Texas Tall (12 page)

He was already thinking. Last week, in town, he'd found an eight-year-old Ford pickup in good condition. The owner was anxious to sell it and could probably be bargained down. Ralph could imagine himself driving that truck out of Blanco with new boots on his feet, money in his pocket, Vonda far behind him, and the whole damned country ahead.

He shrugged, trying not to appear too eager. “Guess I could do it,” he said. “Tell me more.”

Stella gave him a sly smile. “I'll tell you more when the time comes.”

“And when'll that be?”

“Not long. Come by in a couple of days, and I'll give you the details.”

“And the money?”

“A thousand now and the rest when you're done.” Stella counted out ten bills, then put the envelope in a drawer of her metal army-surplus desk and locked it with the key she wore on a chain around her neck.

Ralph walked out with a smile on his face, $1,000 in his wallet and his head full of plans. He'd give Vonda a hundred just to keep her quiet, but there was no way he'd tell her about the rest. And he'd be smart not to tell Stella he was leaving. She wouldn't like that. It would be safest just to clean out his bank account, do the job, collect the cash, buy the truck, and get the hell out of Dodge. Run fast and far, where Stella, Vonda, Abner—and maybe the Tylers—would never know to look for him.

Plan in place, he climbed into his rusty old pickup and started home. The country oldies station he liked was playing “Take This Job and Shove It.” Ralph turned the volume all the way up and sang along.

* * *

“So you went back and looked down that hole again.” Jasper shook his head. “I wish you hadn't done that, Sky. All it'll do is dredge up old sins. Some things are best left alone.”

The two men, dressed in warm jackets, sat on the shared porch of their duplex, sipping Mexican beer and relaxing at the end of a long day. The black-and-white Border collie was curled in his usual spot next to Jasper's feet. Above the escarpment a fiery sunset was fading to the deep indigo of twilight.

Sky closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the aromas of wood smoke, horses, and the night's coming frost. “After I saw those bones, I knew I had to get a better look,” he said. “Now I almost wish I hadn't.”

Jasper reached down and scratched the dog behind the ears. “Like I said, some things are best left alone.”

“It's too late for that,” Sky said. “I saw what was left of a collar and a belt. It was a young boy down there—a boy who had a name and a story. I need to know what happened to him. So does Lauren. It's her land now.” He turned to look straight at Jasper. “If you know the story—and something tells me you do—”

“Oh, hell,” Jasper muttered, “I reckon I won't get any peace till I tell you. But once you hear the truth, you're liable to wish you'd left well enough alone.”

“I'll take that chance,” Sky said.

Jasper shifted in his chair, crumpling the empty beer can between his gnarled hands. “What happened up in that little canyon was before my time here. I didn't know about it myself till Bull told me a few months before he died. He made me swear not to tell, but since the ones involved are all in their graves, I reckon your knowing won't hurt none. And since you're plannin' to wed a Prescott, it might help you understand why Bull and Ferg hated each other like they did.”

Sky settled back to listen. He'd hoped to have Lauren with him tonight, but she was home nursing a cold. Maybe that was just as well. The old man might talk more freely without her.

“Ferg and Bull weren't always enemies,” Jasper said. “As boys the same age, on neighboring ranches, they grew up friends. When they weren't workin' to help their dads, they were tearin' around on their bikes and ponies, learnin' to rope, and playin' cowboys and Indians in the canyons. I reckon it was about as good a life as two boys can have—till somethin' happened.”

Jasper sat silent for a moment, watching the dusky shadows creep across the yard. “Ferg had a younger brother—Cooper, that was his name. Cooper was a couple of years younger than Ferg. As Bull put it, he was slow in the head—I guess the way they say it now would be that he was mentally challenged.

“Cooper didn't have friends his own age, so whenever he could, he tagged after Ferg and Bull—not that the boys liked havin' him along. Kids that age can be pretty mean. I guess they teased him and played tricks on him. But Cooper just kept taggin' along like a puppy, probably not smart enough to figure out they didn't want him.”

