Texas Tall (6 page)

“Isn't the back row where your students sit to make out?”

“At least they won't be sitting behind us. Is that a yes?”

She relented. “Sure. My house, seven-thirty?”

“Let's make it seven. We can get pizza before the movie.”

“Fine. Seven. See you then.” She ended the call. At least she'd have something to take her mind off Will's troubles tonight. Drew had a way of relaxing her, making her laugh. He never confronted her or made unreasonable demands the way Will had done when they were married. And Will would never offer to watch a chick flick just because he thought she'd enjoy it.

Drew is a gem,
Tori told herself. If she didn't grab him fast, some other woman would.

As she started the truck, a gust blasted a shower of leaves onto the windshield. Tori turned on the wipers to clear them away. She'd planned to drive to the ranch tonight to brief Will on the case and check on Erin. But given her date with Drew and the chance of a storm moving in, it made more sense to spend the night in town—which brought up the question of what would happen when Drew drove her home.

He'd said he needed to see her. Did that mean he wanted to take their relationship to a new level? Was she ready for that? Tori wasn't a prude. The one brief fling she'd had when she was still reeling from the divorce had been doomed from the start. And she'd never been one for casual sleeping around. She'd come to believe that love, or at least emotional intimacy, should be there before sex happened. Had she reached that point with Drew?

What would he do if she hadn't?

During her musings she'd let the truck idle too low and killed the engine. Shifting down, she started it again and pulled out of the parking spot. Her station wagon was still waiting for the arrival of a new starter. Maybe it was time she began shopping for a new vehicle, something that wouldn't strand her somewhere at night or break down in bad weather. The next time she saw Will, maybe she'd ask him for some suggestions.

Muttering under her breath, Tori ground the pickup's aging gears and roared out of the parking lot.

* * *

After lunch—a beef sandwich eaten off the kitchen counter—Will chose a sturdy paint gelding from the long barn, saddled it, and took the trail up to the back pastures. The windy weather wasn't the best for riding, but he'd wanted to check the stock and the fences before the coming storm. At least that was his excuse.

He didn't really need to go. He'd put Beau in charge of readying the pastures and the cattle for bad weather, and, much as Will was tempted, he'd learned better than to show up and try to supervise. Beau knew his job, and any interference from his big brother would only rile his temper. Will had resolved to keep his distance, but he wanted to get out of the house and see things for himself.

The events of the past few days had left him shaken and out of sorts. He felt the need to ride the ranch alone, to see the land and see himself as part of it. With so much uncertainty hanging over him, he needed a reminder of who he was, why he was here, and what he was fighting for.

Collar raised against the wind, Stetson jammed on and tied under his chin, he rode across the fire-scarred flat and up toward the edge of the foothills. The stiff breeze whipped waves across the yellow grassland and battered his sheepskin coat. A pair of ravens soared on the windy swells, tumbling as if in play.

In the pastures red-coated Hereford cattle clustered with their backs to the wind. After the summer drought and the fire that followed, Will had sold off most of his steers at a loss. The animals that remained were breeding stock—prime cows and bulls and last spring's half-grown calves—his best hope for the next season. If he could keep them fed and healthy over the winter, he'd have a good start on next summer's herd. But if the coming winter turned harsh, the price of extra hay and the calorie-rich cottonseed cake known as “cow candy” could bankrupt him.

In the distance he could see Beau's crew with the flatbed truck, setting up stacks of baled hay to serve as extra wind breaks for the cattle. Two generations ago, when Bull's father, Williston Tyler, had cleared the land for pasture, he'd had the foresight to leave clumps of cedar growing in place. Last summer's wildfire had destroyed many of the scrubby evergreens. A few stands had been spared, but if the storm turned out to be a bad one, the trees wouldn't be enough. Cold would be the worst danger. The cattle were still growing their long winter coats. They'd been given extra feed to strengthen their resistance, and heaters had been installed to keep their water tanks from freezing over. But the worry wouldn't ease till this early storm had passed.

