Texas True (16 page)

Natalie settled in with a little purring sound. She was already drifting into peaceful slumber.

At first light, Beau stood, stretched his cramped limbs, and wandered into the kitchen to start the coffeemaker. The night had been quiet, with no sign that Slade had come around. But he wanted to make sure.

While the coffee was brewing, he went out the front door, locked it behind him, and walked the perimeter of the house and clinic. He saw no fresh boot prints, no unfamiliar tire tracks or any other sign that someone had been here in the night.

Satisfied, he went back inside and poured himself a cup of coffee. He would need to wake Natalie soon. He wanted to help her choose a gun and show her how to load and fire it. A 20-gauge double-barrel shotgun would be light enough for her to shoot without too much recoil, simple to aim, and deadly enough at close range to blast any intruder to kingdom come. There was bound to be one in Slade's gun safe.

But would Natalie have the guts to pull the trigger, especially if the target was her estranged husband?

Beau could only hope it wouldn't come to that. If Slade did show up, the sight of the gun and the awareness of what it could do would hopefully be enough to keep him at a distance.

Once he got her set up with the gun, it would be time to leave. He was needed at the ranch, and for appearance's sake, he wanted to be gone before some passing busybody saw him backing out of Natalie's garage.

Setting the coffee cup on the counter, he walked into the guest room to wake her. She lay on her side, so beautiful that she almost stopped his heart.

Last night he'd given her a needed release. But he knew better than to read too much into that. This morning she could wake up and see him in a different light, and the chasm of time and hurt that had separated them would open again.

Either way, what happened next would be up to her.

One bare foot peeked out from under the quilt. Beau reached down and gave her toe a playful tug. She stirred, rolled onto her back, and opened her eyes. “Hello, you,” she murmured dreamily.

“Time to get moving, sleepyhead,” he said, giving her a grin.

“Not quite yet.” She held up her arms, fingers beckoning. “Come here.”

Laughing, he bent down to give her a light kiss. As their lips brushed, her arms locked around his neck.

“You said something about ‘to be continued.' ” Her voice was a kittenish growl. “So continue.”

Heart pounding, he deepened the kiss, then pulled away. “You're sure this is what you—”

“Shut up and get undressed, Beau Tyler.”

His erection sprang free as he unzipped his jeans. Peeling off his clothes and boots, he lowered himself to the bed and into her waiting arms. She was all sweetness, all warmth and eagerness, pulling him close, offering him her mouth, her perfect little breasts, and the hungry heat between legs, urging him with little whimpers to take her and ease the throbbing need that drove them both.

As he found the familiar sweet spot and eased his shaft into her moist, welcoming silk, Beau felt a sense of completion, as if he'd come full circle. After a long, dark, and painful journey, he was, at last, home.

 

Natalie stood at the living room window, watching Beau back the battered ranch pickup out of the driveway. Every inch of her body tingled in the afterglow of his lovemaking. It was as if they'd never been apart, but even more poignant this time because they were both older and wiser, both scarred with their own personal wounds and in desperate need of healing.

Her eyes followed the tailgate as the vehicle grew smaller with distance and disappeared around the corner. Making love with Beau had been as natural as breathing.

Just like that, it was like spinning backward through a time warp. A life with Beau was all she'd ever desired. But could she trust him this time? Could she trust fate not to snatch him away from her again?

If she wanted a life with Beau, she would have no choice except to gamble with her heart a second time. Right now the way looked clear. Given Slade's history of infidelity and abuse, the court was likely to grant her a speedy divorce. Then, after a decent interval, she and Beau would be free to marry.

So why was this dark premonition hanging over her? Why couldn't she shake this irrational fear that, once again, some unforeseen force was lurking in the shadows, waiting to tear them apart?