Jasper gave Sky a sharp glance. “I'm tryin' to tell this pretty much how Bull told it to me. One day—the boys would've been about eleven—they were playin' cowboys below the canyon, shootin' off their cap guns and throwin' their lassos. Cooper was with 'em, and Ferg got the idea to pretend the youngster was a cattle rustler they'd caught. They used a bandanna to tie his hands behind his back—something Cooper didn't mind. They'd done that to him before. I guess he was happy just for the attention.

“Then Ferg got a new idea. ‘Hey, let's hang the thievin' varmint!' he said, and he made a loop with his rope.”

Sky felt the horror uncoiling in his gut. He wanted to stop Jasper from telling the rest, but it was too late now. He needed to hear the story, all the way to the awful end he knew was coming.

“Ferg was a big, husky kid. He put the rope around Cooper's neck, tossed one end over a cottonwood limb, and hauled his little brother off the ground. Then he tied the other end to the roots of an old stump. Bull said he would've tried to stop him, but it was just a game, and he thought, for sure, Ferg would untie the rope in time. I'm guessing Ferg thought the same thing. They weren't bad kids. They just didn't know how far was
too
far.”

Jasper shook his head and cleared the emotion from his throat. “When they realized what was happening, they tried to untie the rope from the stump, but the knot was tangled in the roots, and they didn't have a knife to cut it. By the time they finally got him down, Cooper was dead. The boys knew they were in big trouble, so they concocted a scheme. First they dragged the body up the canyon to the cave, untied his hands, and dropped him down that hole, right where you found him.”

Sky swallowed the ache in his throat. Those little bones had a name now—Cooper Prescott, who would have been Lauren's great-uncle.

“Since Bull hadn't done enough to stop the hanging, and since he'd helped hide the body, he was guilty, too. The boys made a pact—cut their fingers and sealed it in blood—that they'd never tell what had really happened to Cooper. They made up a story for their folks that some Mexicans in an old car had grabbed the boy and kidnapped him. They even made up a license plate number. The authorities combed the state for those Mexicans. Course they never found 'em.”

The old man fell silent again, his hand stroking the dog.

“I'm guessing there's more to the story,” Sky said.

“The rest is about Bull and Ferg,” Jasper said. “What happened with Cooper put an end to the friendship. For years afterward, Ferg was afraid that Bull would tell on him. He threatened Bull that if the story ever got out, he'd swear that Bull was the one who'd hanged Cooper. After all, who'd believe that Ferg would kill his own brother?”

“Bull never told, did he?”

“Not till he told me, a long time after Ferg was dead. I guess he wanted somebody to know the truth, in case the body was ever found.”

“And what about the land?”

“That canyon was Tyler property. The Spanish-gold legend was around even then. Nobody put much stock in it, but Ferg was always afraid somebody would go lookin' for that gold and find Cooper's body. He wanted to own that little strip of land so he could keep people off it.”

“And his chance came when Bull got involved with my mother.” Incredibly, the fragments of Sky's family history were coming together.

“Yup. That's the part of the story you already know. Ferg blackmailed Bull into selling him the land.”

“And when he was digging around up there, pretending to look for the gold, he was really covering the cave?”

“That's about the size of it.” Jasper pushed himself to his feet, a sign that the conversation was winding down. “So,” he said, “are you going to tell your future wife that she's the grandchild of a murderer?”

“Whether he was a murderer or just a crazy kid who went too far, I'm going to tell her everything,” Sky said. “Lauren has the right to know.”

* * *

Sky told the story to Lauren the next night, while they were nestled on the sofa in her apartment. He told it gently but carefully, leaving out nothing that Jasper had told him.

By the time he finished, tears were flowing down Lauren's cheeks. “That poor, innocent little boy! Oh, Sky!” She pressed her damp face into the hollow of his shoulder. “There must be something we can do! Can't we at least get those bones out so we can bury them in the family cemetery?”

