott had told her one night over dinner about the penniless, alcoholic Williston Tyler, who’d owned the two-thousand-acre ranch and refused to sell so much as a pebble of it. Since the man’s mysterious death, the Rimrock had passed to his son, Bull Tyler, the rugged, blue-eyed ex–rodeo rider whom Susan had met that day in the Burger Shack. Hamilton had expressed hope that the young Tyler would have the good sense to sell out. But after meeting the Rimrock’s new owner, Susan had the feeling that getting his ranch wouldn’t be as easy as her uncle expected.
Before tonight, she’d limited her wanderings to Prescott land. But now she craved escape, and she was still highly curious about Bull Tyler. She felt a prickle of naughty excitement at the thought of seeing his house and imagining him sprawled in sleep behind its walls.
The heart of the Rimrock was no more than a fifteen- or twenty-minute walk. Stepping out with a long-legged stride, she left the Prescotts’ yard, switched on her flashlight, and found the road across the scrubby sage flat. Soon she caught sight of a distant windmill, turning against the stars. Beyond that lay the low, sprawling house.
Switching off the flashlight, she crept closer. Seen by moonlight, the house, like the bunkhouse across the yard, had a ramshackle look to it. Its curtainless windows were dark. Except for the battered pickup parked next to the house and the subtle stirring of horses in the nearby paddock, the place might have been deserted.
Mildly disappointed, Susan had just stolen past the front of the house when she heard the creak of the screen door opening and closing. Bull Tyler came out onto the porch.
Had he heard her? Heart slamming, Susan flattened herself against the side of the house. Peeking around the corner, she could see him standing at the rail, clad in jeans, boots, and a singlet that displayed his sculpted torso in the moonlight. One hand held a heavy pistol.
Now what? She needed to get ho
me soon. But if she cut back across the yard, the way she’d come, he was almost sure to see her. Even if he didn’t shoot her, she’d feel like a fool to be caught sneaking around his house.
She glanced west, toward the fenced pasture and the moonlit escarpment beyond. Maybe she could cut behind the barn, make a wide circle through the pasture, and come back partway down the road, out of sight. It might involve climbing a fence or two, but she had long legs and it was nothing she hadn’t done before. Besides, it would be an adventure.
When Bull Tyler showed no inclination to leave, she ducked into the shadows and headed for the far side of the barn.
* * *
A faint sound in the dark had awakened Bull and sent him bolting out of bed, grabbing for his clothes and his pistol. The sound had amounted to nothing, but now he was too restless to sleep. Pistol cocked, he stood on the front porch, gazing out over the yard. It was well past midnight, the sky showing only a few drifting clouds that would bring no rain to the parched land. Even the night wind was warm, sucking the moisture from everything that grew. From somewhere beyond the shadows, a lone coyote raised its yipping wail. There was no answer.
In the two weeks that had passed since Bull’s return from Mexico, Raul and Joaquin had proven to be hard workers, cheerful and eager to learn whatever they didn’t know how to do. The bunkhouse was now livable, including the bathroom and small kitchen, and much of the fence line had been mended using the old wire and the truckload of rough cedar posts that Bull had bought in town. The cattle and horses were strong enough to be moved to pastures where the grazing was better. But because of the drought they continued to get extra feed. The barn roof still needed repair, and the money for hay, food, and other supplies was flowing out like blood from a death wound.
Was it time for another trip to Rio Seco? Bull was already doing the math in his head. Five men at $500 each—that would fix the worst of the barn roof. And Jasper had yet to be paid. Nothing but loyalty was keeping him here. The money Bull had saved from his rodeo winnings was mostly gone. At this rate, he would soon be dead broke. But he understood the risks of transporting more illegal Mexicans. If he ended up getting caught and jailed, the ranch was as good as lost.
Something moved in the open yard and disappeared behind the barn. Though he’d barely glimpsed it, Bull was sure he’d seen a slender human figure. Was one of the Mexican boys up to some kind of mischief? Or was it an outsider, thinking to make off with some free beef? Whoever it was, they had no business being out here at this hour.
Keeping to the shadows, Bull slipped off the porch and followed on silent feet.
* * *
Susan rounded the back of the barn and reached the stout pasture fence. Gripping a solid metal post, and taking care not to snag her jeans, she eased herself over the barbed wire. The flashlight was in her pocket, but she didn’t want to use it. She needed both hands, and a moving beam of light would attract too much attention.
Her cap blew off as she dropped to a crouch inside the fence. She fumbled for it in the dark, but it had already blown out of reach. Standing, she took a moment to get her bearings. The pasture was about the size of a football field. The only gate was some distance behind her, where she couldn’t pass without being seen. To get where she wanted to go, she would have to cross the pasture and climb back over to the other side of the fence.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. But she’d already committed to her plan. Unless she wanted to risk being caught, she had little choice except to keep going.
Part of the pasture was still visible from the house. But clumps of invasive mesquite had sprouted here and there—not tall, but thick enough to hide her if she dropped low. Keeping her head down, she raced to the nearest one and paused to catch her breath. So far, so good.
She’d made it partway to the next clump when something stirred in the shadows at the far corner of the pasture. Something large and dark.
It must be cows, she thought—maybe a group of cows and calves, awake and curious. She spurred herself to move faster. By the time they wandered over here, she’d be gone.