She glanced back at the double-barreled 20-gauge shotgun that was propped against the end of the couch. Before leaving, she'd opened the gun safe with the new combination Tori had left her. The safe was crammed full of Slade's guns, which he'd collected avidly for years—everything from antique muzzle-loaders to modern military assault rifles, many of them loaded. Beau had been forced to remove most of the guns from the safe before he found a weapon she could use.

After he'd replaced the guns and she'd locked the safe, he'd given her a brief lesson on how to load and fire the lightweight shotgun. Just touching the trigger had made Natalie's skin crawl, but she'd promised Beau she'd keep it with her at all times, in the house and in her vehicle.

She could only pray she would never have to use it.

 

Sky parked his dusty pickup outside the front office of Haskell Trucking, climbed out of the cab, and closed the door with a barely audible click. A middle-aged driver, outside for a smoke, took one look at him and disappeared around the corner of the prefab building. Sky Fletcher was known to be a quiet man. He was even quieter when he was angry.

Walking in the front door, he saw Slade Haskell sitting behind the counter. The man looked like hell, his clothes rumpled, his eyes bloodshot and rheumy, his jaw sporting a scruffy beard. Looking up, he eyed Sky with a surly glare. Sky had heard his story from Beau. But even he was surprised at Haskell's condition.

“What d' you want, Fletcher?” he grunted.

“I heard Lute was working here.”

“Out back. You'll see him.”

“Thanks.” Sky turned toward the door.

“Fletcher.”

Sky paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

Haskell's expression had turned savage. “The next time you see that bastard Beau Tyler, you tell him I'm not done with him. I'm comin' to get him, and when I'm through, he'll never mess with another man's wife again!”

With a curt nod, Sky walked out the door. He would warn Beau, of course, but Haskell's threat hadn't surprised him. The man was all bluff and bluster, and today he didn't look fit to battle a prairie dog.

Walking around the building, he spotted Lute across the gravel parking lot. He was standing next to an empty cattle truck, a clipboard in his hand, evidently going over some shipping instructions with the driver. A rush of cold anger tightened the grim line of Sky's mouth. The boy appeared to be doing well for himself, but his near-fatal mishandling of the Tylers' prize mare topped Sky's short list of unforgivable sins.

Lute had seen him. Sky remained where he was, watching as the boy wavered between running away and coming over to account for himself. In the end he seemed to decide that running would only make things worse.

“Hullo, Sky.” Lute looked down at the clipboard, unable to meet his cousin's accusing eyes.

“When I brought you to the Tylers', I told you your behavior would reflect on me and on our family. It seems you didn't care.”

Lute's lower lip jutted out as his anger welled up. “You said I could be a cowboy! But you gave me a job shoveling shit!”

“That wasn't just a job. It was your first lesson. I'd planned on training you to help me work with the new colts.”

“Yeah? Well, too bad. I got sick of it. Now I've got a job where people respect me! I don't stink at the end of the day, and I'm even making decent money! See that blue truck over there? It's mine, bought and paid for!”

Sky glanced across the lot to where the employee cars were parked. The light blue truck had some rust spots and a sagging rear bumper, but he knew it was the first vehicle Lute had ever owned. Sky remembered the beat-up Ford Bronco he'd bought himself and driven with such pride. For a young man barely out of his teens, it was power and status. Heady stuff.

“Is owning your own truck worth working for a drunken wreck like Slade Haskell?” he asked Lute.

Lute thrust out his chin. “I won't be workin' for Slade much longer. He's goin' to jail soon. And when he's gone, Stella says—” He broke off as if he'd revealed too much. “I've almost got my trucker's license. Once I get that, I'll have everything I want, and I won't have to lick anybody's stinkin' boots!”

Sky's cold anger still blazed. But it was tempered with a twinge of pity. Lute was in for some hard lessons. But the young fool had blown his chances on the ranch. It was time to cut the strings.

“It sounds like you've made your decision,” he said. “I wish you the best, Lute. But you're finished on the ranch. You're never to set foot on Tyler land again, and if I catch you anywhere near my horses, I'll whip you within an inch of your life.”

