by Janet Dailey
“I’m still trying to figure out why Bull Tyler gave you this land,” he said, looking for any topic to ease the tension.
“He didn’t give it to me. It was already mine. It just took time for him to figure that out.”
“So what do you plan to do with it—not just now, but in the years ahead?”
“Find ways to make the place pay—maybe some kind of small farming operation. My Mexican foster mother taught me how to make wonderful goat cheese. I could raise some goats, sell the cheese, or maybe some eggs as well. Whatever people would buy.”
“What does Bull have to say about that?”
“Not a thing. I made sure that was in our contract. I could raise alligators if I wanted to, and he’d have no legal power to stop me.”
Tanner chuckled. “Alligators. Now that would be something to see. But what about your life? It’s bound to get lonely out here alone. Don’t you want to get married and have a family someday?”
“I’m twenty-six years old. I think someday has come and gone—especially for a freak like me.”
“You’re not a freak.”
“In Mexico, some people, especially men, called me a witch. They said I had the devil’s mark on my face. And before that—” She broke off as if facing a closed door that she didn’t want to open.
“You’re beautiful, Rose.” Tanner couldn’t help saying it. “A man would have to be out of his mind not to want you.”
“Oh, some of them wanted me. Just not in the right way.” She fell silent, her delicate profile outlined against the rain-specked window. “I was raped, along with other women and girls, when the cartel took over the town. And long before that, there was my mother’s boyfriend, and the caretaker in the group home where I was sent after she died . . .”
“Rose—” Tanner checked the impulse to pull her close and cradle her in his arms. Right now, he sensed, the last thing she’d want was to have a man’s arms around her.
“I tell myself I’ve been luckier than most, because I’ve known some decent men who never touched me. There was my grandfather, and Don Ramón in Mexico, who treated me like his own daughter. And my friend, Jasper Platt—and even Bull.”
But never a man who loved you the way a woman should be loved? Tanner knew better than to ask that question.
“There are other good men, Rose.”
“None that I’d care to trust. I’m better off on my own.” Pausing, she glanced in his direction and changed the subject. “What about you? Do you have a family back where you came from?”
“A brother. He lives on our family ranch in Wyoming, with his wife and kids.”
“And you? Do you have a wife, or maybe a sweetheart waiting for you back in Wyoming?”
“No.” Tanner felt the familiar tightening of the knot in his stomach. “But that’s a story for another time,” he added.
“We all have stories for another time.” Rose fell silent. In the warm darkness, Tanner could hear the low sound of her breathing. He imagined how it would feel, reaching out to her, pulling her close and holding her trembling body against his. He imagined laying her on the bed and loving her, kissing those small, perfect breasts, stroking her with gentle fingers until she opened to him like a moist flower in the rain . . .
But what was he thinking? Tanner’s arousal was threatening to push through his jeans, proving to Rose that he was one more man she couldn’t trust.
He stood, his head brushing the ceiling of the camper. “I need to go,” he said.
“Fine. The rain seems to be letting up.”
“Will you be all right? Promise you’ll lock the door after I leave. You can’t tell what—or who—might happen along.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got a gun, and I know how to use it.”
“The idea of locking the door is that you won’t have to use your gun.”
“Stop mothering me, Tanner. That’s not your job.”
“Somebody needs to do it.” And somebody needed to snatch her up and kiss her smart little mouth. But that wasn’t going to happen tonight.
“Just go,” she said. “If I see any rustlers prowling around, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“You be careful. Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Fine. I’ll stop by later and check on you.” He stepped out the door, closing it behind him.
He heard the snick of the door bolt as he strode away. At least the little hellion was taking his advice. But he couldn’t help being worried about her. A lone woman like Rose, so independent, so damnably sure of herself, and yet so vulnerable, would be easy prey for any man who set eyes on her—transients, roving cowhands, and even that sissified son of Ferg Prescott who’d already tried to cross the line with her.
It wasn’t his job to protect her, Tanner reminded himself as he climbed into his truck. But whether he liked it or not, Rose had become important to him. The thought of her coming to harm was more than he could stand.
But he wasn’t Rose’s only friend. Others would be concerned about her, too. He would keep an eye on her for the night. In the morning, it would be time for a visit to the Rimrock.
* * *
Turning on her flashlight, Rose opened the cheese and crackers she’d bought in town, fashioned bite-sized sandwiches, and washed them down with a swig of cranberry juice. Tanner had left her less than fifteen minutes ago, but she was already feeling his absence. She’d tried to convince herself that she could manage entirely on her own. But she’d felt protected while he was here. His strong, male presence had given her a feeling of safety. When he’d warned her to keep the door locked, she’d pretended to be annoyed. But it had felt good, knowing that he cared enough to worry. Did she like him? Maybe, Rose conceded. But she couldn’t afford to trust his motives—or to trust the warm, tingling sensations that his nearness had awakened.