“I've thought about that,” Sky said. “But I don't think it's possible. The hole's jagged all the way down, and the bones are wedged deep. Even without the snakes there, nobody could get to them safely. And if we tried to lift them out with some kind of line, they'd be liable to break on the way up. The same with blasting out the hole. That little skeleton's been down there more than fifty years. It's bound to be fragile. As far as I can tell, the only way to preserve it is to leave it right where it is.”

“Oh, I suppose you're right. But we've got to do something for the memory of that poor child.” Sighing, she snuggled deeper into his arms. For a time they sat in silence, watching the moonrise through the dark window. At last she stirred.

“I just thought of a plan,” she said.

“Want to tell me about it?” He was getting drowsy.

“Not yet. It'll take a little time, but if I start on it tomorrow . . .” She yawned. “I might need your help. If I do, I'll let you know.”

“All right, my mysterious lady. I'll settle for knowing that you can do whatever you set your mind to.”

With a lingering kiss they ended the discussion for the night.

CHAPTER 12

R
alph stood on his front stoop, smoking a Marlboro from the pack Stella had given him. The night breeze was cold, but even in his thin denim jacket, he barely felt the chill. Truth be told, he was too churned up to feel much of anything.

Through the closed door behind him, he could hear the blare of a TV reality show. Vonda liked the one where they locked hot men and women in a house and filmed them bitching at each other, or falling into bed. Stupid show, but that was Vonda for you.

At least he wouldn't have to put up with her much longer. All he needed to do was carry out Stella's orders, and he'd soon be on the road with plenty of cash in his pocket.

The cigarette had smoldered low enough to burn his fingers. With a muttered curse he dropped it on the porch, ground it out with his boot heel, and fished another one out of the pack in his pocket. His cheap lighter flared in the darkness as he lit it and inhaled the bittersweet smoke.

From where he stood, he could see the lights from the big stone house where the Tylers lived like royalty, lording it over their land and their cattle and their underpaid shit-shoveling crew, like him. Tomorrow they'd be gathering in the house for Thanksgiving dinner. That was when he would carry out Stella's plan—the plan that would change everything.

Just thinking about what she wanted was enough to scare the spit out of him. But she'd given him another thousand-dollar payment with his marching orders tonight. Back out now and he could end up as dead as Lute Fletcher.

The job itself would be easy. The hard part would be making sure he wasn't seen. Get caught, and all bets were off. He'd, for sure, go to jail—unless Stella got to him first. He was just beginning to realize how dangerous the woman was.

He'd already withdrawn his savings—by now, almost $15,000—from the bank, and hidden the cash in his truck. As soon as he'd gotten full payment from Stella, and maybe bought that used truck he'd had his eye on, he'd be out of here.

He turned to go back inside, then paused, torn between need and fear. Maybe he'd be smart to forget the money and go tonight—just get in the old truck and drive. He was already in too deep with Stella. The little he knew about her operation was barely the tip of the iceberg, but it could be enough to damage her. If she knew he planned to leave, he wouldn't put it past her to make him disappear. All the money in the world wouldn't do him any good if he wasn't alive to spend it.

He'd taken two strides toward his truck, when he realized he'd left his keys on the kitchen table. Stopping in his tracks, he cursed. Vonda had been nagging him to stay home more. She would throw a hissy fit if he came in, got the keys, then tried to leave again.

He sighed, feeling trapped. But never mind, it might be better if he stayed, Ralph told himself. He needed the promised cash, and he couldn't afford to make Stella angry—not yet, at least. After he did the job tomorrow, he'd stick around long enough to make sure the Tylers didn't suspect him. Then he'd collect his pay, make nice with Stella, and wait for the first chance to make tracks.

The plan made sense, as long as he could make it work. Otherwise, if anything went wrong, he'd be a dead man.

Fear crawling along his nerves, Ralph turned around once more and walked back into the house.

* * *

Bundled in Bernice's knitted afghan, Tori stood at the porch rail. The evening breeze was cold. Clouds gusted across the sky, playing hide-and-seek with the waning crescent moon. The air smelled of snow, but the forecast was for a mild storm, not a killer like the last norther that had blasted the land with sleet, ice, and lightning.

