Texas Tough (2 page)

CHAPTER 2

L
eaving Jasper in the care of a nurse, Sky walked back down the hall toward the waiting area. He passed through the swinging double doors into a roomful of strangers—Will and Beau, his half brothers; Erin, his niece; Tori and Natalie, his once and future sisters-in-law.

None of them knew the truth, of course. And he would never tell them—Sky had made that decision by the time he left Jasper's hospital room. Life would go on exactly as before. But whether he liked it or not, he would be looking at the family through different eyes. Tyler eyes.

“You're leaving?” Beau stopped him on his way to the outside door.

“Somebody needs to look after the ranch, and I can't be much help here. Keep me posted on how Jasper's doing.” Sky turned aside. Right now all he wanted was to get away and sort things out for himself.

But what difference did it make now that he knew? Sky wrestled with that question as he drove home. Bull Tyler hadn't wanted anybody to know he'd slept with a Comanche woman and fathered her son. Yet, when young Sky had wandered onto the ranch and asked for work, Bull had kept him on and, years later, left him a parcel of land. Had Bull been moved by affection—or, more likely, by guilt?

The more he thought about it, the darker Sky's mood became. Jasper had been too weak to tell him how it all happened. But any way you looked at it, the bottom line was, Bull Tyler had been too ashamed to acknowledge his half-breed son. And he hadn't cared enough to reach out and help the mother who'd died of cancer when Sky was three. Maybe if he had, things would have been different. She might even have lived.

The pickup's wheels spat dust as he pulled up to the long barn that housed the mares and foals. Across the yard, the rambling stone house appeared empty with the family gone.

But not quite empty.

Parked next to the porch, with the dust still settling around it, was a sleek black Corvette.

Sky struggled to ignore the jolt he felt. He'd met Lauren Prescott face-to-face just once. But that meeting stuck like a cholla spine in his memory. He'd picked her up in town at the Blue Coyote, half drunk and looking for trouble. The lady, who'd declined to give her name, had invited him to drive her car. They'd parked on an overlook and things were heating up when he'd realized the time and place wouldn't work for what they had in mind. He'd driven her back to town, bought her coffee, and set her on the road home. End of story. Or so he'd thought.

A few weeks later he'd learned she was the visiting daughter of their jackass neighbor, Congressman Garn Prescott. She was also a capable accountant. Beau had hired her part time to create an online spreadsheet and enter the data for the ranch accounts. That would explain what she was doing here today.

So far, Sky had made himself scarce when she was around. Any meeting between them was bound to be awkward as hell. And her being Prescott's spoiled princess daughter was a complication he didn't need.

But that hadn't stopped him from thinking about her, picturing that tousled red hair and those thoroughbred legs. It hadn't stopped him from remembering the taste of her luscious mouth and the cool, firm silk of her breast in the hollow of his hand.

Now she was here—alone. And the pain of what he'd learned from Jasper was eating a hole in his gut. The urge to break the rules and do something crazy surged like wildfire in his veins. Damn it,
he wanted her
. And if having her was a risk, so much the better.

Kicking caution into the dust, Sky raked a hand through his black hair and strode toward the house.

 

Lauren was entering a line of data into the computerized studbook and double-checking the numbers when she heard the creak of a floorboard. She looked up.

He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as if he'd been there awhile, just watching her.

Heat flooded Lauren's face, staining her cheeks with crimson. “Can I . . . help you with something?” Her voice betrayed the effect he was having on her.

He took his time, his gaze flicking over her white linen blouse, unbuttoned at the throat and sheer enough to show the outline of the pink lace bra beneath. His mouth twitched as if holding back some forbidden comment.

“As I recollect, you and I never finished what we started.” He spoke in a slow drawl. “And I'm not a man to walk away from unfinished business.”

Pulse skittering, Lauren rose and walked around the desk. She wanted to put him in his place, to inform him that the half-drunken floozy he'd picked up in the bar wasn't her real self. She had an education. She had goals and standards. And if Sky Fletcher thought he could just walk in here and expect her to fall into his arms . . .

They stood almost toe to toe. Hands on her hips, she glared up into his impossibly blue eyes.

He waited with a knowing look that told her it was only a matter of time. Damn his complacency. It would serve him right to get his gorgeously chiseled face slapped hard enough to leave a bruise.