Last summer, after the drought and the fire, he and Beau had taken out a hundred-thousand-dollar short-term bank loan, secured by some acreage, to tide the ranch over for a few months, pending the sale of the steers and Sky's colts. But the cattle had sold low; and with other Texas ranches in as much trouble as the Rimrock, few of their owners had cash to spend on new horses.

At the first of the year, the loan, along with the interest, would be due. If they could talk the bank into an extension, they had a chance of pulling through. Otherwise, they'd have no choice except to lose the land or sell it—a solution that would make Bull Tyler turn over in his grave.

As if spurred by the thought, he headed the horse uphill toward the escarpment. A forty-minute ride brought him to the mouth of a narrow box canyon with high, red sandstone walls. Sheltered from the wind, it was a mystical place. Soft red sand covered the floor. On the side where a sheer cliff rose straight up, a panorama of Native American petroglyphs—wild animals, warriors, mythic spirits, and many, many horses—paraded across the sandstone face, telling silent stories of a past that would never live again.

Will dismounted, tethered the horse, and walked up the canyon, enjoying the peace of the place. But someone had been here recently. For the space of a breath, Will felt the warning prickle at the back of his neck. Then he relaxed as he recognized the prints of Sky's worn soles and Lauren's narrow designer boots. This, he knew, was one of their favorite places.

Near the spot where Will stood, mesquite bushes screened a small, steep side canyon—the disputed canyon that his father had sold to Ferg Prescott years ago for a dollar. The last time Will had been here, the stream in its bed had been dammed at the top. Barbed wire had blocked the entrance with a sign reading,
PROPERTY OF PRESCOTT RANCH.
But as Will pushed his way through the brush, he realized something had changed. The barbed wire and the sign were gone. Water trickled down the rocks, the sound of it music to a rancher's ears.

Lauren had kept her word. But the parcel was still in Prescott hands, and she had nothing to gain by selling it. Will was doing his best to be patient, but with the threat of jail hanging over him, he needed to get the matter settled. Whatever happened next, he owed it to his father's memory to make the Rimrock Ranch whole again.

* * *

Will returned to the ranch house, hung up his coat and, hearing voices, found Jasper and Erin at the kitchen table, drinking cocoa with marshmallows. “You look like you could use some thawin' out,” Jasper said. “Pan's still hot on the stove. Help yourself to what's left.”

“Thanks.” Will emptied the steaming cocoa into a mug, skipping the marshmallows, which were too sweet for his taste.

“Daddy, can I go out and see Tesoro?” Erin asked. “Sky's out there. I just saw him drive up.”

“Have you finished your schoolwork?”

She grinned. “All done.”

“Fine, then. But put on a coat. It's brisk out there.”

Erin raced to get her coat. The front door opened and closed as she left the house. Will took a cautious sip of hot cocoa and settled back in his chair. He'd hoped to catch the old man alone for a quiet talk.

“I rode out to the petroglyph canyon today,” he said. “Lauren promised me Sunday that she'd free up the water in that little side canyon. It's been done. The fence and the sign are gone, too.”

Jasper's gaze narrowed beneath his grizzled brows. “But the gal hasn't budged on selling you back that land, has she?”

“She asked for more time. I'm trying to be patient and give her some rope.” Will studied the man who'd been more of a father to him than Bull Tyler ever had. “You don't like her much, do you?”

Jasper's scowl deepened. “She seems nice enough, all right. And she makes Sky smile, which takes some doin'. But she's Garn Prescott's daughter and Ol' Ferg's granddaughter, and they was both rotten, no-good skunks! I'll never trust a Prescott as long as I live!”

Will shook his head. “Well, I hope you change your mind, Jasper. When Lauren marries Sky, she'll be family.”

“She'll still be a Prescott. I'll wait to pass judgment.”