From the glowing rooms behind her came the sound of a football game on TV, intermingled with whoops and cheers from the watchers—Will, Beau, Sky, Jasper, and Erin. The aroma of baking pies floated from the kitchen, mingling with the homey smells of popcorn and wood smoke. As usual, the Tyler Thanksgiving celebration had started the night before the holiday, with snacks and game watching. Tomorrow, for the first time, Natalie and Lauren would be joining them for the traditional turkey feast.

Tori had always looked forward to the fun, food, and family that was Thanksgiving on the Tylers' ranch. But this year would be bittersweet. Behind everyone's smiles and laughter was the awareness that this could be the last holiday when the entire ranch family would be together. Will's fate hung in the balance, awaiting the outcome of the trial in two weeks. Jasper and Bernice were getting old. Erin was growing up. And as for herself . . .

She brushed back a lock of windblown hair. Drew hadn't phoned her since leaving for Omaha on Monday. Was he giving her time and space to make up her mind about him? Or had the revelation that she couldn't have more children cooled his interest?

It surprised her how much she missed him. Drew was an island of stability in the sea of turmoil her life had become. She wasn't in love with him—not yet, at least. But she liked him. There were even times when she needed him.

“Here you are.” Will had come out onto the porch, moving to stand beside her. He was wearing the plaid woolen shirt he'd worked in that day. It smelled of sagebrush, hay, horses, and his powerful male body. He stood with his hands on the rail, silent now, as if waiting for her to speak.

“How's the ball game?” she asked, making small talk.

“Fair. The Cowboys are up by two touchdowns. But I couldn't stay with it. Too much going on in my head.”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine . . . considering.”

Tori checked the urge to reach over and lay her hand on his. It might be a comfort, but they'd gone too far down that road already.

“There's something we need to talk about,” he said.

“I'm listening.” Tori felt the tension, like the sudden snap of a bowstring. Whatever Will was about to say, she sensed it wouldn't be easy to hear.

He cleared his throat. “If the trial goes badly, and I end up going to prison—”

“Don't say that!” She cut him off. “Don't even think it. It's not going to happen.”

“Are you that sure of yourself, Tori?”

“I have to be. It's the only way I can do my job.”

Will's throat moved, but he didn't reply. In the silence the mournful wail of a coyote echoed through the darkness.

“There are some things we
need
to think about,” he said. “One of them is our daughter. Whatever happens, we'll want to make this as easy on her as we can.”

There's no way any of this will be easy on Erin,
Tori thought, but she held her tongue.

“If I go away—and it could be for years—there'll be no one in this house. Bernice wouldn't stay on. She's already talked about going to live with her sister. Jasper . . .” Will shrugged. “I'm guessing he'd stay put as long as he can, but he's getting old. He won't be around forever. Beau and Natalie will have their own place and their own family. So will Sky and Lauren.”

He gazed across the shadowed yard toward the long horse barn. “This house has been home to Erin all her life. Her room, the animals, Jasper and Sky, even those Sunday dinners—I can't stand the thought of her losing all that, as well as losing her father.”

“I know.” Tori kept her voice low to hide the emotion. “I've had the same thoughts myself.”

“If I go to prison, you'll need to move back here,” he said. “I'll pay for a new vehicle, for you to drive to work and take Erin to school. The utilities and maintenance on the house will come out of the ranch budget. You can rent out your house in town or keep it for your office. That way, Erin will still have this place to call home.”

Tori bit back a surge of annoyance. She knew Will was only thinking of Erin, but how like him it was to have everything planned out and expect her to fall in line. His idea made some sense, but why couldn't he have asked for her input, instead of just dumping the whole package in her lap?

“Can't this wait until we know the outcome of the trial?” she demanded. “You're innocent, Will, and you're making plans as if you're going to be found guilty.”

He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. “Maybe you believe in the justice system. But I don't trust it. I don't trust the judge. I don't trust the witnesses. I don't even trust the jury. Anything could happen in that courtroom. If it's the worst, I need to know that Erin will be all right—and Erin needs to know it, too.”

