Читать книгу Texas Forever - Janet Dailey - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

ROSE LANDRO MCCADE PRESSED AGAINST THE WINDOW OF THE United Airlines plane on approach to Lubbock Preston Smith International Airport. From the air, she could see how much three decades had changed the countryside. Subdivisions sprawled over what had been open prairie. Skyscrapers towered above the downtown area. Freeways crisscrossed the landscape.

Rose had thought of this trip as a homecoming. But that home, she realized, would not be the place she remembered—not even the people.

But then, she had changed, too.

This would be the first time she’d traveled by plane since she and Tanner, the love of her life, had flown to Hawaii on a long-awaited second honeymoon. They’d returned to the news that Bull Tyler, aging, crippled, and in pain, had died in their absence. Now Jasper had followed him. At least this time, she would have the chance to pay her respects.

Two days had passed since she’d gotten Will’s call. Rose had remembered Will as a boy. But it was a man with a weary voice who’d given her the news that Jasper had passed away in what appeared to be a tragic accident. Even now, she felt the pain of loss like an icy stab to the heart. She hadn’t seen Jasper since her wedding day. But in her memory, he’d always been strong, vigorous, funny, and wise—and always her steadfast friend.

“The funeral is set for Saturday,” Will had told her. “After the service, we’ll be taking Jasper to the Hill Country to bury him next to Sally’s grave. She was—”

“Yes, I know,” Rose had said. “She was the girl who drowned before their wedding. He told me he’d never loved anyone else.” Rose had wiped away the first of many tears. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get a flight. Jasper was my best friend. I want to say a proper good-bye to him.”

“You can fly into Lubbock,” Will said. “Let us know when you’ve got your flight. Erin can be there to pick you up.”

“Where has the time gone? I can’t believe she’s old enough to drive.”

“Erin’s nineteen and very much her own person,” Will said. “You’ll enjoy getting to know her.”

“That sounds lovely. I was going to get a rental, but I wasn’t looking forward to driving a strange car on the freeway. How will I know your daughter when I see her?”

“You’ll know her,” Will had assured her. “Erin is the image of Susan, my mother.”

Rose’s thoughts spun back to the present as the plane touched down on the runway and taxied to the gate. Clutching her carry-on, she let the crush of deplaning passengers—like cattle going down a chute, she thought—carry her through the Jetway and out into the terminal. There was a moment’s unease as she spotted the BAGGAGE CLAIM sign and followed the arrows. Would Will’s daughter be waiting? Would they recognize each other?

She’d kept in touch with her Rimrock family, mostly by way of occasional Christmas cards. She knew that Will had married, divorced, and remarried the same woman—strange that he hadn’t mentioned her just now. She knew that a third Tyler son had turned up—Sky Fletcher, born of Bull’s brief affair with a Comanche woman. She knew that Beau was married with a young daughter, and that he’d returned to the ranch for a time, but eventually had gone back to his government job. Ferg Prescott—the scheming neighbor Rose and Bull had both detested—was long gone. So was his son, Garn, who’d sold the Prescott Ranch to a syndicate before going into politics. Sky had married Garn’s daughter, joining the two rival lines. And that, Rose thought, was the sum total of what she knew. Everything else would be a surprise.

Passing into the baggage claim area, Rose checked the flight numbers above the carousels. The luggage from her flight was already unloading, but she had yet to spot her old brown leather suitcase. She was waiting impatiently when she happened to glance through the crowd to the far side of the carousel. Standing a few feet back was a tall, slender young woman in jeans and a white tee, her dark blond hair brushed to the side in a single braid. In her hands was a cardboard placard with a single name on it—ROSE.

* * *

Erin hurried to meet the woman striding toward her. There could be no mistaking Rose McCade. Will had described her as he remembered, from her petite stature and dark eyes to the birthmark that blazed down the left margin of her face. But given Rose’s age, Erin had expected someone elderly, a person who might need a hand getting out of the airport to the car. Apart from her silver hair, twisted and pinned atop her head, Rose was a total surprise.