 

Lute watched his cousin stride back around the building. A moment later the engine of Sky's pickup roared to life and faded down the street. Sky was a fool, he told himself. He'd spent most of his life working for the almighty Tylers, and what did he have to show for it? A lot of big, fat nothing. He'd made their horses prized all over Texas, but the family still treated him like the fatherless half-breed Comanche bastard he was.

Not that Sky was his concern. Right now he had weightier issues on his mind. Slade's trial date was getting closer. Lute had spent the cash from Stella to buy the truck. But he still needed to do what she'd paid him for.

Slade's fight with Beau Tyler had left Lute with the makings of a perfect plan—a way to eliminate not just one man he hated but two. The only trouble was, the plan wasn't coming together fast enough. First he'd needed a weapon—no way was Stella going to give him anything that could be traced back to her, and Slade's guns were locked away. He'd solved that problem a few nights ago by making a night raid on the Tyler place. Jasper kept a loaded Remington 30.30 deer rifle strapped under the seat of the ATV he drove around the ranch. It had been an easy matter to sneak into the shed, unbuckle the gun from its place, and hike back to the truck he'd left down the road.

Stealing a rifle that could be traced to the Tylers had been a stroke of brilliance. But he still needed to get Slade somewhere isolated where he could use it. Lute had never killed a man before, never even come close. But there was a first time for everything. And when he imagined Slade shooting pretty little Jess and dumping her body like so much trash, he knew he was capable of pulling the trigger.

Stella was getting impatient. She hadn't said so in words, but he could tell by the looks she gave him when he came into the bar. Time was running short. If he didn't act soon, he could lose everything he'd worked for.

The idea struck him like a thunderbolt. It was so perfect he had to restrain himself from laughing out loud.

Sky's visit had played right into his hands. The copy machine in the front office was stocked with plain white paper. Lute, thanks in part to his mother's training, was an accomplished forger. Beau Tyler had been the one to sign his payroll checks at the ranch, and Lute, out of long habit, had memorized his signature.

All he had to do was wait for Slade to visit the restroom. Then he could take a few sheets of paper and set his plan in motion. Lute smiled a secret smile. This was going to be freakin' fun.

 

Lute waited till after lunch before he sidled into the front office, where Slade sat hunched at the desk nursing a Corona. Slade glanced up with a scowl.

“Sorry I was too busy to catch you sooner,” Lute apologized. “Sky came by to deliver a message. He wanted me to give this to you.” He fished a tightly folded sheet of paper out of his pocket.

Slade's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who's it from?”

Lute shrugged and passed the note across the desk. He'd written three different versions before deciding this one would have the most impact. Watching Slade's expression as he unfolded and read it, Lute knew he'd made the right choice:

Slade, you bastard, Natalie is my woman now. I want to make sure you never bother her again. Let's me and you fight it out man to man. Meet me tonight at 10 by the bog where you dumped that dead girl. Come alone. I'll be waiting. If you don't show, I'll know you're nothing but a filthy, stinking coward.

Beau Tyler

Most of the note was hand printed, but it was signed in Beau's unmistakable scrawl. Lute, who'd dropped out of school in his junior year, had never been much of a writer. But, as he'd expected, Slade was too mad to notice any minor grammatical mistakes or crude language. And the hint that Beau knew what he'd done to Jess would give Slade one more reason to want to kill him.

True, Slade had lost his truck and his driver's license. But he had access to vehicles at work. At night on back roads, who was going to catch him? He wasn't supposed to carry a gun, either, but he'd have no trouble getting his hands on one.

Lute watched Slade crush the note and stuff it into his shirt pocket. There was no way Slade would miss tonight's rendezvous. But the man waiting for him wouldn't be Beau Tyler. Lute would see to that.