The night wind had sharpened. Shivering, Tori pulled the afghan tighter around her shoulders. He was right about Erin. Their daughter needed to feel secure about what would happen if her father went to prison. But how could Will expect an instant answer? With so many uncertainties hanging over them, how could she make him a promise that might bind her to this place for years?

“If it's your boyfriend you're thinking about, we could work that out.” Will's voice had gone flat and hard. “I don't have any claim on you. I know I can't ask you to live like a nun. If you wanted to get married again, I wouldn't stand in the way of letting him move in here for the duration.”

Something jerked in Tori's chest. “Will—”

“This isn't about you and me, Tori. It's about Erin and what would be best for her.”

“I know.” Tori gazed down at his work-scarred hands, where they gripped the porch rail. For years she'd accused him of being just like his father. But Will was not Bull Tyler. She should have known that when he'd refused to sell Erin's beloved colt, even though the money would have paid off the bank loan. And now, for Erin's sake, he was even willing to let another man live in his family home, with the mother of his child. There was no way Bull would have been so selfless.

And Will was right. This wasn't about the two of them. It was about their daughter. But right now he needed to back off and stop pushing her.

“I get what you're saying, and I agree in principle,” she said. “But that plan of yours is a lot to take in. I need time to think.”

“How much time?”

“As much time as it takes.” Tori was exhausted after a long day of preparing for the trial. Will's heart was in the right place, but his timing was way off. “You'll have my answer in the next few days. Right now, that's the best I can do.”

“Do you plan to talk to Erin about this?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“And your boyfriend?”

“His name's Drew. And it's way too soon for that.”

“I need this settled, Tori. Lord knows I need
something
settled.”

“I understand. But I need time.” Sensing a brewing storm between them, Tori moved toward the front door. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I promised Bernice I'd take the pies out of the oven. They should be done about now.”

Before he could say any more, she quickened her steps and fled into the house, closing the door behind her. She sympathized with Will's worries, and she would do everything in her power to defend him. But right now, they were both on edge. The last thing they needed was a big, blowup fight.

* * *

Will lingered on the porch after Tori had gone, feeling the burn of cold wind on his face. The familiar sounds of night on the ranch drifted to his ears—the creak of the turning windmill, the shifting and nickering of horses in the barn, and the bawl of a calf in the lower pasture. Smoke, curling from the tall metal chimney on the bunkhouse, blended with the earthy smells of sage and manure.

Closing his eyes, Will filled his senses with memories of the only home he'd ever known. If things went badly at the trial and he ended up in prison, he would need these memories to keep him strong. But, Lord, how could he stand it, being cut off from everything and everyone he'd ever loved?

Tori was right—he needed to go on believing in his own innocence and the fairness of the American justice system. But the ugly knot in the pit of his stomach wouldn't go away. With so many twisted facts working against him, how could he expect to walk out of court a free man?

Tonight he'd pretty much given Tori permission to move her boyfriend into his house, feed him at their table, and sleep with him in their bed. Speaking the words had damn near killed him, but if that was the price of having Tori stay here with Erin, so be it. This was about his daughter's well-being, not his personal feelings. But the personal feelings were there, and they were too powerful to be denied.

The name left a nasty taste in Will's mouth. He didn't even know the man, but the thought of Tori in Drew's arms was enough to rouse Will to a near-murderous rage. Even after eight years apart, he still tended to think of her as his woman—and that one wild encounter, the night of the storm, was seared like a brand into his memory. He'd been a fool to let her go—and damn it,
he wanted her back.

If he made it through the trial with his freedom, by heaven, he was going to fight for her.
Drew
was going to have some serious competition.

But the reality was, if he was convicted and sentenced, all bets would be off. He couldn't ask Tori to wait for him, or to tie herself to the man he'd be after years behind bars.

“Are you all right, Daddy?” Erin had come out onto the porch to stand beside him.

“Fine, honey. Just getting some air. I thought you were watching the game.”

“It's just a game. I don't care that much about it.”

“What
do
you care about these days?”

“Important stuff, like you and Mom and the trial. I wish I knew what was going to happen.”