Texas Tall (14 page)

Looking across the yard, Tori could see Erin standing on the porch with Jasper and Bernice. She was staying where she'd been told to stay, but she was straining against the rail, trying to see what was happening. Tori ached to go to her daughter, take her in her arms, and assure her that everything would be all right. But she couldn't do that yet—not when Erin's loving, secure world might have already come crashing down in the inferno of the burning barn.

“Quiet!” It was Beau who'd shouted. “Listen—I think I heard something!”

In the silence of straining ears that followed, Tori could hear nothing but Lauren's breathing and the pounding of her own heart. Maybe Beau had only heard the shift of cooling metal, or the sound of a trapped, injured animal that would need to be put down.

Or a man, terribly burned . . .
She forced the thought away.

“Over here!” One of the men pointed toward a spot near the barn's entrance where the debris was piled high against a standing wall. “Listen, there it is again! Something's moving!”

Tori, who was farther away, held her breath, but she could hear nothing. She could only wait with Lauren, in an agony of undeniable hope, as each piece of wreckage was carefully lifted away.

Then there was a shout. “They're here! They're alive, both of them!”

Tori's knees buckled. She heard a sob from Lauren as two ghostly-looking men, singed, ragged, and coated with soot and ash, emerged from the rubble. Will was on his feet, stumbling through the debris. Sky, barely conscious, had to be supported between Beau and one of the paramedics.

Will's smoke-reddened eyes narrowed as he took in the scene around him. “Damn it, don't just stand there gawking!” he barked, gesturing toward Sky. “Get this man some oxygen!”

He needn't have spoken. The paramedics were already easing Sky onto a stretcher and clapping an oxygen mask over his face. But Will's take-charge manner was enough to show Tori that the man she knew so well was back.

Lauren had rushed to be near Sky, staying close as he was carried toward the waiting ambulance. As they loaded him, Tori heard her arguing with the paramedic. The young man was insisting that she couldn't ride along because they had to take Will, too. But so far, Will showed no sign of wanting to go.

Tori gazed at Will through the clouds of settling ash. Her eyes misted as she thought of how close she'd come to losing him. She checked the impulse to stumble through the debris and fling her arms around his neck. Will had never been big on emotional drama, especially not in front of others. But he had to know how much it meant for her to see him safe.

For a slow beat of time, their gazes held. He cleared his throat. “Tell Erin I'm all right,” he said.

“I'll tell her.” The calm words masked a storm of emotions Tori had never expected to feel again. Heaven help her, she'd never stopped loving this gruff, stubborn, impossible man. But would love ever be enough to heal the hurt between them?

One paramedic stepped close. “Mr. Tyler, we're waiting. You need to come with us in the ambulance.”

“The hell I do,” Will growled. “My damned barn just burned down. I can't leave now.”

“Don't be stubborn, Will,” Beau said. “You've got some nasty burns, and you've inhaled a lot of smoke. You need to get checked by a doctor. I'll keep an eye on things till you get back.”

“For once, do as you're told,” Tori said. “If you ride with Sky in the ambulance, you can keep an eye on him. I'll follow in my car with Lauren. After you've been checked out, I'll drive you home.”

Will's grime-coated features creased in a scowl. “Looks like I'm outgunned,” he muttered. “All right, but this better not take long.” He strode to the ambulance and climbed inside the back without help.

A press van had just pulled up to the barn. Will gave the reporters a contemptuous look before the doors closed behind him and the emergency vehicle, siren wailing, sped off toward the highway.

* * *

Natalie wrapped the baby boy in a clean blanket and placed him in the arms of his sixteen-year-old mother. The birth, thank heaven, had been an easy one. The baby was healthy, and the mother was doing fine. But knowing what she knew, Natalie could hardly go off and leave them alone.

Vonda gazed down at her son as if she couldn't believe he was real. Her fingertip brushed the small, perfect features, the little nub of a nose, the baby hands with their long fingers and tiny nails.

“He's a beautiful boy,” Natalie said. “What are you going to name him?”

“Ralph, after his father. We talked about that.” Her eyes welled with emotional tears. “Where's Ralphie? He's supposed to be here! Why hasn't he come home?”