“Speaking of Old Ferg,” Will said, changing the subject, “I've always wondered why my dad sold him that little canyon—and for just a dollar. You've been with our family longer than anybody on the ranch, even me. I know there are stories Bull never wanted told. But he's gone, and I need to know. Are you ready to tell me?”

“Maybe.” Jasper's mouth tightened as if holding back the secret. Will waited, giving the old man a moment to ponder. When Jasper cleared his throat, Will braced for what he was about to hear.

“This was after your mother was killed in that wreck, you understand,” Jasper began. “Bull loved his wife. He mourned her till the day he died. But there was another woman he loved, too. He sold the land because of her—and to protect you and Beau.”

Will nodded, knowing better than to speak.

“I'm telling secrets I swore not to tell,” Jasper said. “But since I might not be long for this world, maybe it's time you heard. Bull got the woman pregnant. She knew she couldn't expect him to marry her, so she went home to her people in Oklahoma. She left a letter meant for Bull, but Ferg Prescott got his thievin' hands on it first. There were things in that letter that could've dirtied Bull's reputation, if they came out, and hurt his children down the line.

“The blackmailing bastard offered Bull the letter in exchange for selling him that piece of land.” Jasper pushed to his feet, a signal that the story was done. “So now you know. That's just one reason why I don't trust the Prescotts, and there are plenty of others.”

“What about the woman?” Will asked, already guessing the answer.

“Bull sent a man to find her and give her money for the baby. But he never saw her again.”

“She was Sky's mother, wasn't she? Does Sky know?”

“He does. I told him. And I reckon he's told Lauren.” Jasper hobbled toward the kitchen door.

“One more thing,” Will said. “What about the Spanish gold? Is there anything to that old rumor?”

Pausing in the open doorway, Jasper turned and gave Will a dark glance. “I've told you enough,” he said. “That's a story for another time—if I ever choose to tell it.”

* * *

Being with Drew was just the diversion Tori needed. Tonight's date—pizza, cokes at the Burger Shack, and a silly romantic movie—had made her feel seventeen again. They walked out of the theater arm in arm.

Now what?

Wind blasted them as they walked down the block to his sleek gray Honda. “You've got school tomorrow. It's probably past your bedtime.” Tori managed a nervous laugh. “I sound like I'm talking to Erin, don't I?”

He ushered her to his car and opened the door, the perfect gentleman. “Actually, I'm not quite ready to turn in. How about a nice, grown-up beer at the Blue Coyote? We can wind down and talk a little. Sound good?”

“Sure,” Tori answered, hesitant but wanting to please him. She liked Drew, liked him a lot. But was she ready for what he might be leading up to?

They drove the few blocks to the last corner in town, where the cheap neon sign cast a blueish glow over the customers who wandered in and out. Late on a weeknight, the place wasn't crowded. The big-screen TV above the bar was turned off, the classic country music muted and mellow with a throbbing underbeat.

Drew guided Tori to a quiet corner booth, his hand warm and possessive on the small of her back. They took their seats and ordered two Coronas from the tired-looking blond waitress. The girl came right back with their drinks. She looked too young to be working in a bar, but nobody seemed to care.

Tori studied him across the table. He was a handsome man, with regular features and light brown hair that almost matched his good-natured eyes. He wore a brown cashmere sweater under his fleece-lined wool jacket. Flawless conservative style.

“I had fun tonight,” she said. “Thanks for talking me into this.”

He reached across the table and captured her hand. “I'm hoping the night might get even better,” he said. “I'm falling hard for you, Tori. But before I crash and burn, I need to know where we're headed. Are we ready for the
‘My place or yours'
question?”

Tori had sensed what was coming, but his words had still caught her off balance. Scrambling for a reply that would put him off, without driving him away, she averted her gaze for a moment and glanced around the room.

In the shadowed space behind the bar, a figure stood, holding a glass and a towel—a woman with a buxom figure and flame-red hair. Everybody knew who she was, of course. But what startled Tori was that Stella Rawlins was looking straight at her, those green eyes blazing with pure, murderous hatred.

