Texas True (12 page)

With Sky off scouting for colts to train and Will unable to mount a horse or sit comfortably in a vehicle, Beau had his hands full. The roundup was over, but there was plenty of other work to be done. In addition to the usual daily chores, the calving season was under way in the lower pasture. On the empty land there were fences to be mended and clumps of mesquite to be chained. Up on the Caprock, the windmills and pipelines that fed the watering tanks had to be kept in good repair, the cattle checked and guarded by the men in the line shack. And there was the endless, vital record-keeping to be done for the ranch, which Beau had taken over when he'd agreed to stay. Now, in addition to the busy days, he was spending his evening hours at the computer. Sometimes until long after midnight.

His most notable accomplishment so far was upgrading the ranch's security. He'd attached small signaling devices to the ranch vehicles, trailers, and other equipment and installed a tracking program on the computer. Will had grumbled about the expense, declaring that nothing had ever been stolen from Rimrock, but in this, at least, Beau had overruled him.

For now the murder investigation had gone cold. The lawmen had collected their evidence and moved on to matters more pressing than the killing of a prostitute.

Running hard day and night, Beau had found his one refuge of calm and wisdom in Jasper. The old man had seen the ranch through good times and bad, and his long-range view gave Beau the perspective he needed to keep up his spirits. Even more valuable was Jasper's in-depth knowledge of the ranch and the day-to-day things that needed to be done.

Tonight the two of them sat on the porch, listening to the crickets and watching the sunset fade into twilight. Supper was over, and Will had fallen asleep in one of the big parlor chairs with his leg resting on a footstool. For Beau, it was a rare, quiet moment in his hectic day, a chance to breathe easy while he and Jasper planned the next day's work.

“If you want to start chaining brush tomorrow, get Ralph and Packer to do the job,” Jasper was saying. “They did it last year, and did fine. But make sure they check the oil in the tractors first. You don't want to burn out the engines.”

“Thanks, I'll make a note on that.” Beau had come to rely on Jasper's experience, and he made sure Jasper knew it. Bathed in the glow of appreciation, the old foreman stood a little straighter these days and even walked with a bit of spring to his step.

Weighing on Beau's mind tonight was another matter—a minor incident that had happened that afternoon. He'd walked into the stallion barn to find Lute sprawled on a pile of clean straw, fast asleep with an empty beer can next to his foot. When Beau had dressed him down for sleeping and drinking on the job, the young slacker had responded with a smart-mouthed remark that would have gotten any other employee fired on the spot.

Beau would have sent him packing, but Lute was Sky's relative, and Sky was gone. Knowing how Sky wanted to help the boy, Beau was reluctant to fire him without Sky's involvement. At the time, he had settled for tearing a verbal strip off Lute's hide and threatening him with worse if he didn't straighten up. Lute had muttered an excuse, picked up his shovel, and resumed his work.

That should have been the end of it, but as he was walking out of the stable, Beau had glanced back over his shoulder. He'd caught Lute staring at him with a look of such intense hatred that it made his blood run cold. Beau had chosen to keep walking. Now he wondered if he should have taken action then and there. The boy was trouble.

Beau was about to ask Jasper's advice when a pair of headlights appeared around the distant bend. Coming up the long drive, fast enough to leave a plume of dust in its wake, was a big, low, white car. As it came closer, still visible in the twilight, Beau recognized it as a vintage high-end Cadillac.

“Oh, hell.” Jasper stood. “If that's who I think it is, I don't want to be here.” He hobbled off the porch, pausing before he headed around the corner of the house. “Bull always said to look out for snakes and Prescotts—especially if they show up at your door. Damned good advice if you ask me.”

By the time the mafioso-sized car pulled up to the entrance, the old man was out of sight. Beau rose, waiting at the top of the steps as both front doors of the Cadillac swung open. Congressman Garn Prescott, wearing tan slacks and a plaid Western shirt with a bolo tie, stepped out of the passenger side. His driver was slower to exit. Beau glimpsed high-heeled boots extending beyond the door, then long, slim, denim-clad legs.