Natalie had to look away. She'd received both messages Lauren had left on her phone—one saying that Will and Sky were alive, the other letting her know that Ralph Jackson had died in the fire. But how could she break the news to this poor girl? Vonda needed to hear it from someone she trusted. She needed her family to support her and soften the blow.

“Since he isn't here, why don't I call your parents?” Natalie offered. “They'll want to know you're all right, and they'll want to see their grandchild.”

“No!” Vonda turned against the pillow, clutching her baby. “My folks kicked me out when I got pregnant. Mom said she wouldn't stand for having a sinner in the family! Ralphie's all I've got! Please, just find him for me!”

Heartsick, Natalie murmured an excuse and walked out onto the stoop with her cell phone. She knew the girl's parents, of course, not that she had much liking for either of them. Vonda's father, Sheriff Abner Sweeney, had been involved in last spring's case against Beau. He'd also been the one to question and arrest Will. Her mother, Bethel, was a staunch, Bible-thumping churchgoer who'd birthed eight children, most of them girls. Vonda, her firstborn, had been the first to rebel and go astray. Natalie suspected she might not be the last.

But that was neither here nor there. As Natalie scrolled down the names on her cell phone, she could only hope that Abner and Bethel had enough Christian charity in their hearts to forgive the child who had nowhere else to turn.

The only phone number she had was the sheriff 's. By now, he probably knew about the fire, and might even know that Ralph was dead. But unless she could reach him, Abner Sweeney wouldn't know that he'd just become a grandfather.

He answered on the first ring. “What is it, Natalie? I'm on my way to a fire at the Tyler place. Goin' by what I heard on dispatch, it might've been dee-liberately set. D'you think Will Tyler would be desperate enough to burn his own barn for the insurance?”

With effort Natalie held her temper in check. “The fire is out. And I was with Will, in the house, when it started. We were about to eat Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Oh.” The sheriff sounded disappointed. “So what was it you wanted? Can it wait, or is it an emergency?”

“It's an emergency—yours. Your son-in-law is dead, and your daughter just had her baby, a little boy.”

She heard the squeal of brakes as he pulled off the road. “Say again?”

“Ralph died in the fire. I'm here with Vonda at their bungalow. She and the baby are fine, but she doesn't know about her husband yet. You and your wife need to get here. You need to be the ones to give her the news and take care of her.”

There was a beat of silence. “I'll come as soon as I can. But I don't know about Bethel. She can be a hard woman once she makes up her mind.”

“Bring her! I don't care if you have to hog-tie her to do it! This poor little girl needs her mother!”

Natalie ended the call.

* * *

Lights flashing and siren blaring, the ambulance barreled up the highway toward Lubbock. Will, riding in the back with Sky, had insisted on sitting up. Aside from minor burns, a raw throat, and smarting eyes, he felt fine. As he'd told the husky young paramedic, anybody who thought they could make him lie down was welcome to try. Since no one had challenged him, he'd taken a seat on the bench, where he could be close enough to look after Sky, and to talk to him.

Sky was awake. The oxygen was helping to revive him, but he was looking pretty rough. His scalp and face were pocked with burns where sparks had showered down from the blazing timbers. His hands had been burned as well, and his denim shirt was little more than scorched tatters. The burns would heal, but Will was more worried about Sky's lungs. There'd been enough oxygen in the burning barn to keep him alive, but he'd inhaled a dangerous amount of smoke. There'd be enough damage to keep him on humidified oxygen for a few days, at least. Maybe longer if there were complications.

Sky had saved every last animal in the barn and damn near died doing it. He seemed unaware of what a loss his death would have been to the ranch. But Will knew. This stubborn half-Comanche was as much a part of the Rimrock as the earth, the grass, the water, and all the living things that called it home. He was Bull Tyler's blood son, Will's own half brother. And yet he asked for no praise, no recognition of any kind except the freedom to care for what he loved.

Sky stirred and made a low sound. His eyes were open above the edge of the oxygen mask that covered his nose and mouth. He gazed up at Will as if he wanted to speak.

“Take it easy, brother,” Will said. “You need to keep still and just breathe.”

Brother?
Sky's singed eyebrows twitched in an unspoken question.

“You heard me. I've been waiting for the best time to tell you I knew. I guess that time's now.”

How?
Another question expressed by a look.