CHAPTER 6

C
hilled by Stella's look, Tori shifted position, turning inward in the booth. Seated at an angle, she could no longer see the woman behind the bar. But she still felt the prickling awareness of those eyes, like a spider crawling up her back.

For the first time, she realized how wise Will had been to insist on keeping Erin safe at the ranch. Stella Rawlins was capable of anything, and now her hatred was focused on the Tylers.

As Will's ex-wife and his lawyer, was she in danger, too? Maybe. But she refused to let that make a difference. She had her life and her work, and nobody, not even Stella, was going to intimidate her.

“Tori?” Drew's polite voice broke into her thoughts. “Did I say the wrong thing?”

She pulled her attention back to him, choosing her words with care. “No, you said the perfect thing, Drew. I appreciate your honesty. I like you a lot—more than
a lot.
I like the way you make me feel and the way you always seem to be here for me.” She licked her lips, a nervous gesture. “When you kiss me, I feel all the right tingles. But I hope you'll be patient a little longer. Right now, while I'm under so much stress, isn't a good time to be swept into something new—not even if it's something wonderful.”

Had she been tactful enough? He looked disappointed. But he managed a smile. “If you're under stress, I can think of a great remedy,” he joked. “But I understand—at least I'm trying to. Since I happen to think you're a woman worth waiting for, I'll try to be patient. But don't expect me to wait forever, Tori.”

“I know better than that. Just a little more time, that's all I'm asking.” She nodded toward her half-emptied glass. “I think I'd better leave the rest. Too much beer has an unflattering effect on me.”

“Ready to go, then?” Fishing out his wallet, he left a couple of bills on the table. Then he rose, gave Tori his hand, and ushered her outside. The wind had risen to a howl. It whipped Tori's coat around her body as they walked to the car. The air carried the earthy scent of a coming storm. She filled her lungs with it, breathing away the stale, smoky odors of the Blue Coyote and the memory of those hate-filled eyes, watching her from the shadows.

They drove back to her house, saying little.
It isn't too late to reverse course and invite him in,
Tori reminded herself. She had little doubt that Drew would be a good lover, tender and considerate. But tonight she would be jittery, nervous, and torn by doubts. No, this wasn't a good time. When it happened—
if
it happened—she wanted to be ready.

He pulled the car into her driveway, walked her to the front door, and gave her a lingering kiss. “Think about what I said,” he murmured as she unlocked the door. “Call me if you change your mind.”

From the open doorway, she watched his big, sleek car glide out of the driveway. As the taillights vanished down the street, she closed the door behind her and switched on a lamp. The house was quiet. Safe, she thought, unless one of Stella's minions was hiding in a closet, ready to jump out at her. Maybe she should have invited Drew inside. At least she wouldn't have been here alone.

Laughing at her own fear, she walked through the split-level house, turning on the lights. Nothing. She was being silly. All the same, she was glad Erin was safe on the Rimrock with Will.

She paused, thinking of her daughter. When she'd brought Erin to the ranch on Saturday, she hadn't planned on leaving her there. Most of the clothes Erin liked, along with spare underthings, sanitary pads, schoolbooks, and other necessities, were here. Tori had already packed a suitcase for her and planned to take it when she drove to the ranch tomorrow. But with a storm moving in, the roads might be better tonight. She glanced at her watch. It was barely ten-thirty, not too late to change clothes, make the twenty-mile drive to the ranch, and stay the night in Beau's old room.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in her jeans and her warm ranch coat, she was driving down Main Street, headed out of town. After she passed the last streetlight, the night was pitch-black, darkened by the clouds that had poured in over the caprock to fill the sky. Wind battered the old pickup, threatening to blow it off the road. Tori's fingers cramped on the wheel as she struggled to hold it steady.

She'd been driving about ten minutes when the storm broke in full fury. Lightning streaked across the sky. A fusillade of marble-sized hailstones blasted the vehicle with a clattering roar, covering the road in an instant. Worried but calm, Tori geared down and turned on the wipers. She'd driven in bad storms before. She'd be fine.