Behind Beau, the porch light clicked on. Its glow revealed a long-limbed beauty with a model's figure and a wild mane of auburn hair. Clad in a simple ballet-style black tee and weathered jeans, she looked like a young Julia Roberts—very young, Beau realized as the light struck her face. Probably not much over twenty. Had the congressman found himself a hot new girlfriend? In a place like D.C., stranger things had been known to happen.

“Congressman.” Beau came down the steps, hand extended, to welcome the visitor. Garn Prescott wasn't his favorite person, but Texas hospitality was an honored tradition.

“Good to see you, Beau.” Prescott's handshake was a politician's, firm and hearty. “How's Will? I was on the way home from picking up my daughter at the airport and thought I might drop by for a minute and check on him. Is he up to having visitors?”

Beau glanced at the girl, who was hanging back, as if she found her father's manner embarrassing. Prescott's daughter. Now that was a surprise.

“Will's doing better. He still needs rest, but you're welcome to come in and visit. You, too, Miss Prescott.” Beau glanced back at the girl. “It is Miss Prescott, isn't it?”

“Yes. Lauren.” The girl spoke with quiet confidence, but seemed ill at ease. Until now, Beau hadn't even known Prescott had a daughter. This one struck him as a princess type, especially given what he recognized as $800 boots on her elegantly narrow feet.

“Lauren's my daughter by my first wife,” Prescott explained. “She grew up with her mother, but now that she's finished college, and since she's my only child and likely to inherit my share of the ranch, I've talked her into spending some time here.”

“Really, Daddy, why should Mr. Tyler care about all that?” Lauren demanded.

“I want people to know who you are and how you fit into the family, Lauren,” Prescott said. “It's important.”

Beau mulled over what he'd heard as he ushered the pair through the entry. Prescott's longtime wife, Evelyn, had died of a sudden stroke two years ago. Until now, Beau hadn't known that the congressman had been married before Evelyn or that he had a child.

The sound of voices had awakened Will. He was sitting up, looking tired but alert as Prescott strode into the parlor.

“Please don't get up, Will.” He hurried across the room to shake Will's hand. “I heard about your mishap, and I've been concerned about you. How are you doing?”

“Better than the damned snake, thanks. Have a chair, Garn. I couldn't help overhearing that this young lady's your daughter. Please have a seat, too, Miss Prescott. Beau, would you mind rustling up something for these folks to drink? I'll have the same. What'll it be?”

“Bourbon if you've got it.” Prescott settled into an armchair that was angled toward Will.

“Nothing for me, thank you.” Lauren perched on the arm of the sofa like a bird about to take flight. Beau sensed that she was here under some duress and wanted nothing more than to get this visit over with. Sitting there with her long legs crossed in front of her as if to show off her hand-tooled designer boots, she made a fetching sight. When word got out that she was an heiress, her father would be fighting off suitors.

Prescott glanced toward his daughter as Beau handed him his drink. “Honey, I've got a bit of business to discuss with Will,” he said. “You'll probably be bored. Maybe we could prevail on Beau to take you outside and show you around. I know you like horses. The Tylers have some of the finest animals in the state.”

He turned back to Will, as if assuming his wish would be carried out. Lauren shrugged, rose, and glanced expectantly at Beau.

Beau was curious about what the congressman had to discuss. He would have chosen to stay and listen. But escorting a pretty girl around the moonlit yard was hardly the most onerous job in the world. Putting on a smile, he offered her his arm and led her toward the front door.

“Enjoy.” As Prescott shot them a sly grin, Beau was struck by a thought.

Good Lord, could the old weasel be matchmaking?