Dressed in trail-worn jeans and boots, with a denim jacket, she was a wiry bundle of energy. Her face, bare of makeup, was tanned and weathered from days on the Wyoming range, but her smile was as youthful as her step. Her only ornament, besides her wedding ring, was a pair of miniature silver horseshoe-shaped earrings.

She stopped an arm’s length from Erin and stood looking up at her. “Goodness, you make me feel old,” she said. “I knew your grandmother when I was a girl. She was about your age then. You look just like her.”

Erin found her voice. “Welcome home to Texas, Rose. Thank you for coming all this way.”

They hugged, awkwardly at first, then warmly, both of them aware of the deep connection they shared. Rose wasn’t family, but she was the closest thing.

“Let’s get your bag and be on our way,” Erin said.

“There it is.” Rose pointed out a well-used leather suitcase. Erin grabbed it off the carousel and guided Rose outside to short-term parking, where she loaded the suitcase in the back of the dusty station wagon that had been her mother’s. She’d actually had it washed that morning when she bought gas in town. But this summer, after months of drought, there was no escaping the fine dust that settled on everything.

Moments later, they were on their way, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the highway. “Let’s hope we can beat the rush hour traffic,” Erin said. “I promised Dad I’d have you home in time for dinner. He’ll be so glad to see you.”

“How is Will?” Rose asked. “I haven’t seen him since he was a boy. But I remember how serious and responsible he was, even then. I’m guessing that Jasper’s death hit him hard.”

“It hit all of us hard,” Erin said. “But I think it was the worst for Dad, especially since my mother passed away just four months ago.”

“Oh, no!” Rose exclaimed. “He didn’t tell me. I’m so sorry.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it.” Erin had learned to hide her own grief, even though it was always there, like a cold, raw pain that never went away. “It was cancer. She was only forty-three. Dad was devastated. And now, with Jasper gone, it’s like he’s been knocked down and gut kicked twice.” She glanced at Rose. “I’m really glad you’ve come. Seeing you again is bound to raise his spirits.”

“I hope so.” Rose gazed out the window at the traffic, then changed the subject. “Lubbock has changed a lot since the last time I was here. I’m guessing the ranch has changed, too.”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Erin said. “The house is still there. The barn was rebuilt after a fire, but it’s in the same place. The old sheds and corrals are pretty much the same, just fixed up.”

“How about the people? I remember Bernice and what a wonderful cook she was. But she was only a few years younger than Jasper. I don’t suppose she’s still around.”

“Bernice retired and went to live with her daughter. She passed away a couple of years ago. We hired a Latina woman, the wife of one of our cowboys, to take her place. Her name’s Carmen. She’s good at her job, but she doesn’t live in the house, like Bernice did.”

“And the chickens? I loved those chickens. Jasper and I built their coop together.”

“Sorry, no more chickens. There’s a supermarket in Blanco Springs. We get our eggs and chicken meat there now.”

Rose sighed. “Too bad. There’s something about raising chickens that’s good for the soul. And goats, too.”

“Sorry, no goats either,” Erin said.

“Too bad.” Rose fell silent as she gazed out the side window. They were on the freeway now, with the flat caprock plain stretching to the horizon on either side of them. The pastures, croplands, and cotton fields, watered by deep artesian wells, were green. But the stretches of open country offered little more than yellowed grass, dry scrub, and blowing dust.

“It’s so dry,” Rose remarked. “The Rimrock must be hurting for water.”

“This is the worst drought I can remember,” Erin said. “Are you familiar with that parcel up on the caprock, with the wells?”

“I am.” Rose smiled. “As I recall, Bull won it in a poker game. I always suspected him of cheating, but that was Bull for you. To him, the land was everything. Land and family. Nothing else mattered.” She paused. “Sorry, you were going to say something about the parcel.”

Erin pulled out to pass a lumbering cattle truck. “We’ve counted on that caprock land to save us in a drought, but this year we’ve overgrazed it. There’s water up there but the grass is almost eaten off. If we don’t pull the cattle off soon, it won’t grow back. We’re trucking water to the mountain tanks, and the water table’s in danger of sinking below the wells that supply the house and lower pastures. Even the horses . . .” Erin pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Aside from selling our stock early, we’re running out of options.”