T
hat night was one of those rare evenings when everything seemed right with the world. The setting sun had streaked the clouds with crimson and gold, casting a glow that deepened to violet and indigo as dusk crept across Rimrock land. Swallows darted through the twilight. The blooming honeysuckle that framed the porch steps perfumed every breath of air.

Sitting on the porch with Will, Jasper, and the dog, Beau experienced a rare sense of satisfaction. The swelling was down in Will's leg, and despite some lingering pain, he was chafing to be back in the saddle. His recovery, along with Sky's return, would leave Beau with more time to concentrate on the business and record-keeping facets of the ranch. He couldn't claim to enjoy the job. But in the years since Bull's injury, everything from ledgers to tax records to studbooks had deteriorated. As the only person on the ranch who'd ever held an actual desk job, the task of straightening out the mess had fallen to him. Knowing that the ranch's long-term survival depended on good management, Beau had resolved to grin and forge ahead, maybe even call Lauren Prescott over to help.

Everyone seemed in a celebratory mood tonight. Maybe that was because Erin had arrived to spend the summer on the ranch. Today the whole ranch family had joined in the welcome. Bernice had made Erin's favorite chocolate cake. Sky had supervised an hour of training with her foal, and Will had challenged her to a round of chess—a game she'd last played with her grandfather.

After lunch, Beau and Jasper had driven her out on the range to take turns plinking at tin cans with Bull's boyhood .22. The pop of gunfire still awakened memories of Iraq, but Beau had entered into the fun, laughing when Erin teased him for missing a target.

Jasper had reached under the seat of his ATV, meaning to show her the 30.30 that Bull had given him years ago. To the old man's distress, the rifle was missing. “It was there last week, and I haven't touched it,” he said. “That gun means a lot to me. Bull even had my name engraved on the stock.”

“I'll put the word out,” Beau had promised him. “It's bound to turn up.” Puzzled, he'd written a notice to post in the bunkhouse and passed the message on to Sky. A theft on the ranch was cause for instant dismissal. It was hard to believe any of the hands would steal the old man's prized rifle, especially a gun that could so easily be traced. It was the one shadow that had darkened an otherwise happy day.

Erin had begged to sleep in the barn with Tesoro, but Will had drawn the line at that. Tonight she was in the house, texting her friends and rearranging her old bedroom.

Beau had never spent much time around children. Struck by how much he'd enjoyed Will's daughter today, he found himself wondering what it would be like to raise children of his own.

Beau was still lost in thought when Will dropped a bombshell.

“I got a call from Dad's lawyer in Lubbock. He'll be coming here tomorrow to read the will.”

“Dad left a will?” The announcement had startled Beau. “How long have you known about this?”

“A while.” Will leaned back in his rocker. “I'd have mentioned it sooner, but I didn't want to cause a stir till it was time.”

That was like Will, keeping a firm hand on everybody's strings, Beau thought. “And why some lawyer in Lubbock?” he asked. “Tori's a lawyer. Why not just use her?”

“Would you hire your son's ex-wife to make out your will? Dad liked to keep things private, even from me. Evidently the lawyer's an old school friend. Dad called him and asked him out to the ranch a couple of weeks before he died. He must've sensed what was coming.”

“So you haven't seen the will yourself?”

“Not a word of it.”

Beau scowled into the twilight. He'd never been fond of surprises, and he sensed there might be a few in store. “One more question. Why now? Why not sooner?”

“The lawyer wanted to wait till Sky was back. Evidently he's to be included.”

“Interesting.” Beau glanced at Jasper, who hadn't said a word.
The old man knows more than he's telling,
he thought. He might have questioned him, but at that moment Jasper rose to his feet and stretched.

“Well it's been a long day. Guess I'll turn in. See you boys in the morning. Maybe that rifle will turn up tomorrow.” With that he hobbled off the porch and headed for his quarters, the Border collie tagging along after him.

Will rose, too. “Maybe I'll catch the evening news,” he said. “Coming, Beau?”

Seized by a sudden restlessness, Beau shook his head. “Maybe I'll drive into town.”