 

Will studied Garn Prescott over the rim of his glass. The memory of his father's hatred for old Ferg Prescott went as deep as Texas soil. Will had no love, let alone trust, for Ferg's son—especially after seeing Garn drooling over Tori at the funeral. But these were new times, and in a changing world, cooperation was the only hope of gaining that canyon land back.

“So what can I do for you, Garn?” he asked.

“It's like you to get right to the point, Will.” Prescott was beginning to show his age. His silvery hair was thinning on top and his skin was speckled with sunspots. How old was he? Fifty-four? Fifty-five? Too old for Tori, that was for damned sure, Will thought.

Prescott took a sip of his bourbon and licked his lips. “As you know, I'm running for reelection.”

“I'm aware of that,” Will said. “And I'm aware that you've won the past eight elections by a landslide. Is there any reason to worry this time around?”

Prescott stretched his legs in front of himself. His cowboy boots were immaculate—definitely not the boots of a working rancher. “It's not so much about the election as the nomination,” he said. “The conservative wing of the party's growing. There's talk of squeezing me out in favor of a candidate who'll voice their views. You know I've always stood up for the ranchers, Will.”

“I know. That's why I've voted for you.” Will could guess where this was leading.

“This time around I'm going to need more than your vote.”

“Want to be more specific?”

“The Tylers have a lot of prestige in this district. A public endorsement could make a big difference. So could a cash contribution if you can spare it.”

Will's fingers stroked the surface of the cut glass. “And what's in it for me, besides having a friend in Congress?”

“Isn't that enough?” Prescott looked surprised. As usual, he'd expected something for nothing.

Will shook his head. “You can have my support, Garn, but in return, I want you to right an old wrong. Thirty years ago, my father was forced to sell your father a piece of ranch property—that little canyon with the spring. Do you know the place I mean?”

“Yes. The one with the Spanish gold.”

“Which your father never found. I want to buy it back—for a fair price that you can keep as my contribution to your campaign. Sell it to me, and you'll get my public endorsement as well.”

Prescott downed the rest of his bourbon. “Sorry, Will, but I can't do that. The syndicate—”

“No excuses. I checked the records. The land is yours, not the syndicate's. It's too steep for cattle. You don't need the water, and we both know the gold was nothing but a tall tale. So why not let me buy it back? That way we both get what we want.”

The congressman sighed in regret. “It's not that simple. On his deathbed my father made me promise that I would keep that land in the family. That's why the syndicate doesn't own it.”

Will suppressed the urge to swear out loud. He should have expected something like this. Either Ferg Prescott had locked down that land to spite the Tylers or he'd still believed the Spanish gold was there, maybe both.

The two men sat in silence for a moment, both of them pondering. “There has to be some way around this,” Will said.

“What does it matter?” Prescott demanded. “If the land's as worthless as you say it is, why in blazes do you want to buy it?”

“To get it back in the family. It's the only piece of the ranch that's ever been sold.”

“So it's the principle of the thing?”

“More or less. But if you can't—or won't—budge on it, you and I have nothing more to say to each other. You'll get my vote as usual, and that's it.”

Prescott appeared to be studying his manicured nails. “I'd sell it to you in a minute, Will, but my hands are tied. You do have access to a legal expert. Maybe I could ask Tori—”

“Leave Tori out of this!” Will snapped.

“All right.” Prescott exhaled slowly. “There might be another way, if you'd be willing to make a long-range bet.”

“On what?” Will was instantly suspicious.

Prescott glanced toward the front door, where Beau and Lauren had exited earlier. “Your brother's a bachelor with half interest in your ranch. And I have a beautiful, spirited daughter with a great deal to offer a man. What would you say to giving me your support in exchange for my promise that, when Lauren marries, I give her that little canyon as a wedding gift?”

F
reed from her father's stifling influence, Lauren Prescott had turned out to be a pleasant surprise. She was smart, spunky, and opinionated, with a razor-edged wit. Beau, who'd had mixed feelings about entertaining the congressman's daughter, found himself actually enjoying her.