Even when her hand shot up, poised to strike, he didn't turn away. His steady gaze was strong but disturbingly gentle. Lauren felt something break loose inside her—the shards of her resistance as she gave in to what she wanted. Her arm caught his neck. She strained upward, yearning for the kiss she'd remembered since that night in her car—the night that had left her burning for more.

Unfinished business, he'd called it. And now their bodies demanded that they finish what they'd started—here and now.

His lips crushed hers with a savage tenderness, demanding all she had to give. As he jerked her close, a hot, hungry ache surged inside her. His erection pressed her belly through layers of denim. She tilted her hips to heighten the tingle, molding her thighs to the solid ridge—demandingly hard and so big that she found herself wondering how he would fit inside her.

With a low mutter he slid his hands into her jeans, cupping her buttocks to rock her against him. She moaned, shuddered, and gasped. The burst of sensation that ripped through her was a release that left her wanting more. Moisture soaked her panties. In every way, she was ready for him.

Drawing back, she reached down and fumbled with his belt buckle. With a rough laugh, he moved her hand aside and finished the job himself, dropping his Wranglers and sliding on protection in a blur of movement. Her hip-hugging designer jeans came down with a single jerk to scrunch around her boot tops, along with her lace thong panties. There'd be no time to undress all the way; no caresses, no tender words. Nothing but raw, hot sex.

Right now it was all she needed.

Bracing her against the desktop, he tilted her back at a low angle. Her hands gripped his shoulders as his swollen length slid deep inside her. “Oh . . .” she gasped as her body clasped his heat. “Oh, sweet . . .” Her voice trailed off into incoherent mutters as he pulled back and thrust in again and again. Her eyes closed. Her head fell back. “Don't stop,” she whispered as her muscles spasmed around him. “Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop . . .”

When she spiraled back to earth and opened her eyes, he was grinning down at her. “Okay if I stop now, Miss Prescott?” His dark blue eyes held a mischievous twinkle.

“I think . . .” Lauren fumbled for words. Despite feeling warm, rumpled, and deliciously wicked, she could sense reality closing in. She sat up as he turned away to reassemble himself. “I think what you'd better do is leave,” she said.

“That's exactly what I plan to do.” He tucked in his shirt and fastened his belt buckle. “We've both got work, and I don't know how much longer this house will be empty—so I suggest you pull up your britches before somebody comes home.”

He walked to the office door, then paused to look back at her, one black eyebrow quirked upward. “About that unfinished business . . . This was a lot of fun, but whether it happens again is up to you. You know where to find me.”

As the door closed softly behind him, Lauren squelched the urge to pick up the nearest heavy object and fling it after him. Furious tears stung her eyes as she pulled up her jeans. She'd had enough experience with men to know that once they'd scratched that itch, it was back to business as usual. But Sky had been so abrupt, almost cold. She felt as if she'd just been doused with ice water.

Well, never mind, she'd learned her lesson. And if he was expecting her to come around begging for more, the man would grow old waiting. There'd be ice skating in hell before she let down her guard with Sky Fletcher again.

All the same, his brusqueness had stung her.

Walking back around the desk, she sank into the chair and stared at the computer screen. She didn't feel much like working. But she wasn't ready to go home and face her father. And in her present frame of mind, driving into town was probably a bad idea.

She'd taken this job, in addition to accounting work for the Prescott ranch, in order to add experience to her skimpy résumé. But on the days when her father was at home—browbeating her about her reputation and the need to take an active part in his campaign, the Tyler office had become her refuge. At twenty-two, she was determined to build her own future. And that future didn't include becoming a pawn in Garn Prescott's political game.

On her first day here Lauren had recognized the steel blue Ford pickup—the one she'd first seen parked outside that honkytonk in Blanco Springs. She'd learned from Beau that its lean, dark, and oh-so-hot owner was Sky Fletcher, the Rimrock's legendary horse whisperer.

That night at the Blue Coyote she hadn't even known his name. She'd known only that she'd hit bottom, and the fast-track cure for the pain was to get drunk and get laid. She'd been partway to drunk when the sexy cowboy had shown up in her booth. Sin-black hair, cobalt eyes, and a slow, melting smile . . . It was as if the devil had read her mind and granted her wish.