But the dark shape was moving toward her now—moving faster, and not breaking up the way a cluster of cows would. Pausing an instant, she twisted the flashlight out of her pocket. Her hand shook as she switched on the beam.
The light revealed the ugly white face, blunted horns, and massive body of a huge Hereford bull. Head down, it was barreling straight toward her.
CHAPTER 5
HOLY HELL . . .
Bull reached the fence in time to see Jupiter pounding across the pasture. Fleeing from the monster, and losing ground fast, was a wisp of a girl, her long blond hair flying in the wind. For an instant she only looked familiar. Then, as something clicked, he realized she was the teenage cousin he’d seen in town with Ferg.
No time to remember her name or wonder what she was doing here. If he didn’t act fast, Jupiter would kill her.
Keeping a grip on his cocked pistol, he vaulted over the fence. The barbed wire ripped his jeans and tore a long gash in his thigh. He ignored the pain. He would have to divert the huge beast long enough for the girl to scramble to safety, then get away himself. That would take speed, timing, and plain dumb luck. He didn’t even want to think about the alternative.
Yelling and waving his arms, the way he’d seen rodeo clowns work, he fired into the air and rushed to intercept Jupiter’s path. Startled, the fool girl looked around. “Run, damn you!” he shouted. “Get to the fence!”
Spinning away, she plunged ahead. Jupiter’s nearsighted gaze had spotted Bull. The animal paused, swinging his massive head and horns as if uncertain which target to chase. Bull waved and darted away to one side, yelling a challenge as he cocked the gun again, inviting Jupiter to chase him.
For an instant the tactic seemed to be working. Then, a dozen yards from the fence, the girl stumbled to her knees. In a panic, she struggled to get up, her pale hair fluttering like a matador’s cape in the wind. The bull’s head swung from side to side. Then, choosing the more vulnerable target, Jupiter bellowed and charged her.
With the giant barely a stone’s toss away from the girl, Bull leaped into Jupiter’s path, aimed the Colt, and fired a bullet between the white-rimmed eyes.
With a moan and a sickening lurch, Jupiter collapsed onto his knees. A shudder passed through him as he rolled to one side, his massive body twitching in death.
Bull cocked the pistol and fired another shot into the huge head. His shoulders sagged as reality sank in. He had just destroyed the most valuable animal on the ranch—the key to the recovery of his herd.
Fury rising, he turned toward the girl. She was huddled where she’d fallen, sobbing. Susan—he remembered her name now. Susan Rutledge. Not that it made any difference. Neither did the fact that she was probably scared out of her wits. He was mad enough to slap her silly.
“Get the hell up, Miss Susan Rutledge.” He nudged her leg with his boot toe. When she raised her tear-streaked face, he held out his hand. She took it. He jerked her to her feet. Her palms were skinned, and her jeans were ripped at the knee where she’d fallen on something sharp. Her hair was tangled, her face streaked with dirt and tears.
“I’m . . . sorry,” she stammered.
“Sorry won’t bring back my prize bull.” He reined in the urge to grab the little brat by the shoulders and shake her. “What in hell’s name were you doing in that pasture?”
Her lip quivered. Then, seeming to pull herself together, she thrust out her stubborn chin and met his eyes. “Taking a shortcut.”
“A shortcut? To where?”
“Back to the road. I was just exploring. Then you came out onto the porch. I was afraid you’d catch me.”
“Exploring!” Seething, Bull shook his head. “For hell’s sake, girl, this isn’t Savannah. You damn near died tonight! And that bull was prime registered stock! I’ll never have the money for another one like him!”
Jasper appeared outside the fen
ce, out of breath and still buckling his belt. “I heard a couple of shots,” he said. “What the—” His words ended in a groan as he saw Jupiter lying dead on the ground. “Oh, Lordy, what happened?”
Bull unclenched his teeth. “Jasper, this is Miss Susan Rutledge, who’s visiting the Prescotts. She went on a little adventure in the pasture. I had to shoot Jupiter to save her.”
Jasper cursed under his breath, looking as if he was about to cry. Short of losing a man, the death of the stud bull was the worst thing that could’ve happened on the ranch. At last he sighed and spoke. “Well, I don’t reckon we can afford to waste the meat, even though the old cuss is bound to be tougher than boot leather. I’ll wake the boys to help dress and hang the carcass. Then we can haul it to the meat packer in the mornin’.”
The boys would undoubtedly be awake. But they knew better than to come rushing outside at the sound of gunshots.
“Give me a few minutes to run Miss Rutledge home, and I’ll come back and help you.” Bull glanced at the girl. “Come on. We might as well go out through the gate. No reason to keep it closed anymore.”
Jasper glanced down at Bull’s ripped jeans. “Your leg’s bleedin’. You might want me to take a look at it before you go.”
“Later. I’ll be fine.” He opened the gate and steered the girl across the yard to the truck.
* * *
Susan glanced at Bull Tyler’s grim profile as he drove the pickup over the bumpy road. Her adventure had caused unbelievable harm. She couldn’t blame him for being furious.
“Are you going to tell my father?” she asked.
“I don’t know your father. And I’m not exactly on good terms with the rest of the family. So, no. I’m just going to let you out by the gate. You can tell them whatever the hell you want to.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really am.”