“Will you be staying long?” he asked as they strolled across the yard toward the barn.

“That depends.” She sidestepped around some horse droppings. “I have a brand-new business and accounting degree from the University of Maryland, and I'm anxious to put it to use. The trouble is, the places where I've applied all want experience.”

“Can't the congressman help you out, maybe pull a few strings?”

“Oh, please!” She shot him a disgusted glance. “It's not that he hasn't offered. But I want to make it on my own, not because I'm Garn Prescott's baby girl. It was my idea to come here and work in the ranch's main office for a few months, just to have something to put on my résumé.”

“I'm guessing that was fine with your father.”

“Oh, Daddy was glad to have me come. But now that I'm here, he wants to put me on display and auction me off to the highest bidder.”

“Since slavery was outlawed after the Civil War, I take it you're talking about an advantageous marriage. Yes?”

She tossed her coppery hair. “Yes—advantageous for him, at least. Why do you think he brought me here tonight—and pushed you into taking me for a stroll? He's got two rich, handsome, unmarried ranchers right here—one of whom might even help him get reelected! Bang the gavel! Who wants to start the bidding?”

Beau studied the stubborn set of her jaw. What she was suggesting was outrageous. But Garn Prescott was a man who used people at every turn. Why should he stop at using his own daughter?

He masked his dismay with a laugh. “Lauren Prescott, you're terrible!”

“No, just honest.”

He steered her toward the barn where the mares and foals were kept. “For what it's worth, I think you're safe here. Will's almost old enough to be your father, and I'm not that far behind. As for being rich, our wealth is in the land, not in the bank. Like most of the family ranchers in these parts, we're struggling to hang on to what we've got.” He paused as a sudden thought struck him. “But I do have a proposition for you, if you'll hear me out.”

“A proposition?” She threw him a hoydenish look. “Now that sounds interesting!”

“Not
that
interesting, I'm afraid. But if you'd like to add another line to your résumé, I could use your part-time help setting up an online spreadsheet for our ranch.”

She made a little musing sound. “Tell me more.”

Beau dramatized a groan. “Where do I begin? The records were a mess when I took them over from Will. I've done my best to get them caught up on the computer, but I need some kind of system to make the job easier going forward. Trouble is, with Will recovering and Sky off scouting new colts—”

“Sky?” She stopped, as if the name had caught her off guard.

“Our resident horse whisperer. You'll meet him if you spend anytime here.”

“He sounds interesting. Maybe he can teach me a thing or two about horses.”

“Maybe. Are you a rider?”

“Not Western. Growing up in Maryland, I competed in dressage and jumping.”

They were walking once more, their shadows long across the moonlit yard. A nightjar zigzagged low in its search for insects, its wings slicing the darkness.

“So what about my offer?” Beau asked.

“How soon would you need me?”

“Yesterday, if possible. But I've managed to blunder along so far. It can wait if you need time to settle in to your real job.”

“I'll give it some thought,” she said. “For the first couple of weeks, I'll need to focus on the work at our ranch. But after that, if I have time and need a break—”

“You will need a break, I'm betting. And when you do, the welcome mat will be out.” Beau opened the stable door. “Come meet the ranch's new little superstar.”

Switching on the low light, he ushered her down the row of roomy stalls toward the one that housed Lupita and Tesoro. The barn had been cleaned, but not well. Wisps of dirty straw littered the floor, and the air smelled of stale manure. Beau swore silently. Lute again. He was going to have to come down hard on him or even kick his lazy butt off the ranch.

Lauren gasped with delight as the stall door opened. Tesoro stood in a shaft of light, gleaming like a newly minted gold coin. The foal was growing fast. Thanks to Erin's loving attention, he was as friendly as a puppy and more than a little spoiled. When Lauren knelt in the straw, he scampered over and butted her with his head, demanding to be petted.