But nothing had happened—except that she'd thrown herself at him and made a fool of herself. And now she'd done it again.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to have married the man she loved and settled down to raising the family she'd wanted. But Mike's suicide, just a year ago, had sent her into a downward spiral from which she was still crashing.

That's why she'd come to Texas, a place she barely remembered, with a father she hadn't seen in years. She'd hoped the change would help her heal. But she should have known better. The bouts of reckless behavior had followed her here.

Until she'd regained control of her life, the last thing she needed was another man—especially a blue-eyed heartbreaker with a knack for pushing her libido over the edge and then walking away.

Clicking the mouse to refresh the computer screen, she forced herself to focus on her work. Sky Fletcher may have shot her over the moon, but she'd fallen back to earth now. The sexy horse whisperer had made a fool of her for the last time.

CHAPTER 3

I
t was late afternoon by the time the black Corvette pulled away from the house and sped down the dusty lane toward the highway.

Sky was in the smaller of the two round pens, working a year-old bay gelding on a lead. He heard the growl of the engine and the crunch of tires spitting gravel, but he didn't turn around and look. After the way he'd walked out on her, telling her she'd know where to find him, Miss Lauren Prescott wouldn't be throwing him any good-bye kisses.

Not that he was proud of the way he'd treated her. For the most part, he liked to think of himself as a gentleman. But today he hadn't been in a gentlemanly frame of mind. He'd needed a rush to fill the aching void inside him. And Lauren, so sexy and vulnerable—and so damned willing—had been there.

Was there any excuse for having treated the congressman's daughter like a common tramp? Had he wanted to make somebody—anybody—hurt like he was hurting? Had he wanted to prove that he could have sex with a snooty, rich white girl and walk away without feeling a thing—the way Bull Tyler had walked away from his mother?

A powerful yank on the lead rope reminded him that he needed to stay focused. Sky's method of starting young horses demanded concentration. This promising colt deserved the best he had to give.

“Easy boy . . .” he murmured, using touch and voice to create a sense of safety. “That's it. You're doing fine. . . .”

He ended the training session by rubbing the horse down with his bare hands and turning it into the paddock. By now the afternoon was getting on, and he still hadn't heard how Jasper was doing. Sky had worried about the old cowboy all day. He'd asked Will to call if there was any news. But if Jasper had taken a turn for the worse, Will would have more urgent concerns on his mind.

Deciding to make the call himself, Sky reached for his cell phone. But no sooner had he fished it out of his pocket than it rang. The caller was Will. Bracing himself for bad news, Sky pushed the answer button.

“Will? What's happening? How's Jasper?”

“He's one tough old buzzard.” Will's voice sounded tired but upbeat. “The doctor says his vitals have stabilized and his lungs are starting to clear. He's grumpy as hell, but I guess that's a good sign.”

“Thank God.” Sky felt himself breathe again.

“Bernice wants to stay the night at the hospital, and Erin's going with her mother. But Beau and I will be coming home before long to get some rest.”

“Anything I can do?” Sky asked.

“You've done plenty, staying to take care of things. Since Bernice won't be there to cook, we're picking up a couple of pizzas on the way home. We'll make a bachelor night of it, maybe unwind by watching some baseball for as long as we can stay awake. We're hoping you can join us.”

Could he handle that? Sharing an evening with his half brothers? But nothing had changed except what he knew, Sky reminded himself. He'd already made the decision to carry on as usual. That would include joining Will and Beau in the house for pizza and beer.

“Thanks, I'll plan on it,” Sky said. “And tell Jasper I'll stop by and see him tomorrow.”

After Will ended the call, Sky stood by the paddock fence studying the colts. He could learn a lot just from watching them—which ones were bold, which ones were docile, which ones were light on their feet . . . Knowing each horse was essential to training. Most days he had no trouble staying focused on his work. But today was different.

Your father was Bull Tyler
.

Jasper's words burned like a fresh brand, still smoking from the iron. When he saw the old man again, should he ask for more details? Or would he be wiser to let those secrets stay buried for good?

 

Beau and Will drove in around six, bone tired but in good spirits. Jasper was doing better. The bullet wound had missed his vital organs, and his pneumonia was responding to treatment. If he continued to improve, the doctors would let him go home sometime next week.