The rain was already letting up—a good thing, because she really needed to pee, and there were no facilities inside the camper. Tomorrow she would make it a top priority to find a secluded spot and dig a latrine, with plans to build an outhouse. For now she would just have to make do.
Gripping the flashlight, she opened the door and stepped out into the misting rain. Wet grass brushed the legs of her jeans as she headed for a nearby clump of alder saplings. Nobody would be able to see her through the rainy darkness, but Rose’s innate sense of modesty would not allow her to squat in the open.
She had her jeans down and was nearly finished when the underbrush began to sway and crackle. Rose froze in terror as a huge shape loomed out of the night and came lumbering toward her, swinging its massive head.
Rose swallowed a scream, almost tumbling backward as the startled cow shied, wheeled, and trotted off in the opposite direction. Shaking, Rose picked up the flashlight she’d dropped, pulled up her jeans, and raced back to the camper. Safely inside, she dissolved in hysterical laughter. She’d been so scared—of a silly cow. If she was going to live out here, she would have to get used to such things. But she was going to need a good, stout fence to keep her planned garden safe.
Leaning out of the door, she brushed her teeth, then locked herself in, undressed, and climbed into bed. The day had been exhausting, but it had ended fine, she told herself. And tomorrow would be better.
Lulled by the light patter of rain, she pulled the quilt around her and began to drift. As she sank into sleep, the last image to fill her mind was the memory of Tanner’s gentle gray eyes.
* * *
At dawn, Tanner returned to the Prescott bunkhouse, cleaned up, and drove the back road to the Rimrock. With luck, he would find Bull Tyler at breakfast or chores and willing to talk. He had never met Bull, but he wanted to. He was curious about the man who’d already become a legend for his toughness and near-ruthless determination.
At least Rose hadn’t spoken too badly of him. And Bull had thought enough of her to return the title to her land. Tanner only hoped he could convince Bull how much she still needed his help.
The
Rimrock was smaller and less impressive than the Prescott spread. But the heart of the ranch had a clean, efficient look about it, the outbuildings solid and in good repair, the rambling wood and stone house designed to blend with the sweeping landscape. To the west, the towering escarpment rose against the sky. It was the kind of place a man could love and fight for, Tanner thought, a place that reflected its formidable owner.
As he pulled up to the house, two men came out onto the porch. The taller, older one Tanner recognized from the morning before, when the man came to the camper to call on Rose. He could only be Jasper Platt, the Rimrock’s longtime foreman. The other man, broad-chested and rock-solid, with dark hair showing gray and a challenging gaze, would be Bull Tyler.
They watched Tanner’s every move as he climbed out of the truck and approached the porch steps. Tanner had left his pistol in the truck—a wise decision, he decided. When facing this pair, any suggestion of a threat would be a bad idea.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” Tanner paused, waiting for an invitation to join them. “I’m hoping you can spare me a few minutes. My name is—”
“I know who you are.” Bull’s voice and manner matched his nickname. “You’re Tanner McCade. You’re a TSCRA ranger, working undercover on the Prescott ranch. And I’m guessing that the two of us won’t need an introduction, either. So suppose you come on up and tell us your business. If Ferg is losing cattle for real this time, I’m all ears.”
“Evidently, he is losing cattle, and I’d appreciate your passing on anything you see or hear.” Tanner mounted the steps to the porch. “But that’s not why I’ve come this morning. I need to talk with you about Rose.”
“Is she all right?” Jasper Platt’s voice was sharp with concern.
“She’s fine, so far. But I’m worried about her, and you should be, too.”
Jasper stepped directly into his path. “If you don’t mind my asking, mister, what business do you have with our girl?”
“I’m her friend, that’s all,” Tanner said. “I helped her buy her truck, and I’ve stopped by the creek to check on her a couple of times. It strikes me that she’s taken on more than she can handle alone. That’s why I’m here.”
“We’re all concerned about Rose,” Bull said, opening the front door. “We were about to have breakfast. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks, I’ll take you up on that.” Tanner followed the two men inside, through an impressive great room with a tall stone fireplace and into a cozy kitchen with mismatched chairs around a well-used plank table. A plump, brunette woman gave Tanner a smile as she added an extra place setting and went back to cooking French toast. Jasper took a moment to introduce her as his sister, Bernice. “She’s the real boss of this place,” he said. “Get crosswise with her, and you don’t eat.”
Tanner took the seat he was offered and helped himself to some fresh coffee. “Thanks again,” he said. “It’s right neighborly of you to invite me in.”
“Just good timing.” Bull took his seat at the head of the table. “How much do you know about Rose?”
“Only what she’s told me. And what I’ve observed for myself. She’s pretty independent, isn’t she?”
“Independent?” Jasper snorted as he forked sausage onto his plate. “Rose Landro is the most mule-headed female on God’s green earth!”