“Suit yourself. Just make sure you're here tomorrow for the lawyer.” Will vanished inside. Beau hadn't told him about his new relationship with Natalie, but it seemed his brother had figured things out on his own.

Beau found the truck keys and backed the vehicle out of the shed, deciding it wouldn't hurt to swing by Natalie's house, just to make sure she was safe. Switching on the radio, he swung the truck around and headed toward the highway.

Behind the wheel of the company flatbed, Slade was sweating bullets. If the cops caught him driving, especially with a loaded gun in the vehicle, he'd be right back in jail. But he couldn't pass up the chance to meet that bastard Beau Tyler and blow him to kingdom come.

He'd learned the hard way that he couldn't beat Beau in a fistfight. But he could sure as hell get the jump on him with the Smith & Wesson .38 he'd kept stashed in his desk—a gun the police had missed. After the way he'd moved in on Natalie, Beau Tyler didn't deserve to live.

Slade had grown up in this country, and he knew all the back roads, including the ones on the Tyler place. He hadn't killed Jess, but when Stella had given him orders to dump her body, he'd known better than to ask questions. The bog had been his choice—a gesture, like leaving a dead cat on the Tylers' doorstep. It worried him that Beau had guessed what he'd done. Maybe the bastard was just taking stabs in the dark. In any case, unless he'd told others, whatever Beau believed wouldn't be a problem much longer.

As he swung onto a narrow dirt road, Beau's note crackled in his shirt pocket. Slade planned to be at the bog well ahead of his enemy. He was a crack shot. If he was already lying in wait when Beau appeared, all he'd have to do was aim and pull the trigger. He'd weighed that plan against the satisfaction of calling Beau out first. But the safer strategy had won out. Beau was a trained combat veteran. If he'd brought a weapon, too, things could go the wrong way.

The heavy pistol on the seat beside him was one he'd bought in Piedras Negras. It was unregistered in the U.S. and couldn't be traced to him. After the shooting, he'd wipe it clean of prints and toss it in some ditch. No one could connect him to the crime, except maybe that little worm Lute. But Lute hated Beau, too, and even if he had proof, the kid would know enough to keep his mouth shut.

He slowed down as he neared the bog. The swampy area covered more than an acre, but the plan was to meet Beau where he'd dumped Jess's body.

The moon was full tonight, casting a clear light over the rank cattails. Frogs croaked an eerie chorus in the shallows. Clouds of gnats hovered above the murk. Parking the truck out of sight in the tall mesquite, he picked up the pistol and stepped down from the high cab. Maybe when this was done, he should just take the truck and hightail it to Mexico. Good idea, except that he was going to need cash. If he could get to his secret bank account in Lubbock, maybe he could—

Slade's last thought ended in blackness as a high-caliber bullet slammed into his skull.

 

It was 9:22 p.m. when Beau pulled up to the Blue Coyote. The parking lot was almost full. The sounds of the NBA basketball game on the big-screen TV blared from the high, open windows. Inside, there was no place to sit. Standing in the doorway, Beau surveyed the crowd. The harried young waitress was rushing between tables, balancing trays of drinks. Stella, looking frazzled, was tending bar. If she noticed Beau, she gave no sign of it. There was no sign of Nigel.

Thinking he might be in the restroom, Beau waited a few minutes. When the man didn't show, he gave up and left. He would have to snap the photo another time.

His visit to Natalie's place proved equally fruitless. The only response to the doorbell was the rapid-fire bark of a dog from the back of the clinic. A peek in the garage's side window revealed that her SUV was gone. She was probably tending to a four-legged patient or spending some needed girl time with Tori.

She'd given him a spare key, but there was no reason to use it tonight. He sent her a brief text saying he'd stopped by the house, then climbed into his truck and headed for home. He'd make it an early night and maybe get some office work done before the lawyer showed up tomorrow. To say the least, the reading of Bull Tyler's last will and testament should make for an interesting day.