The windshield had fogged over. Remembering too late that the truck had no air-conditioning to clear the glass, she punched the defroster button and cleared a spot with her hand. Her headlights showed nothing but white. She was driving blind. But she'd traveled this road hundreds of times over the years. The ranch turnoff couldn't be more than a few minutes ahead. She didn't dare pull off the road and wait. The storm could get even worse, stranding her. She had to get to the house.

The truck crept forward through the swirling whiteness. Hailstorms tended to pass with the storm front, giving way to rain or sleet. Surely, this one would stop in the next few minutes. If anyone in the house had left a light on, she'd be able to see it in the distance and find the gravel lane that turned off the main road. Maybe she should call. But her purse, with her phone in it, was out of easy reach. If she braked to find it, she could kill the engine or skid on the ice-slicked road.

She pushed on, minute after tension-fraught minute, inching forward with the defroster on full blast. By now, she knew she'd missed the turnoff to the lane. But the road's steep edges gave her no room to turn around without the risk of sliding off and getting stuck. What she needed was a wide spot or, better yet, a side road to a ranch or farm where she could drive in, back out, and make the turn.

The hail had given way to a driving, icy sleet that froze on the surface of the road. As the whiteout cleared to a dark gray, Tori could make out the road's shoulder in the headlights. Just ahead, a rutted lane cut off to the right, probably leading to a farm—just what she'd been looking for. Tapping the brake, she eased the wheel into a careful right turn. So far, so good. But she'd only gone a few feet down the cutoff when she realized her mistake. The farm road sloped at a sharp angle from the high shoulder of the road. Under these icy conditions, its steep surface could be too slippery for the truck to back out.

She stopped the vehicle, pulled the hand brake, and shifted into neutral, with the engine still idling. Surely, the old pickup would have four-wheel drive. Tori searched on and under the dashboard, but couldn't find any way to switch it over. All she could do was try to back out.

With a muttered prayer she shifted into reverse, released the hand brake, and floored the gas pedal. The engine roared. The worn tires spun on the slick ice. But the truck didn't move.

She slumped over the wheel, collecting her thoughts. The only option left was to keep going down the farm road and hope it led to someplace where she could find shelter.

Taking a deep breath, she drove slowly forward. Beyond the reach of the truck's headlights, the road descended into a black fog. Between the storm and the clouded windshield, Tori was driving almost blind. She didn't see the electric wire fence and the bulky forms of cattle on the far side of it until she was about to crash into it.

Swallowing a scream, she slammed her foot on the brake. The truck fishtailed and skidded to a stop, inches from the fence.

The engine had died. Shaking, Tori turned off the ignition and pulled the hand brake. She couldn't go forward; she couldn't back up; she'd be a fool to get out of the truck in the storm. She wasn't going anywhere. It was time to find her phone and call for help.

She'd tossed her purse into the backseat with Erin's suitcase. Hooking the strap with her finger, she dragged the purse into the front and fished out her cell phone. The display screen showed a low-battery signal. Tori muttered an unladylike curse. She usually plugged in the phone when she went to bed, but it was too late for that now, and she'd left her car charger in her station wagon.

Mentally crossing her fingers, she scrolled to Will's number and pressed
call.
Her heart sank as she counted the rings. No answer. When his voice message came on, she spoke rapidly. “Will, I'm stuck off the road in the storm, somewhere past—”

She broke off in midsentence. Her phone had gone dark.

* * *

Will had gone to bed early in the hope of getting some needed rest. But between the storm outside and the worry demons in his head, sleep was impossible. Around ten-thirty, he rolled out of bed, dressed, and took a moment to look in on Erin. Then, shrugging into his sheepskin coat, he went out to his truck.