“Did the sheriff come by?” Sky asked as Beau slid the pizzas into the oven to reheat them.

“
Acting
Sheriff Sweeney showed up this afternoon.” Will fished three cold Tecates out of the fridge and popped the tab on one of them. “He asked Jasper a few questions and took the slug as evidence—from what I could tell it looked like a 32-20 from one of those old lever action rifles. I told him about the tire tracks and cigarette butts I'd found on ranch property, but all I got from him was one of those blank looks. Hell, I don't even know if he recognized the bullet.”

“Abner Sweeney isn't exactly the brightest bulb in the pack,” Beau said. “Axelrod may have ended up a crook and a murderer, but at least he wasn't stupid. He caught some bad hombres over the years, before he crossed the line.”

Sky nodded his agreement. Sweeney, a former deputy, had been appointed to replace longtime sheriff Hoyt Axelrod, who was awaiting trial for multiple murders—including the deaths of Natalie's estranged husband, Slade, and Sky's young cousin, Lute. Axelrod had shot Sky as well and nearly killed him. The wound, from a high-powered sniper rifle, had left a scar that still throbbed after too many hours in the saddle.

If convicted, Axelrod could face the death penalty. But there were rumors that he might take a plea deal—a life sentence in exchange for what he knew about organized crime activities in the county. Not that a man with Axelrod's law enforcement background could expect to live long in a Texas prison.

“I hear Sweeney's running for the permanent job this fall,” Will said. “My vote's going to whoever runs against him.”

“Sweeney and Garn Prescott. The cream of our fair county's political crop.” Beau took his beer and wandered into the office. He came out a moment later with something in his hand. “Looks like Lauren was here,” he said. “I recognize this little gold earring of hers. What I can't figure out is what it was doing
behind
the computer.”

Sky willed his expression to freeze. “She was here most of the afternoon, working on your spreadsheet. I stopped in and said hello to her.”

Beau grinned. “So the two of you finally met. It's about time. That young lady's been mighty curious about you, asking me all sorts of questions.”

“Don't get any ideas, Beau. Lauren's a sharp girl, and damned good-looking. But I know better than to mess around with Garn Prescott's daughter.”

The lie made Sky cringe, but he could hardly tell the truth. Beau and Will would split their sides laughing if they knew. He might not mind making himself the butt of their jokes, but he couldn't do the same to Lauren.

“Sure you do.” Beau tossed the dainty earring in the air, catching it in his fist. “I'll leave this in the desk drawer. If you see her before I do, you can tell her it's there.”

“Fine.” Not that he expected to see her again—even though the memory of that afternoon triggered a disturbing heat rush to his jeans. Hanging around when she came over to work would only make her uncomfortable. Annoy her enough and Beau would lose the help he needed. Even if she wasn't Garn Prescott's daughter, Sky knew he'd be smart to keep his distance.

“Pizza's hot. Let's watch the game a while.” With Will carrying the flat cardboard boxes and Beau lugging an extra six-pack of Tecate, they trailed into the den. Beau switched on the 48-inch flat-screen TV. Sinking into the big leather sectional, they put the boxes on the coffee table and wolfed down the pizza without the bother of plates. The baseball game was in its seventh inning, with a wide spread in the score and not much action. After a while the commentary faded into the background.

“So who do you figure shot Jasper?” Sky asked.

Will shrugged. “My money's still on drug smugglers. But cartel types would've used a heavier weapon, like an M-16 or a Glock. And they'd have made sure Jasper was dead. Given the small slug the doctor dug out of the old man, I'd say our smugglers are kids, or lowlifes using whatever gun they can get their hands on. Whoever they are, they're dangerous. Nobody's going out there alone till they're stopped.”

Beau set his beer on the table. “Well, since we can't count on Sweeney, I'd say that's our job. Who's for riding out to where we found Jasper tomorrow morning for a look around?”

“I'll go with you,” Sky offered. “Then, after chores are done, I want to run into Lubbock. I can check on Jasper and bring Bernice home. She must be worn out.”

“Then I'll stay here and keep an eye on things.” Will finished the last slice of pepperoni pizza. “What about the shotgun Jasper was using? Was it still on the ATV when you found it?”

“No sign of it,” Sky said. “Either it fell out or it was taken—which could mean our shooter would have to get close enough to grab it. If we could find tracks, that would at least give us something to go on.”