“Maybe so,” Tanner said. “But stubbornness and grit won’t build her a cabin. And that rickety camper isn’t fit for a doghouse.”
“Rose is family to us,” Bull said. “We’ve offered her a place to stay. But she wants to live on her land. We’re hoping, when she sees how hard it is, that she’ll come to her senses and ask us for help.”
“And if she’s too proud to ask?” Tanner filled his plate with sausage, French toast, and potatoes.
“Rose is a grown woman,” Bull said. “I can’t force her to accept our help.”
“But you know, Tanner’s right,” Jasper said. “Rose could be in danger, out there alone in that old camper. What if she gets sick or hurt? What if some horny bastard takes a notion to go after her? If anything were to happen to that girl, I’d never forgive myself. And neither would you, Bull.”
Bull swigged his coffee, saying nothing. But Tanner could imagine his mind working.
“She might not have any more common sense than a prairie chicken,” Jasper continued, “but that doesn’t mean we can just throw her out there and hope for the best. Like you say, Bull, Rose is family.”
Bull put down his coffee mug. His narrowed gaze was fixed on Tanner. “What about you, McCade? Have you got designs on her?”
“If you mean that the way I think you do, the answer is no,” Tanner said. “I’ve got a job to do. When I’ve caught the rustlers that are taking Ferg Prescott’s cattle, my work will be done here and I’ll be leaving. But I like Rose, and I’m concerned about her. I want to know that she’ll be all right.”
“Have you got a wife and family anywhere?” Jasper asked. “Just wondering, mind you.”
“I’m a widower,” Tanner said. “And I’m not looking to change that anytime soon.”
In the brief silence that followed, Bernice ushered two young boys into the kitchen. It hadn’t occurred to Tanner that Bull would have children, but the older child was a carbon copy of his father. The younger one was fair and slender, but with something of the Tyler look about him.
“We’re off to the bus stop,” Bernice said.
“Homework done?” Bull asked.
“Yes, sir,” the older boy replied.
“Fine. You boys behave, now, and mind your teachers.”
“We always behave.” The younger boy spoke with a smile, as if harboring a secret joke.
“They’re fine-looking boys,” Tanner said as the pair left by the front door. “You must be very proud of them.”
“I am,” Bull said. “Everything you see on this ranch, and the work that goes into it, none of it’s for me. It’s all for them and their families to come. If you don’t already know, you’ll learn that only two things matter in this life—family and the land. At least that’s what I believe.”
Tanner knew better than to ask about Bull’s wife. Bernice’s presence and the hauntingly beautiful portrait he’d noticed in the great room were sure signs that somehow Bull had lost her.
“As long as I’m here, I might as well do my job,” Tanner said. “When I spoke with Clive earlier, he mentioned that you were missing some cattle, too.”
“We were,” Jasper said. “But we found ’em on the last day of the roundup. Seems they’d just wandered off looking for something to eat.”
“So all your cattle are accounted for?”
“That’s right,” Bull said.
“Did you notice any suspicious activity? Any strangers or unfamiliar vehicles.”
“Nothing except for that fool stunt Ferg tried to pull. If he was trying to get me in trouble, he picked a stupid way of going about it. Come to think of it, it was Rose who told me about those so-called stolen animals. She said she was out riding with the boys, and Will found you lying shot next to your horse. The boy thought you were dead. He was pretty upset about that.”
“Maybe it’s just as well he didn’t recognize me this morning,” Tanner said. “I never did find out who fired the shot. Ferg’s cowhands tried to convince me it was you—or one of your men.”
“Not likely,” Jasper said. “We were all on the roundup. And we don’t go around taking potshots at strangers. There are laws against that sort of thing.”
“Ferg’s been known to hire some shady characters to do his dirty work,” Bull said. “But even if he’d be crazy enough to order the shooting of a TSCRA agent, you’d have a tough time proving it. He’s careful not to get his hands dirty. You did say that Ferg was missing cattle, right?”
“Only the best prime animals, gone without a trace,” Tanner said. “Whoever’s taking them knows exactly what he’s doing.”
“Sounds like an inside job,” Jasper said.
“That makes sense, but I’ve checked out all the Prescott cowboys, and their records are clean. And there’s no reason for Ferg to be stealing his own cattle. If you notice anything suspicious, like tracks cutting through your property, let me know. Or if you can’t reach me, give Clive a call.”
“Will do.” Bull had finished his breakfast. He stood. “I’ve enjoyed this visit, but it’s time to get back to work. Stop by anytime, McCade. You’ll be welcome.”
Tanner and Jasper had risen with him. “And don’t you worry about Rose,” Jasper said. “We’ll see that she’s safe and has what she needs.”
Tanner sensed that Jasper Platt was a man of his word. But it wouldn’t hurt to check on Rose, anyway, just to make certain she was all right.
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.”