Texas Free Page 6

  Not that he was capable of protecting anybody. He’d already proven that to himself, his family, and the town he only wanted to forget. That was one reason he’d chosen to be here in Texas, rounding up cattle thieves instead of putting away wanted criminals in Wyoming.

  * * *

  They were coming into Blanco Springs now, passing the Blue Coyote, the movie theater, the dry goods store, and the Burger Shack. Rose could see the gas station and garage on the corner, partway up the street.

  “You don’t have to wait for me,” she said as Tanner pulled into a parking space at the side of the building. “I can handle this.”

  “I get it that you want to,” he said. “But I’ll hang around all the same. You might need a ride home, and for me, it beats going back to work.”

  When she shot him a glare, he added, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my distance. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “Fine.” Clearly, he didn’t think she was capable of buying her own vehicle. She was aware that car dealers viewed women as suckers and tended to take advantage of them. But Ramón had taught her about cars, how to maintain and repair them, and how to tell a sound vehicle from a limón. And eleven years in Mexico had taught her how to haggle and bargain like a pro. She could do this.

  She was tugging at the stubborn seat belt buckle when he came around to her side of the truck and opened the door.

  “Here, I’ve got it.” He leaned in and reached across her lap. His head brushed her breast as he found the release button and clicked the buckle open. The contact sent a jolt through her body. She didn’t like being touched in an intimate spot—not even accidentally. It stirred too many bad memories—the man who’d moved in with her mother when she was ten, the foster home she’d run away from, and more recently the swaggering goons who’d taken over Río Seco and abused every female they could get their hands on.

  She climbed out of the truck, ignoring the arm he offered. “Stay here,” she said, and strode around the corner of the building to the front.

  A big-bellied man in greasy coveralls was working on a Jeep in the open garage. He straightened, his stubbled face breaking into a grin as he saw her.

  “Well now.” His eyes looked her up and down, making her cringe inside. “What can I do for you, little lady?”

  Rose squared her shoulders and drew herself up to her full height. “I was told you might have some used vehicles for sale,” she said in a chilly voice. “I’m looking for a pickup truck. One with a camper would be best, but I’ll look at whatever you’ve got.”

  His gap-toothed grin broadened. “I’d be happy to show you what I’ve got.” The bastard actually winked. “But I reckon you’ll want to see the trucks first. Come on, they’re out back.”

  Reminding herself how much she needed something to drive, Rose followed the man out the back door of the garage. Half a dozen vehicles stood in a weedy yard cluttered with old tires and parts, surrounded by a sagging chain-link fence.

  “I take ’em on commission,” the man said. “Since it’s the only car lot in town, I do a pretty good business here. Take a look.”

  He stepped aside to let her walk forward. Two of the vehicles had been wrecked and were probably being sold for parts. There was a flatbed farm truck, a work van, and a truck with a tow rig attached. None of those would do her. But her heart skipped when she saw the last truck. An older red Ford pickup, showing some dings and wear, with a small camper on the back.

  Rose could sense the man watching her as she looked it over. She willed herself to ignore him. This truck would be perfect if it ran decently and if she could get it for a good price. “Can I start it up?” she asked.

  “I can do it for you. Is this a present for your boyfriend?”

  Why did he have to make this so difficult? “Just get the key,” Rose said. “I’m buying it for myself—if I buy it.”

  “Sure, sweetheart.” He stepped into his office and came back with a set of keys on a worn leather fob. “The brass one’s for the camper,” he said.

  “I figured as much.” Rose took the keys and climbed into the cab. The truck started on the first try, the engine running smooth and true. Rose revved the gas pedal and felt the quick response. Against her better judgment, she was falling in love.

  After popping the hood lever, she climbed out of the running truck and felt beneath the hood for the release.

  “I can do that,” the man said.

  “I’ll do it.” She propped the hood open while she looked underneath. So far, so good.

  “How much?” she asked, still peering under the hood.