“Jasper told me. But I knew before that—maybe even before you did. You've got Bull's eyes and some of his mannerisms, and you're almost as mule-headed as he was. I suspected the truth for a long time, but when you got shot last spring, and Beau and I had to give you our AB-negative blood, the same type as Bull's, that cinched it. I knew you were a Tyler.”

“I'm guessing Beau hasn't given it much thought. But I could be wrong. I take it you've told Lauren.”

Sky's head moved on the pillow, a slight nod.

“Well, we'll leave it at that,” Will said as the ambulance swung into the hospital parking lot. “Just rest and get better. Tori's bringing Lauren with her. They should be along soon.”

The back of the ambulance opened to glaring afternoon sunlight. Paramedics laid Sky's stretcher on a gurney and whisked him through the doors of the emergency entrance. An orderly brought out a wheelchair for Will. He waved it away and kept walking, following his brother until someone pulled him aside.

CHAPTER 14

T
ori had stopped by the house long enough to grab her purse and keys, and to let Erin, Jasper, and Bernice know that Will and Sky were safe. Now, with Lauren buckled into the passenger seat, she was breaking speed limits on the highway to Lubbock.

“You didn't have to drive me,” Lauren said. “I could've taken my own car.”

Tori swung her station wagon past a lumbering hay truck. “You're too upset to drive,” she said. “Besides, I told Will I'd be there to take him home—that is, if the hospital doesn't keep him overnight. You're welcome to come with us or stay there with Sky. If you stay, somebody can pick you up in the morning.”

“You're pretty upset yourself. I can tell by the way you're driving.” Lauren gazed ahead at the yellowed plain and the road that sliced across it in a straight black line to the horizon. “Were you as scared as I was?”

“Scared enough,” Tori said. Days like today were part of ranch life. Lauren would learn that, if she hadn't learned already.

“Those damned horses!” Lauren muttered. “I love horses, too, but Sky almost died for them today—and they aren't even his. How am I supposed to wrap my mind around that?”

“Horses are like family to Sky,” Tori said. “If he cares for them so passionately, think how he'll be with his real family—you and your children. He'll do anything to provide for you and keep you safe.”

Lauren fell silent for a moment. “I'm pregnant, Tori,” she said.

“Oh—” Tori released her death grip on the steering wheel long enough to reach over and squeeze her friend's hand. “Does Sky know?”

“I just found out, myself.” She shook her head. “Maybe, today, it was just as well Sky didn't know. I keep asking myself, what if he'd had to make a choice between saving the horses and being there for his child—and he'd still chosen those damned horses?”

“Thinking like that will only muddy the water,” Tori said. “Believe me, I know. If I hadn't convinced myself that Will loved the Rimrock more than he loved me, maybe we'd still be married.”

Lauren was quiet for a few moments, as if pondering what she'd just heard. “What happened with you and Will, Tori?” she asked. “Seeing how you always seem to be there for each other, I can't help wondering what went wrong.”

Tori sighed. “Maybe it's time I told you. You sound as if you need to hear this.”

As the miles sped by, Tori told her the story—how Bull had tried to dominate the marriage and how Will had been caught in the conflict between his wife and his father. “After I lost the baby and found out I couldn't have more children, Bull treated me like a failure,” she said. “I begged Will to find us another place to live. But after Bull's accident, that was out of the question. Will needed to be there to oversee his father's care and run the ranch.”

“Why didn't you leave on your own?”

“I could have. But I still loved Will, and we both adored Erin. So I hung on . . . until I couldn't hang on any longer.”

Tori began the final chapter—how her father had died in Florida and Will had been too busy to join her for the funeral.

“And that was the final blow? That he wouldn't be there for you?”

“Not quite.” This was the hard part—the part she hadn't told Drew or even Natalie. But Lauren needed to hear it all. “There was a man,” she said, “a longtime friend of my father's. He was widowed and made no bones about being attracted to me, but I wasn't the least bit interested. He was just a friend, and barely that.

“When he heard about my father's death, he flew down from Washington, D.C., and did his best to be kind and helpful. Yes, maybe he was a little too friendly, but without Will there, I needed some support. My mother was a wreck, so I had to make a lot of the arrangements. I truly appreciated his help.

