He hugged her close, the brush of his hard thighs against her belly reminding her of the surprise she had to share. Tonight was as good a night as any to tell him that the Hart family would be growing. In eight months, Emmy would have a new baby brother or sister to love.
“I swear, I love you more and more every day,” Mitch whispered before kissing her again, slow and sweet. “There’s no place in the world I’d rather be.”
“Same here,” Kristen said, smiling.
Hart’s Hollow Farm was perfect in every way. More than that—it was home.
If you love Janet Dailey,
you won’t want to miss TEXAS FOREVER,
coming soon in paperback!
August, the present
The brutal August sun sank behind the Caprock Escarpment, streaking the cliffs with hues of gold, bronze, and deep blood red. Like silken draperies set afire, the tattered clouds blazed, then slowly melted into twilight. Shadows deepened, flowing down the narrow canyons to flood the parched foothills with the black of a moonless night.
A gray fox slipped out of its den, ears alert for the sound of a scurrying mouse or lizard. Bats darted on silent wings, catching insects in flight. A golden eagle glided to the rocky edge of a high precipice, folded its powerful wings, and settled for the night.
On the dust-swept plain below the escarpment, the sprawling heart of the Rimrock Ranch lay shrouded in unaccustomed silence. Cigarettes, dots of red in the darkness, glowed outside the bunkhouse, but the usual banter of the cowhands was absent. Even the horses and cattle seemed subdued.
The windows were dark in the imposing stone and timber house that Bull Tyler had finished for his bride fifty years ago. On the broad front porch, two figures sat in rustic log chairs, placed close together.
Will Tyler, the ranch boss and head of the family, was nursing a can of cheap Mexican beer. He stared into the darkness beyond the porch rail, saying nothing.
His daughter Erin, now nineteen, sat watching him. Her father was far from old—not yet fifty. But time and grief had aged him beyond his years. Already mourning his wife, he’d been crushed today by the sudden loss of his oldest friend. Not that he’d shown it. Even after the sheriff and his deputy had driven off, he’d expressed no flicker of emotion nor shed so much as a tear. All the more reason for Erin to be worried about him.
“I still can’t believe Jasper is gone,” she said, hoping her father would open up and talk. Keeping his grief bottled inside was only going to make him feel worse.
After what seemed like a long silence, Will cleared his throat. “I just wish the end had been different for him. Even at ninety-three, crashing an ATV into a gulley isn’t the way you want to go.” He took a swallow of the Mexican beer Jasper had always liked, as if he were drinking it as a sort of tribute. But even that did nothing to ease his inner pain. With a muttered curse, he crushed the unfinished can in his fist and flung it over the porch railing, where it would be picked up by a stable hand in the morning. “I never could understand why Jasper fancied this god-awful two-bit beer. It always tasted like horse piss to me. Still does.”
Erin smiled at the feeble joke, sensing the anguish behind it. For as long as anyone in the Tyler family could remember, Jasper Platt had been the heart and soul of the Rimrock Ranch. He had worked for Will’s grandfather, Williston Tyler, and for Will’s father, the legendary Bull Tyler. To Will and his brother Beau, Jasper had been like a second father, watching over them as they grew to manhood, and teaching them all the skills they’d need to be good cowboys.
Even in his old age, when arthritis would no longer allow him to sit a horse, Jasper had served as honorary foreman to the ranch as well as friend and confidant to three generations of Tyler men.
Erin had adored him. To her, Jasper had been like a loving grandfather. She couldn’t imagine the Rimrock—or her own life—without his wise, crusty presence. She’d been in denial about Jasper’s age and the certainty that he wouldn’t last much longer. But when he’d failed to show up for breakfast that morning and when circling vultures had led searchers to his body, barely a mile from the heart of the ranch, the shock had been unimaginable. It was still sinking in that the old man was gone.
After examining the scene, Sheriff Cyrus Harger had declared his death a tragic accident. What else could it be? Surely, at Jasper’s age, a stroke or heart attack could have caused the ATV he was riding to veer off the rocky trail and plunge to the bottom of a desert wash. The sheriff and his young deputy, who’d checked out the scene, had agreed that there were no suspicious circumstances. Will, to whom Jasper had given power of attorney, had turned down the suggestion of an autopsy. It would only delay the funeral, he’d insisted, and it would be a needless violation of the old man’s body.
Still, Jasper’s death had left unanswered questions.
“I begged him not to go out alone in that damned ATV,” Will said, “but I know he liked hunting birds, and he hated being told what he shouldn’t do. The sheriff said he died sometime between six and eight last night. He would have been on his way home about then.”
“When did you realize he was missing?” Erin had gone to a movie in town the previous night and hadn’t come home until after her father was in bed.
“As I told the sheriff, he wasn’t around at supper time, but that wasn’t unusual. Sometimes he just warmed up leftovers and ate in his duplex. Later on I was busy making phone calls and didn’t check on him.” Will’s voice roughened with emotion. “Lord, if I had, maybe we could’ve found him in time. This is on me.”
“Don’t talk that way, Dad. However Jasper died, chances are you couldn’t have done anything.” Erin reached across the space between their chairs and squeezed his hand. Without the truth, her father would always blame himself for the death of his old friend. Maybe finding that truth would be up to her. She would be busy until the funeral was over. But after that, she would take some time to look into the so-called accident.
“Were you able to reach Uncle Beau?” she asked, changing the subject. “Will he be here for the funeral?”
“He’ll be flying into Lubbock on Friday with Natalie and their daughter. I offered to pick him up, but he said they’d rather rent a car.” Will’s jaw tightened. “I’m guessing he’ll want to leave right after the funeral.”
Will’s younger brother had grown up on the ranch. He’d left to join the military, then moved back after their father’s death. But ranch life, and being bossed by Will, had grated on him. Three years ago, after a final blowup between the brothers, Beau had left the Rimrock to take up his former job in Washington as a senior agent for the DEA. He and Will had never made peace. But that didn’t keep Erin from missing Beau’s charming, fun-loving ways.
A night breeze had sprung up, its hot breath stirring the parched grass and peppering Erin’s face with fine dust. This summer’s drought was as bad as any she could remember in her nineteen years. The water holes had gone dry, and, as the creaking windmill reminded her, even the wells were getting low. There’d been talk of cutting back
the Rimrock’s herd of white-faced Herefords, selling off the steers and older cows early to save water for the ranch’s precious breeding stock. Selling before the animals reached prime weight in the fall would mean less money for the ranch. But it would be better than watching cattle die of thirst.