Icy sleet spattered the pickup as he drove the back roads of the Rimrock, using his powerful spotlight to check every fence, every pasture where the cattle were gathered. Not that he could do much if any of them were in trouble. That would have to wait for daylight. But every animal was precious. In terms of hard cash, the death of any cow, calf, or steer would mean a two-thousand-dollar loss to the ranch.

The crews had done all they could to protect the cattle against cold and wind. But in an open pasture, there wasn't much that could be done about lightning. As a boy Will had seen what one lightning strike could do to a closely packed herd. The memory of those charred, swollen bodies would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

There'd been lightning strikes, dangerously close, as the storm front moved through. Dawn would tell if the lightning had done any damage. Tonight there was nothing he could do.

He was turning around to go back to the house when the spotlight caught a movement along the fence. Driving closer, Will saw that one of the spring calves, probably panicked by the storm, had run headlong into the fence and become caught in the wire. Unless it was cut loose, the young animal wouldn't last till morning. Turning up his collar, Will climbed out in the icy downpour and hauled his toolbox out of the back of the truck. He got a rope as well. If the six-hundred-pound calf tried to fight him, he'd need a way to control it. Maybe he ought to call the bunkhouse for some help. But he remembered then that he'd left his cell phone on the nightstand by the bed. He was on his own.

Fortunately for him, the calf had worn itself out struggling and didn't put up much resistance. Still, it took Will a good twenty minutes, working in the glare of the headlights, to cut through the tangle of wire and free the calf, which loped off bawling for its mother. By then, his hands were numb inside his soaked, half-frozen leather gloves. His teeth were chattering, his clothes clammy against his chilled skin.

He took time to close the hole in the fence and put away his tools. Then he piled into the truck, turned up the heater, and headed back to the house.

At least he wouldn't have to worry about Tori tonight. She'd phoned Erin that afternoon, saying she had a date that night and planned to drive out to the ranch in the morning. She was probably snuggled in a warm bed with that fancy new man of hers right now. Well, why the hell not? Tori was a free woman. She could damn well sleep with anybody she wanted. What was it to him? Right now, all he wanted was a hot shower and a few hours of decent rest before first light.

He'd made it to his bedroom and was peeling his wet clothes off his shivering body when he remembered his cell phone. Reflexively, he reached for it. He'd been out of the house for more than an hour. Tired as he was, on a night like this, he needed to check for messages.

There was only one. Will's throat jerked tight as he heard Tori's frightened voice, cutting off before she could tell him where she was, if she even knew. The fool woman must've decided to come tonight, after all. And she'd been caught in the storm, driving blind in that old truck with its worn tires. Lord, she could be anywhere. He checked the time on the message. She must've called soon after he'd left the house. Wherever she was, she'd been there for at least an hour.

Will grabbed for dry clothes and pulled them on in urgent haste. Somewhere out there, in the storm, lost and cold and scared, Tori was waiting for him to find her.

* * *

The cab of the rusty pickup was frigid inside. Shivering beneath her midweight coat, Tori searched the backseat for some kind of blanket or even an old spare jacket. But the truck had been left clean. She found nothing.

She was tempted to start the engine and turn on the heater, but the gas tank was almost empty—and in this old vehicle, there was the worry of an exhaust leak filling the cab with deadly carbon monoxide. Likewise, if she left the lights on, the truck might be easier to spot. But if no one came by, she could run the battery so low that the truck wouldn't start.

She checked the luminous dial on her watch. It was after midnight. She'd been stuck here more than an hour. There was no way to know if Will had gotten her message, or if anybody was out looking for her.

Maybe she should have called Drew instead. Sensible fellow that he was, he would probably have called the highway patrol. The troopers would have found her by now. She'd be safe and warm somewhere.

But Will? If she'd reached him at all, the man would be out driving the roads in the storm, growing more frustrated and annoyed by the minute. If he found her, she could expect an angry chewing-out all the way back to the ranch for putting herself in danger. She imagined his Bull Tyler voice, as she'd always called it, dressing her down as if she were a misbehaving child.