Texas Forever. Janet Dailey

      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