  “Ten thousand.”

  Her heart sank. “For cash, on the spot? How much?”

  “The same,” he said. “But if your offer includes being nice to me, I just might lower the price for you.”

  Rose swore under her breath. She had no intention of being “nice” to this foul man; but if she wanted the truck, getting it might take some tough negotiating.

  She was bending in for a closer look at the engine when she heard the rasp of deep breathing behind her. A hard ridge pressed against the seat of her jeans, butting and rubbing. At the same time, a clumsy hand tugged at the envelope of bills she’d stuffed into her hip pocket.

  A murderous, fear-driven rage exploded inside her. With a grunt of fury, she twisted out from under the hood, and flung her strength into one desperate, upward-swinging blow.

  She was less than half the man’s size, and her fist might have glanced off, but she managed to hit him in the eye, hard enough to hurt. As he staggered back, bellowing in surprise and pain, she charged in and landed a kick to his groin.

  He doubled over, cursing, but didn’t go down. Rose stumbled back, falling against the truck as he lumbered toward her. “You little bitch!” he snarled. “I’ll show you!”

  Rose glanced around for any kind of weapon she could use. A length of rusty pipe lay nearby, half buried in the greasy dirt. Snatching it up, she braced herself to fight for her life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, MISTER. BACK OFF, NICE AND SLOW.”

  Tanner stood framed in the open doorway of the garage, an icy scowl on his face and a revolver in his hand. Startled, Rose stared at him. In her panic, she’d forgotten he was outside.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Rose.

  Rose gripped the pipe she’d found. Her pulse was still racing, pumping adrenaline through her body. Somehow she managed to nod.

  “You.” Tanner’s eyes were riveted on the man. “Zip your damned fly and get down on your knees.”

  The man did as he was told. “Don’t hurt me,” he blubbered. “I was only havin’ a little fun with the lady.”

  “Shut up!” Tanner snapped. “Rose, do you want me to beat the shit out of this bastard before we go?”

  “I was about to do that myself, but he’s not worth the effort.” Still breathing hard, Rose tossed the pipe to the ground. “Actually, I had my eye on that truck. But I can’t make an offer until I’ve driven it on the road.”

  “No problem.” Tanner kept the gun level. “I’ll keep an eye on our friend here while you take it for a test run.”

  “Thanks. While you’re at it, maybe you can talk him down on the price. Ten thousand’s a little too steep for me.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Rose climbed into the driver’s seat again. The truck had stopped running. She started it again, backed up, and drove out through the opening in the far side of the fence.

  Only after she’d turned the corner, out of sight, did she begin to shake. With the engine still running, she pulled off the road, shifted into neutral, and laid her forehead on the steering wheel.

  Breathe . . . just breathe . . . It’s all right. You’re safe, she told herself.

  After a few minutes, she felt calm enough to drive. She put the truck in gear, pulled back onto the road, and took a shortcut to the highway. The truck handled fine. But as she turned around and drove back toward the
gate, she felt the anger returning—anger not only at the man who’d assaulted her but at herself.

  Why had she assumed she could handle the garage owner when one look should have alerted her to what he was? Why hadn’t she asked Tanner to come inside with her, or gone back to the Rimrock and waited for Jasper to drive her to town?

  But she knew the answer to that question. Life had taught her some bitter lessons. But one stood out. In the end, she could count on no one but herself. People lied to her, brutalized her, or simply went away. Even the best of them, like her grandfather and Ramón and María, had died and left her devastated and alone. As for Jasper, she knew he cared for her; but his first loyalty was to Bull. And Bull was as unpredictable as lightning.

  Tanner had saved her today. But his actions had shown her that he wasn’t the simple cowboy he pretended to be. Ham Prescott had kept a few hired guns around his ranch—she remembered that because they’d threatened her grandfather. It came as no surprise that Ham’s son would do the same.