 

On the way to the bog, Lute had pulled off the road, leaned out of his truck, and vomited into the barrow pit. He'd told himself he was strong enough to take a man's life. But now, as he faced the moment of truth, he was sick with uncertainty. What if he froze and couldn't pull the trigger? What if he fired and missed? What if Slade got the jump on him first?

Earlier that afternoon, he'd confided his plan to Stella. She'd praised him for his cleverness, but her unspoken message had been clear. If he couldn't deliver the goods, he was finished. He had to do this.

Ahead, in the moonlight, he could see the dead white cottonwood tree reaching out of the bog, its limbs like skeletal fingers. Time to ditch the truck and go the rest of the way on foot. The luminous hands on his cheap watch showed the time as a quarter to ten. With luck, Slade wouldn't be here yet. But he couldn't count on that.

With the loaded rifle in hand, he eased out of the truck, leaving the dome light off and the door open. The night was eerily quiet. As he crept forward, Lute tried to imagine his Comanche ancestors sneaking up on the enemy. He was a warrior, too, he told himself, and this was his battle—the prize, victory over two men he hated, and the future he craved with a hunger that gnawed at his gut.

A buzzing sound, a stone's toss away, sent a jolt of fear through his body. Rattler. He gauged the location and eased to a greater distance. Safe. But his nerves were jumping.

Twenty yards ahead, the lacy outline of the mesquite was broken by a big, blocky shape. Lute recognized the flatbed from the trucking lot. So Slade was already here waiting for Beau Tyler. No doubt Slade had a gun, but where the hell was he? If he heard Lute coming, he could easily shoot him by mistake.

Change of plans, Lute decided. He could call out, identify himself and tell Slade that Beau wasn't coming. When the man lowered his guard and stepped into sight, Lute could pull the trigger.

He was getting dangerously close to the truck. “Slade,” he hissed. “It's me, Lute. Where are you?”

No answer.

“Slade, it's all right.” He spoke louder this time. “I saw Beau Tyler in town. He's not coming.”

No answer. A chill crawled over Lute's skin. Maybe he should've kept quiet. He wasn't even supposed to know Slade was here.

“Where the hell are you, Slade?”

Still no answer. The door of the truck hung open. Lute could see that the cab was empty. As he inched closer, his boot toe stubbed something soft. He looked down.

Slade lay faceup in the brush a few paces from the truck. A single, neat bullet hole was drilled with almost surgical precision through the center of his forehead. The spatters of blood, what few there were, were still wet.

Lute's knees refused to hold him. He sank to the ground next to the body, swearing to bolster his courage. Some bastard had beaten him to the job. It had to be Tyler. He'd been a sniper in Iraq. But how the hell had he known Slade would be here?

Stella seemed to like Beau. Could she have warned him?

No time to think about that, Lute told himself. He needed to salvage the situation to make himself look good. And then he had to get out of here.

He'd stolen the rifle from the ranch to frame Beau Tyler. The plan was to kill Slade with the weapon, then toss it where it could be easily found. The bullets in Slade's body would be a match for the old man's gun, which Beau could have easily taken. The note Slade had stuffed in his pocket, along with the testimony of witnesses who'd seen the fight in the bar, would seal the evidence. Case closed.

He could still make it work, Lute reasoned, especially since he'd be laying a trail to the real killer.

Standing, he laid the rifle's muzzle on the hole in Slade's forehead, trying to match the angle of the first bullet. With a shaking finger, he pulled the trigger.

The shot cracked like lightning in the darkness.

Lute stared down at the damage. Firing the gun hadn't been such a big deal after all. Better yet, the bullet had made an ugly wound, pretty much obliterating the first one. Giddy with triumph, Lute pumped three more shots into Slade's still-warm body—for Jess, he told himself.
Bang, bang, bang.
So easy. He forced himself to stop before it became fun. He'd done enough.