“Two days before the funeral, Will changed his mind and decided to come. He phoned the house to let me know. My mother took the call and told him I'd gone to lunch with this man. She went on and on about how helpful he'd been and how much I'd appreciated his being there. Will hung up the phone and went ballistic.”

Tori turned onto the street that led to the hospital. “When I didn't hear from him for the next three days, I gave him a call. He ripped me up one side and down the other—pretty much accused me of having an affair, which couldn't have been further from the truth. That was when I knew it was over. I came home two weeks later with divorce papers. End of story.”

Tori pulled into the hospital parking lot. How trivial it all sounded in the retelling—two proud, stubborn people who'd had a misunderstanding and couldn't forgive each other. But at the time it hadn't been trivial at all. It had been like the end of the world.

“And the man?” Lauren spoke as if she already knew. “Who was he?”

Tori pulled into a parking spot, turned off the engine, and unfastened her seat belt. “Congressman Garn Prescott, of course—your father.”

* * *

After Natalie's phone call Sheriff Abner Sweeney had driven back to town to pick up his wife. Bethel sat beside him now, her plump body rigid, her narrow-lipped mouth fixed in a straight line. She'd agreed to go with Abner. But he could sense her inner struggle. She had cast her daughter out for her sin. Now righteous judgment warred with compassion and motherly love.

Bethel, a preacher's only daughter, had grown up with her father's ironclad values. She'd raised her children as she had been raised, never dreaming that she'd one day be faced with an agonizing choice like this one.

“So Vonda and the baby are all right?” she asked Abner for perhaps the third time.

“That's what Natalie told me.”

“But she doesn't know her husband's dead?”

“That's what I understand. Natalie said it was our place to tell her.”

“You tell her, then. You're used to doing things like that.”

“Fine, I'll tell her. But you need to be there.” Abner was already wondering how Ralph had died. Natalie hadn't offered any details. Had Vonda's husband perished fighting the blaze? Or . . . but no, that didn't make sense. Why on earth would Ralph set fire to his employer's barn—especially if he couldn't make it out of the barn in time to save his own life?

Ralph's pickup sat in the graveled driveway, in front of Natalie's SUV. The old rust bucket wasn't fit for anything but scrap. He could sell it and give Vonda the money toward a decent car. Lord knows, she was going to need it.

Strange that Ralph wouldn't have driven to fight the fire. Covering the distance on foot would have wasted precious minutes. Had somebody else picked him up? Or had he walked to the barn before the fire started?

For now, those questions would have to wait. Abner had a job to do, but he was also a father. His helpless, grieving daughter needed him, and he would be there for her.

Natalie came out onto the stoop as they pulled up. She hadn't been friendly to Abner since that mess with Beau last spring. But at least she'd come when Vonda needed help.

“Your daughter and the baby seem fine,” she said before they could speak. “But just to be sure, you'll want to get them checked out by a real doctor, at the hospital.”

“Thank you,” Abner said. “I've been wondering about Ralph. How did he—”

“They found his body after the fire was out. That's all I know.”

“And they don't know what started it?”

“You'll have to ask the fire crew. Right now, your daughter needs you—and I need to go.” She strode out to her vehicle. By the time she drove away, Bethel had already hurried inside. Abner followed her.

Vonda, looking so young and scared that it almost broke his heart, was sitting up in bed, clutching her baby in her arms. She was wearing a clean nightgown, and the sheets looked as if they'd been changed. But his daughter's face was pale, her hair plastered in damp strings around her face. She was gazing down at her infant son, as if she had no idea what to do with him.

Bethel was bustling around the room, straightening this and that, avoiding eye contact with her daughter. His wife would come around, Abner thought. It just might take some time.

“Hello, Daddy.” Vonda managed a wan smile. “Would you like to hold my baby? His name is Ralph—Ralph Junior.”

Abner took his grandson and cradled him close. The pink, puckered face, flattened nose, and tiny, waving hands tugged at his heartstrings—a familiar ache that felt strangely sweet.

Abner knew he wasn't the best man in the world. He'd skated the edge of dishonesty more times than he liked to think about. But he loved his family. The instant bond with this little boy was like the closing of a lock. Whatever happened, he vowed, he would protect this child and see that he and his mother never wanted for anything. He'd been wrong about a lot of things, like letting Bethel banish their daughter. But nothing could be more right than the fierce love he felt for this small, new life. In every way it made him want to be a better man.