  The knot in the pit of her stomach tightened as she drove back through the gate. Tanner and the garage owner were waiting where she’d left them, Tanner still holding his pistol on the big man.

  “So how do you like the truck?” Tanner asked her as she climbed out of the cab.

  Rose tightened her jaw and narrowed her gaze, assuming the mask she wore when she was nervous. “Not bad. But can I afford it?”

  “We did some negotiating,” Tanner said. “Our friend here is willing to give up his commission on the truck and sell it for the owner’s price of seven thousand. Does that suit you?”

  Rose could only imagine what Tanner had threatened the man with to get the price down, but this was no time to ask questions. All she wanted was to get the truck and leave. “It suits me fine,” she said. “Let’s do some business.”

  In the garage’s grimy office, it took only a few minutes to sign the paperwork and hand over the money. The garage owner was sullen and silent but made no move to challenge them. They were just finishing when a beat-up black Camaro with squealing brakes pulled up to the front of the garage. The man glanced at Tanner, as if asking permission to go. When Tanner nodded, the man left them and hurried forward to deal with his customer.

  Tanner slid the pistol into the holster under his vest and handed her the signed title. “I’ll walk you to your new truck,” he said, holding the office door and closing it behind them as they walked outside. “After that, you’re on your own.”

  “I guess I should thank you,” Rose said as they paused outside the truck. “I might’ve had a rough time of it if you hadn’t been there.”

  “Then I’m glad I was.” He opened the door of the truck. “Be safe, Rose.”

  As Rose turned to climb into the cab, he laid a brief hand on her shoulder. It was an innocent gesture, but the contact with her hypersensitive nerves triggered an alarm. She gasped and jerked around, poised to defend herself.

  He stepped back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to spook you.”

  She remained frozen an instant longer, then exhaled and lowered her arms. “I’m just jumpy, that’s all.”

  “I understand.” He kept his distance as she climbed into the truck. “Will you be all right getting your truck licensed?” he asked her.

  “Fine, assuming the folks at the motor vehicle department have better manners than our friend here. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again.”

  “You never know.” He closed the door and stepped out of the way as she backed up and headed for the gate. Glancing back, she saw him standing where she’d left him. He gave her brief wave and disappeared from sight.

  * * *

  Tanner drove back to the ranch, side windows rolled down to let in the fresh breeze. Traffic was light on the narrow highway. Two stray cows grazed on the grass that grew in the bar ditch along the road. He pulled left to give them a wide berth.

  Ferg Prescott would be waiting to hear what he’d learned from Rose. Not that there’d be much to tell. Rose Landro wasn’t much of a talker. He’d learned only that she was tough, guarded, independent to a fault, and feisty as hell.

  Was she working with the cattle rustlers? If she was, she’d made a good show of hiding it. As for whether she’d really killed Prescott’s father, Tanner would never have believed such a thing. But then, as she’d brandished that pipe to defend herself, he’d seen the fury in those stunning eyes. She’d reminded him of a cornered animal, terrified and enraged.

  He recalled how she’d jumped away, more scared than startled, when he’d touched her shoulder. His best guess was that Rose had been hurt in the past. She’d learned to protect herself and fight back. It wasn’t beyond belief that she’d even learned to kill, or maybe been forced to.

  But that was none of his business. He was here to arrest cattle rustlers, and so far all Prescott had done was send him on wild-goose chases. He’d seen no solid evidence of thieves or, apart from Prescott’s word, found any proof that cattle were even missing. He was beginning to feel like a prop in some larger scheme. It was almost as if he was being used, and he didn’t like it.

  He could confront Prescott and demand to know what was really going on. But if the powerful rancher was involved in something illegal, and masking it with the cattle rustling claim, voicing his suspicions would only get him booted off the ranch, or worse.

  Whatever was happening, something didn’t feel right. It was time he stopped chasing shadows and got to the truth.