“Oh, he's precious!” She stroked the plush baby coat. “Would you consider selling him? I'll bet I could talk Daddy into buying him for me.”

“Tesoro's not for sale at any price,” Beau said. “He belongs to Will's daughter, and she wouldn't take a million dollars for him.”

“Lucky girl! I don't blame her!” Lauren continued to fondle the foal, cooing and murmuring little endearments. Only then did Beau happen to glance back and notice the mare.

Lupita was huddled against the rear of the stall, her head down, her sides and belly distended as if they'd been pumped full of air. Beau could hear the rumbling in her gut and smell the explosive passing of gas. He was no expert, but having grown up on the ranch, he recognized colic when he saw it. The sick mare was in life-threatening danger.

Lauren was staring at him, her eyes wide with worry. Evidently she understood enough to know what was wrong. “Run back to the house,” Beau told her. “Tell Will to call the vet. He'll have her number.”

As Lauren raced out of the barn, Beau found a halter, slipped it over the mare's head, and attached a lead. Taking care to keep clear of Tesoro, he led her out of the stall and closed the gate. The foal would be distressed without his mother, but for now that couldn't be helped.

Natalie's business card, with her phone number, was thumbtacked to the gate of the stall. Beau had his cell and could have called her himself, but the last thing she needed was to have Slade hear his voice on the phone. Better that Will make the call.

Gripping the halter, he urged Lupita forward, walking her along the row of stalls toward the far end of the barn. Keep her moving. Until Natalie could get here, that was the only way to ease the miserable bloat and help her pass gas. The ranch couldn't lose this young mare.

Growing up, Beau had seen two horses die from colic, and several others recover after getting their stomachs pumped. The ailment was most often caused by food fermenting in the digestive tract, creating blockage and copious amounts of gas that could rupture the intestine. The best chance of saving a horse was to catch the problem early.

Sky, who had a sixth sense about such things, would have noticed the mare's distress at once. Beau was lucky to have caught it at all. Lupita would have died before morning. She could still die if Natalie didn't get here soon.

As he was turning the mare at the end of the barn, Lauren rushed in to tell him that Will had reached the vet and she was on her way. “Daddy wants to leave now,” she said. “He's in a black mood. I'm guessing he and your brother had words. Sorry I can't stay and help.”

“You've helped already.” Beau might have said more, but the congressman was honking the horn outside. For an elected official, the man had the manners of a jackass.

With an apologetic roll of her eyes, Lauren fled, leaving Beau alone. Time crawled as he walked the mare up and down along the row of stalls.

 

Natalie bailed out of her SUV and raced around the vehicle to get her equipment from the back. Two buckets, a length of surgical tubing, a small siphon pump, and a bottle of mineral oil—she could only hope that nothing else would be needed. Some cases of colic required surgery—a horrific prospect. She'd brought what she needed just in case. But she wouldn't think about that possibility unless she had to.

A thread of light told her the barn door was ajar. Arms full, she shouldered it open and almost stumbled into Beau. He was gripping the mare's halter, his face a study in relief.

A swift glance around the barn confirmed that they were alone. Being here with him was as risky as walking on quicksand. But she had a job to do, and her feelings toward the man who'd broken her heart couldn't be allowed to interfere.

“How's the mare doing?” Natalie forced herself to ignore the rapid flutter of her pulse.

His eyes revealed nothing. Neither did his voice. “I've been walking her, but she's still in trouble.”

“And her foal?”

“In the stall. Aside from wanting his mother, he's fine. Thank you for coming, Natalie.”

Even the sound of her name on his lips triggered a rush of emotion. She turned away, avoiding his eyes. “It's my job. Let's get it done.”

The stall nearest the door was kept empty for emergencies like this one. To keep the mare in place, Beau used a light rope to cross-tie her halter to steel rings on either side. The smaller of the two buckets was filled with heated water Natalie had brought in an insulated jug from her house.