Vonda looked up at him. “Daddy, where's Ralphie? He's supposed to be here.”

Abner shook his head, knowing he had to face the hurt in her eyes.

“Has something happened to him?” Her voice broke. “Is that why you and Mama are here?” Her gaze widened as the truth struck her. “No!” she whispered. Then her voice broke into a keening wail. “No! Please, God, not Ralphie! No!
No!
”

“It's all right, honey.” Bethel leaned over the bed to gather her daughter in her arms. “It was God's will, to pay for your sin and bring you back to us. We're here now. We'll take care of you.”

* * *

Abner and Bethel had agreed it would be wise to take Vonda and the baby to the hospital. While Bethel got her ready to go, Abner stepped out onto the stoop and called in a pair of his deputies to investigate the fire. He would follow up on his own, later in the day. The blaze at the Tyler place was too well-timed to be an accident. He would bet money there was arson involved, maybe murder as well. And the key to it all could be his late son-in-law.

Abner had never thought much of Ralph Jackson. The boy was short on brains and ambition, and he hadn't made much effort to keep Vonda happy. But at least, with the Tylers, he'd had a secure job and a place to live. It didn't make sense that he'd risk it all by setting fire to the barn.

Maybe somebody else had set the fire and Ralph had caught them in the act. That could be reason enough to get him killed—but that theory would have to wait for the coroner's report. Abner was no Sherlock Holmes. But along with his experience and the reading he'd done, he knew how crime solving worked. If he could put this case to bed, it would raise his standing with the county government and the voters. Maybe, then, Clay Drummond would stop treating him like a damned stooge.

Bethel was taking her time getting Vonda ready for the hospital trip.
Probably a lot of emotion going on.
Abner was getting restless, when his gaze fell on Ralph's old truck. As long as he was here, just standing around, it wouldn't hurt to check it out.

He pulled a pair of latex gloves from the box he kept in his SUV, tugged them on, and walked over to the truck.

The driver's-side door was unlocked. No sign of the keys, but Ralph could've had them in his pocket. The floor was littered with empty Dos Equis beer cans and Snickers wrappers. Mummified French fries, cookie crumbs, and empty ketchup packets were lodged in the crease below the seat backs.

In the unlocked glove box, Abner found some gas receipts and a yellowed copy of the truck registration. Underneath these was a half-empty pack of condoms.
No surprise there. Vonda's better off without the cheating bastard.
But there was nothing here that might link Ralph to the fire in the barn.

Abner was about to climb out of the truck, when he saw that his shoelace was undone. Bending down to tie it, he noticed a crumpled plastic Shop Mart bag stuffed way back under the driver's seat. It was probably just more trash, but he'd be remiss to leave it.

With some stretching and grunting, he reached it, caught the corner, and gave a pull. He'd expected it to be empty, but the bag had a surprising heft to it. After dragging it free of the seat, he sat up, took a breath, and untied the knotted handles to look inside.

Abner's stomach lurched. Cold sweat beaded under his uniform. The bag was stuffed with cash—
lots
of cash, most of it in hundred-dollar bills.

* * *

Lauren sat on a folding chair next to Sky's hospital bed, listening to the labored sound of his breathing. Lightly sedated, Sky was veiled by a misted oxygen tent. Fluid dripped into an IV tube connected to his wrist. A beeping monitor above the bed tracked his pulse and blood pressure, as well as his oxygen level, which had been fearfully low at first, but was beginning to rise.

She yearned to put her arms around him, or at least hold his gel-bandaged hands. But that, she knew, would only cause him more pain. The doctor had said he would live. Sky was young and strong, he'd told her. His vitals were good, considering what he'd been through. His second-degree burns should heal in a few weeks. But he'd inhaled enough smoke to damage his lungs—that was the real worry. Another minute in that burning barn would have killed him.

She gazed down at the modest diamond engagement ring on her finger—the ring she hadn't taken off in the three months since Sky had placed it there. She'd accepted his proposal without a moment's hesitation. But now she had to face reality and ask herself the hard question. Could she really do this—open herself to heartbreak again?