  Tomorrow he’d be joining the Prescott cowboys on the roundup. After that, it might not hurt to pay to visit the Rimrock, especially if he could find an excuse that wouldn’t blow his cover.

  He’d pulled up by the barn of the Prescott Ranch and was climbing out of the cab when he saw something lying on the passenger seat. The sight of it triggered a fleeting smile as he picked it up and tucked it in his pocket.

  It was the black silk ribbon that had slipped off Rose’s hair.

  * * *

  It was well after dark when Bull drove his pickup into the ranch yard. He was hungry, dirty, and sore after a hellish day on the roundup. One of the hands had broken an arm wrestling a steer, and Jasper had driven him to the hospital, shorting the crew by two men. A yearling calf, fleeing the rope, had fallen into a ravine and had to be shot. Several other calves had diarrhea, a condition known as scours, which was never a good sign. He’d isolated the animals and told the cowhands to keep an eye on them, but he’d probably need to pay a vet to come out and check the herd. And vets didn’t work cheap.

  His arthritic hip throbbed as he eased out of the truck and felt his boots crunch gravel. He didn’t want to see anybody, didn’t want to talk to anybody. All he wanted tonight was something in his belly, a hot shower, and a few hours of blessed sleep before crawling out of bed at dawn to face another day.

  But that was not to be.

  As he walked around the truck, he noticed an older pickup with a camper parked next to the house. There was no sign of the old Buick, but Rose was waiting in the circle of the porch light, ready to pounce on him like a hungry cat.

  He swore as she came partway down the front steps. “We have to talk, Bull,” she said.

  “Not tonight.” He tried to move past her, but she blocked his way. Short of shoving her aside, there was little he could do. “I’m worn out, Rose,” he said. “Anything we have to talk about can wait till morning.”

  She faced him, standing at his eye level on a higher step. “I’ve waited eleven years. That’s long enough.”

  “Tomorrow, Rose. I’ve had a rotten day. I don’t need this.”

  “All I’m asking is ten minutes,” she said. “Long enough to make it clear where we both stand. You owe me that much.”

  “I owe you ? Damn it, I saved your life.”

  “And you took my land. Come sit down. There’s a cold Tecate waiting for you on the porch.”

  Grumbling, Bull followed her up the steps. The woman was like a pesky mosquito that wouldn’t go away without a t
aste of his blood. Too bad he couldn’t just swat her and go in the house.

  The beer, as promised, was waiting on the side table next to the rocker. Bull sank into the chair, popped the cap, and downed half the bottle in one long swig. It wasn’t his favorite brand, but it was cold and tasted good. Night-flying insects buzzed around the porch light. The muted sound of a radio, playing twangy country music, drifted from the bunkhouse across the yard.

  “What happened to your car?” he asked as Rose took a seat opposite him.

  “I sold it to buy the truck. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about.” When Bull didn’t reply, she continued. “I stopped by the courthouse earlier and checked the deed to my property. My name isn’t even on it. Just yours.”

  Bull had anticipated that much and had his answer ready. “You’d just killed a man, Rose. The only way to protect you was to get you out of the country and wipe out any evidence that you were ever here—that included your name on the record. If I hadn’t done that, there could still be a warrant out for your arrest.”

  Her derisive snort told him what she thought of that explanation. “Jasper told me how you were arrested and tried for the shooting, and how you were acquitted. You could’ve brought me back then.”

  Bull finished off the beer. “It still wasn’t safe for you here. Ham was alive and talking when Ferg hauled him into the truck. There’s no way he wouldn’t have told Ferg that you shot him.”

  “So why did Ferg blame you?”

  “Because he could. He could put me away for good and then hire somebody to take care of you—or do it himself, although that wouldn’t be Ferg’s style. He doesn’t like getting his hands dirty. What I’m saying, Rose, is that as long as you’re here, you’ll be in danger.”

  “I can’t go back to Mexico.”

  “I understand. But you could go somewhere else. Anywhere you want. If it’s money you need—”