Rose brushed Erin’s arm with one small, work-worn hand. “I can tell you’re as passionate about the land and animals as your father and grandfather were. You’re a Tyler, Erin. You’ll find a way to get through this.” She was silent for a moment. “You haven’t mentioned the creek—the one that flows from the aquifer under the caprock and runs along the property line with the old Prescott Ranch. Surely that wouldn’t go dry. Do you still run creek water into that old stock tank, the one that Bull dug years ago?”

“We’ve replaced the tank with a metal one,” Erin said. “But yes, we still fill it from the creek. There’s not enough water for a big herd, but that creek is vital to the survival of the ranch. The plan is, if worse comes to worst, and we have to sell off everything but breeding stock, we’ll pay a grazing fee to run them on that government land beyond the ranch boundary and water them from the tank and the creek.” She glanced at Rose. “I’m surprised that you know so much about the ranch, especially that creek.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Rose said, “unless Will hasn’t told you the story.”

“Told me what story?” Erin felt a vague, tingling premonition.

“That strip of land along the Rimrock side of the creek belonged to my grandfather. To shorten a long story, I was with Grandpa when he was shot trying to defend it from the Prescotts. Bull showed up in time to save me, but it was too late for Grandpa. Bull buried him on the property, under an old fallen tree.”

“Yes—I’ve seen that headstone. It’s mostly covered in dirt and cow droppings now. I’ve always assumed it was some old-time settler buried there. So, that’s your grandfather?”

“I was fourteen when he left that parcel to me. Bull took me in and took over the land. Years later, after I threatened to join forces with Ferg Prescott to get it, he deeded that land back to me on condition that the Rimrock always be given access to the water. I kept my part of the bargain. But I expected better for my grandpa’s memory.”

“I’m sorry,” Erin said. “I wish I’d known about it.”

“You couldn’t have known, dear. All this happened long before you were born.” Rose’s voice took on a determined tone. “My grandpa gave his life’s blood for that land. And if his grave isn’t being given the care and respect it deserves, I’m going to have to do something about it.”

“If you need help cleaning the place up and restoring the grave—”

“Thank you. I may take you up on that.” Rose fell silent. For the next few minutes Erin focused on driving, moving to the outside lane of the freeway and watching for the exit to Blanco Springs. But she was too curious about Rose’s story to let it rest.

“I hope you won’t mind one more question,” she said. “You say your grandfather was shot by the Prescotts. Who actually shot him? Was it Ferg?”

“It was Ham Prescott, Ferg’s father.” The strain in Rose’s voice revealed the vividness of her memory. “I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. It was cold-blooded murder.”

“Was Ham arrested for it?”

“No. That’s another long story. But justice caught up with him.”

“What happened?” Erin asked.

A moment of silence passed before Rose answered. “I forget how much time passed—several weeks, maybe. Bull and Jasper had taken me in and done their best to protect me, but the night came when I was alone in the house. Ham had learned that I’d witnessed the killing. He showed up with a pistol to silence me. As he got out of his truck and walked toward the house, I grabbed my grandpa’s double-barreled shotgun from behind the door, aimed it, and pulled the trigger.”

“You killed him?” Erin stifled a gasp as the horror sank in.

“A shotgun blast to the midsection will do that to a man,” Rose said. “Ham didn’t die easy. But that’s a story for another time.”

Erin’s throat had gone dry, leaving her with no words. Her father had said Rose was tough. She was just beginning to understand how tough.

* * *

After an early supper of tamales and beans, prepared by Carmen, the ranch’s attractive, middle-aged Latina cook, Rose and Will retired to the front porch to watch the last rays of sunset fade above the caprock. From the dining room, Rose could hear the faint clatter of china and cutlery as Erin cleaned up after the meal. Will’s daughter, she sensed, was deliberately leaving them alone so they could relax and talk.

“Your daughter is lovely, Will,” Rose said, settling back in her chair.

“Being her dad has been the best thing I ever did.” Will popped the tabs on two cold cans of Dos Equis and passed one to Rose. “Tori, my wife, was only able to have one child. Bull never forgave her for not giving him grandsons. But I never minded. We had a perfect daughter.”