“Can you hold her by yourself?” she asked Beau.

“She should be fine. She's a calm one.”

“Then let's do it.” Natalie pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. Intubating a fully conscious horse through the nose was a delicate process, but if done carefully enough, it wasn't painful. Beau stood to one side of the mare's head, holding her steady while Natalie did her work.

“Amazing,” he murmured. “I remember when you used to get wobbly at the sight of blood. How many times have you done this?”

“More than I care to count. Now let's see what this lady's been eating . . . Oh, good grief!” She gasped in dismay as the mare's last meal poured out of the tube into the bucket. “Grain! Enough to fill her whole stomach! No wonder she's bloated! Who fed her last?”

A muscle twitched in Beau's cheek. “Somebody who's going to be hauled out and fired first thing tomorrow!”

“Did you check the other mares?”

A muscle along his jaw jumped in anger. “If they've had that much grain, too, we've got a disaster on our hands! I'll check them as soon as you're done with Lupita.”

“We could be here all night.” Natalie finished flushing Lupita's stomach and gave her a dose of mineral oil to soothe her digestive tract. The mare was already responding. The bloating had lessened, easing her distress. “Good girl,” Natalie murmured, her free hand stroking the mare as she pulled out the tube. “Such a good girl.”

Beau moved off to check the other mares. Minutes later he was back. “They're fine. Nothing but hay in their feeders.”

“So why would this mare have been given grain instead of hay?”

Beau's jaw tightened. “I don't know. But when I find out, there'll be hell to pay.”

The foal was pushing against the stall gate, making frantic little whimpering sounds. The mare lifted her head and nickered an urgent reply. “We can take her back now,” Natalie said. “But we need to stay and watch her at least until that mineral oil works its magic.”

While Beau led the mare back to her stall, Natalie began cleaning up, bagging the used tubing, rinsing the buckets, and stripping off her gloves.

“Does Slade know where you are?” Beau came out of the mare's stall, leaving the gate ajar.

“He's on the road.”
And he won't be back till tomorrow night.
She bit back the last words, fearing that Beau might read more into them than she meant.

“He hasn't given you any trouble, has he?”

She made a show of fitting the siphon pump neatly inside one of the rinsed buckets so she wouldn't have to meet the probe of his gaze.

“No, he hasn't. Not that it's any of your business.”

His hand gripped her arm, pulling her around to face him. “He made it my business when he warned me to stay away from you and threatened to beat you to a pulp if I didn't.” He issued the words in a low growl, all the while his gaze searching for any sign of bruising, old or new.

Shaken a bit by the news, Natalie worked to make sure it didn't show. “Slade tends to talk a lot. And it's usually just that. Talk.”

“Usually,” he mocked her with her own choice of words.

Rather than meet his gaze, she stared at the front of his shirt, remembering the feel of those broad muscles beneath it. God help her, she wanted to feel them again.

“Why did you have to come back for the funeral?” She hurled the question at him, anger and frustration all mingling together. “Why didn't you leave the next day like you said you would? Why did you have to stay?”

His fingers loosened their grip on her arm but didn't release her entirely. “I know what I told myself at the time,” he said quietly. “Now I'm wondering if it wasn't some subconscious desire to see you again. Maybe I wanted to see for myself that you were happily married. You're not.”

“Every marriage goes through rough patches.” There was no way she was going to admit that hers was more than a rough patch, that divorce seemed inevitable.

“I've seen the way he treats you, Natalie. He's no good for you.”

“And you're better, I suppose.” Pushed by a surge of bravado, she made the mistake of meeting his gaze.

“You're damned right I am,” he murmured, and bent his head, feathering a kiss across her lips.

“Don't.” She drew back. “I can't do this again, Beau. You broke my heart once, and that was enough. The worst of it was, I never understood why.”

“Maybe I didn't know how to tell you,” he said.

“You can tell me now,” she challenged him.