“Let's plan to go at first light. The earlier we get there, the fresher any clues will be.” Beau glanced toward the TV. “Hey, look, Rodriguez is up with two on base.”

By the time the game had progressed two more innings, Beau and Will had both fallen asleep. Sky gathered up the remains of the pizza and beer and took them to the kitchen trash. When he came back, they were still snoring, Will with his head sagging forward, his dark-stubbled chin resting on his chest, and Beau sprawled over one end of the sectional, head back, mouth open.

A strange tenderness crept over Sky—the realization that if he'd had his choice of all the brothers on earth, these men were the two he would have picked. But as things stood, they would never know. The truth would change everything, and not likely for the better.

Dismissing the thought, he switched off the game, dimmed the lights, and left the house.

 

The next morning Sky stepped outside to a leaden dawn. For a moment he stood on the porch of the brick duplex he shared with Jasper, gazing southeast, toward the hundred acres Bull had left him in his will. The land wasn't part of the Rimrock. It lay along the ranch's eastern border, like the heel of a boot. Bull had bought the prime section from the absentee neighbor for what must have been a handsome sum—bought it as a legacy for the blood son he'd never acknowledged in life.

Sky had ridden across the land in the past, admiring its grassy, wooded hills and spring-fed creek, never dreaming it could be his. But since the reading of the will he had yet to revisit the place. He was still coming to terms with the gift Bull Tyler had left him.

Except for Jasper, no one else, not even Will and Beau, knew about the land. At first Sky had questioned whether he deserved it. Now he found himself wondering if he even wanted it. He could sell it for a good price, return the money to the ranch, and be free of any obligation to the father who'd been too ashamed to claim him as his own. He had his pride, after all.

But the decision would have to wait. This morning he'd agreed to ride out with Beau to look at the place where Jasper had been shot. It was time they got moving.

He was walking out to get the horses when Will hailed him from the front porch. “Sky! Get in here! You've got to see what's on the news!”

Spurred by the urgency in his voice, Sky sprinted across the yard to the house. Will was already headed back inside. “Hurry,” he said. “The TV's on in the den.”

The commercial break was just ending when Sky walked in.

Beau, still rumpled and unshaven, was perched on the edge of the couch, drinking coffee and staring at the television screen. Will, freshly showered and dressed, handed Sky a steaming cup.

“Back to our breaking news story.” The Amarillo newscaster was a fiftyish man with a bad toupee. “Former Blanco County Sheriff Hoyt Axelrod, awaiting trial for murder, assault, and conspiracy, was found dead inside his cell this morning. The cause of death has yet to be determined, but there appeared to be no sign of foul play. For more, let's go to Mindi Thacker outside the Blanco County Jail.”

The curvy blonde looked as if she'd done her hair and makeup in the news chopper, which sat on the landing pad behind her. Her porcelain smile seemed out of place in the grim dawn light. “The story's still unfolding here, Bill. A guard, making a routine check of the prisoners early this morning, found Axelrod lying on the floor of his cell. Paramedics were called, but the former sheriff was unresponsive. He was declared dead at 4:43 a.m. Preliminary assumption, pending the medical examiner's report, is that death was due to natural causes.”

“Natural causes!” Beau slammed his cup on the table, sloshing his coffee. “That's a joke! Somebody got to the bastard before he could make a plea deal and talk.”

“In his cell? That would take some doing,” Will said.

“That doesn't mean it couldn't be done. A man Axelrod's size and age is a likely candidate for high blood pressure or diabetes. A switch in his meds would do the trick, or something in his food, even some kind of injection if they could incapacitate him first. Not that much to it—just a matter of enough money changing hands.”

Sky's gaze met Beau's across the room. Nobody in the ranch family would grieve over Axelrod's death—least of all Beau, who'd nearly gone to prison when the sheriff tried to frame him for killing Slade Haskell, Natalie's abusive husband.

“You know this isn't over,” Beau said. “Hoyt Axelrod died for the same reason Slade died, the same reason Lute and that poor little waitress died. He knew too much, and he would've spilled his guts to save himself from the death penalty. That's why he had to be silenced.”

“But it was Axelrod who killed the others.” Will seemed to be playing devil's advocate.