Rose reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry about your wife. You must miss her terribly.”

“I do. Every minute of every day. But at least I’ve got Erin. Tori and I tried to talk her into going away to college, but she wanted to stay here and learn to run the ranch. Now I’m glad she made that choice. I don’t know what I’d have done without her these past few months. And she’s going to make a first-rate rancher.”

He fished a half-empty cigarette pack out of his shirt pocket and held it out to her. Rose shook her head. “No thanks. I’ve never taken to the habit. But you have one. I won’t mind.”

He took his time, tapping out the cigarette and slipping the pack back into his pocket. His lighter flamed in the shadows.

As he smoked, Rose studied his profile in the fading light. Even as a boy, Will had reminded her of Bull. Now the resemblance was even stronger. But Will had a tender side that Bull had lacked, or at least kept buried. Now, with his wife and his best friend both gone, he was visibly suffering.

“What are you thinking?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

He exhaled, blowing a thin shaft of smoke. “I was thinking how I used to sit out here with Jasper, and the things we talked about. He was the wisest man I’ve ever known, and the best.”

“I know,” Rose said. “I miss him, too. I hope he’s off somewhere with his Sally.”

“Some men only love once,” Will said. “It was true of Jasper, and I think it must be true of me, as well.”

“Don’t count yourself out.” Rose sipped her beer, which was already getting warm. “You’re a good-looking man, and still young. Don’t be surprised when the single women in town start coming around with chicken soup and apple pie—if they aren’t doing it already.”

“It’s too soon.” Will sounded almost angry, so Rose changed the subject.

“I’m anxious to see Beau again. How soon will he be getting here?”

“Tomorrow. But don’t expect them to stay long. Beau and I . . . we didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

“And Sky? When do I finally get to meet Bull’s other son?”

“He’ll be around. I’ll introduce you.”

“What’s he like? What can you tell me about him?”

“What can I tell you about Sky?” Will puffed on his cigarette and watched the smoke drift upward. “He inherited all of Bull’s good qualities and none of the bad ones. He’s quiet, modest, and a genius with horses. When Bull died, he willed Sky a hundred acres of prime land. Sky lives there, in the house he built for his family.”

“I still can’t believe he married Garn Prescott’s daughter. I hope his wife’s better looking than the Prescott men. Garn was certainly no Paul Newman.”

Will laughed. “Lauren’s a stunner, and smart as a whip. She does the bookkeeping for the ranch. And they’ve got three of the most beautiful kids you ever saw.”

“So there’s hope that the ugly gene’s been weeded out of the Prescott line for good.”

“You’re terrible, Rose.”

Rose grinned in the darkness. “Yes, I know. But speaking of the Prescotts, I do have one question. I’m aware that Ferg passed away before Bull did. But I’ve never been told how it happened. It would give me some satisfaction to know.”

Will flipped his cigarette butt over the porch rail, onto the gravel, where it glowed for a few seconds, then faded in the dark. “I know you’re hoping that Ferg got the ending he deserved. You might say he did, but not in the way you’d expect. A few years after you left for Wyoming, Ferg developed early onset Alzheimer’s. He went downhill pretty fast. Garn came home, bundled his father off to a nursing home, and put the ranch up for sale. By the time Ferg died, with his mind pretty well gone, the syndicate had taken over, and Garn was using the money to buy himself a seat in Congress.

“That sounds like Garn.” Rose shook her head. “And you’re right about what happened to Ferg. It wasn’t what I expected. Nobody deserves to go that way. Not even a greedy, lying slimeball like Ferg Prescott.”

The stars were coming out. Rose leaned back in her chair to sip her beer and watch them appear, one by one, in the deepening sky. She’d meant to mention her land and the condition of her grandpa’s grave. But she and Will were both talked out. It might be best to wait until after the funeral. For now, it was good to be back on Rimrock soil. The place was beginning to feel like home again.

* * *

Hunter Cardwell, manager of the syndicate-owned Prescott Ranch, glared at his son, across the dinner table. “I’ve noticed that that diamond ring of your grandma’s is still in the box,” he said. “I expected the Tyler girl to be wearing it by now.”

Kyle’s gaze dropped to the half-finished beef stroganoff on his plate. “I asked her. But Erin says she needs more time. Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll ask her again soon. She can’t say no forever.”

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t let her,” Hunter said. “Do you think I like working my ass off for wages? Do you think I want the same for my son? That girl is our one chance to get a ranch in the family. She’s Will Tyler’s only heir, and when he goes—”

“Will Tyler’s got a brother, who works for the DEA in Washington.”

“Don’t you argue with me,” Hunter snapped. “I’ve looked into it. Will Tyler arranged to buy out his brother’s share a few years ago. The deal left him cash poor, with a mortgage from the bank, but Will’s the sole owner now, and that daughter of his is pure gold. So help me, son, if you screw this up—”

“I won’t, Dad. I promise.”

“Then why aren’t you with her right now? That old-timer the Tylers set so much store by croaked a couple of days ago. The girl’s bound to need comforting. The least you could do is be there for her.”

“Dad, I talked with Erin on the phone. She doesn’t want to see me until after the funeral. That’s not till Saturday.”

“Damn!” Hunter’s fist came down hard on the table, making the dishes and cutlery jump. “You’ll never get the girl if you let her push you around like that. Be a man. Go after her. Show her you mean business. Understand?”

“Yes, Dad.” Kyle’s handsome face wore a sullen look.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“That’s better.” Hunter’s gaze swung toward his wife. “Vivian, these potatoes are cold. Can’t you learn to serve a meal with everything hot at the same time? No, don’t get up. Just learn to do it right, unless you’re too stupid to learn. If that’s the case, we have a problem.”

* * *

Vivian Cardwell didn’t reply. She’d long since learned that meeting her husband’s tirades with silence was the only defense available to her. Stand up to him, and she would pay the price for days on end.

She could leave him, she thought. Her mirror told her she was still a pretty woman, with fair skin, green eyes, long, auburn hair, and a nice, voluptuous figure. Some man would want her. Or she could always get a job. But that would mean leaving her home, and leaving her son at the mercy of Hunter’s browbeating. Kyle was old enough to strike out on his own. But as long as there was a chance of his marrying Erin Tyler, Hunter would never let him go.

She studied her husband from her place at the foot of the table, nearest the kitchen. Hunter Cardwell was a strikingly handsome man, tall and athletically built, with chiseled features and dark hair that was turning an elegant shade of silver. When he had something to gain by it, he could be charming, especially to women.

As far as Vivian knew, her husband hadn’t been unfaithful. He was demanding in bed, but sex tended to be all about him, leaving her feeling more used than loved. Sometimes, like tonight, she almost wished Hunter would have an affair. At least it might improve his disposition—or better yet, give her an excuse to walk away.

When the meal was finished, Hunter retired to his study and the endless record keeping that the syndicate owners demanded. Kyle went up to his room to spend time on his computer course in range management—or at least, that’s what he said he’d be doing. Tonight, Vivian didn’t care.

After the table was cleared, the kitchen tidied, and the dishwasher loaded, she wandered outside, onto the front porch of the modest, split-level frame house that had come with the manager’s job. Standing at the rail, she closed her eyes and let the night breeze dry her sweat-dampened face. Night-flying insects chirped and hummed in the darkness. The jasmine vine she’d planted below the porch and had babied through two years of heat, drought, and cold had finally put out a few timid white blossoms, their fragrance almost drowned by the odors of dust and livestock.

Minutes away, by unpaved back road, lay the neighboring Rimrock Ranch. Its impressive main house, a blend of stone, glass, and timber, was as handsome and rugged as its owner. Vivian had been inside the house just once, when she and Hunter had paid their respects after the funeral of Will Tyler’s wife. They’d only stayed a short time, but when Will had taken her hand, the briefest gesture, she’d been struck by his quiet strength and dignity, and by the sheer masculinity of his presence.

Since that day, four months ago, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

How would it feel to be cradled by those powerful arms? To be kissed by him? Loved by him?

Fantasizing about him was wrong, she knew. Will was mourning his wife. She was married.

But as long as nothing happened, what harm could a little dreaming do? And nothing was going to happen between her and Will Tyler. Not ever.