Texas Tough

Book 2: Tylers of Texas

by Janet Dailey

Genres: Action & Adventure; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

"He’s everything she doesn’t need.

The quiet horse whisperer whose touch still ignites her dreams—and is everything wealthy Lauren Prescott is not. She can think of a million reasons why she should never ever fall into Sky Fletcher's sure embrace again. Until she clashes head-on with the dangerous complications of her privileged life and needs his protection like air to breathe . . .

She's more than he can resist.

The heiress Sky can't get out of his heart, no matter how much he tries. And being the secret third Tyler son doesn't change a thing. All he wants from his two brothers is help uncovering a dangerous conspiracy threatening his land, their ranch, and the spirited beauty he never should have touched. . . "

Release date: May 26, 2015

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 368

Sample

The sun burned blood red through a lingering haze of dust. As it sank behind the buttes and turrets of the Caprock Escarpment, shadows stretched long across the heat-seared landscape. With each minute that passed, the two riders grew more anxious. If they didn’t find the missing man soon, they’d be searching for him in the dark.

Jasper Platt, the Rimrock’s retired foreman, had gone hunting early that morning. When he didn’t show up for supper, Sky Fletcher and Beau Tyler had saddled their horses and set out looking for him. Armed with pistols and flashlights, they rode out across the flat toward the dry alkali lake where the old man liked to shoot quail and wild turkey.

“I don’t like this.” Beau scanned the horizon with his binoculars. “The old man’s got no business out here alone, driving that ATV God knows where, maybe rolling it in a wash, or even running into those smugglers who’ve been leaving tracks all over the place. We need to make some rules and insist that he follow them.”

“And how do you think Jasper would take to your rules?” Sky spoke softly, sharp ears alert for any unfamiliar sound. “He may be old, but that’s no reason to treat him like a child. After all, he practically raised you and Will after your mother died.”

Beau exhaled a tension-charged breath. “Somebody had to do the job. Our dad sure as hell didn’t have the patience. Jasper was more of a father to Will and me than Bull Tyler ever was. I just hope we find him safe.”

Sky let the words pass. It was no secret that Beau Tyler and his domineering father, Bull, had clashed bitterly at every turn. After their last quarrel, Beau had left for the army and stayed away eleven years.

Sky, however, had nothing but respect for the hard-driving rancher who’d taken in a starving half-Comanche teenager and given him a job. In the fourteen years Sky had worked for the Rimrock, he’d learned that Bull could be harsh but never unfair. The man’s death this past spring had been a genuine loss. Sky was still reeling from the legacy Bull had left him in his will—the deed to 100 acres of prime ranchland, the first thing of real value he’d ever owned.

“Maybe we should’ve brought the dog.” Beau’s words broke into Sky’s thoughts. Tag, the black and white Border Collie, was about Jasper’s age in dog years. The two were close companions.

“I didn’t see Tag at the house,” Sky said. “Jasper might have taken him along in the ATV. If anything happened to Jasper, that dog would stay right with him. Keep your ears open. Maybe we’ll hear something.”

Both men fell silent as the twilight deepened. Sky’s ears sifted through the night sounds—the drone of flying insects, the faraway wail of a coyote, the rhythmic ploof of shod hooves in the powdery dust. With scorching temperatures and no rain since spring, the land was drier than he’d ever seen it. The drought was a constant, gnawing worry. But right now the more urgent concern was finding Jasper.

“Listen!” Beau hissed. “Do you hear that?”

“Sounds like a dog!” Sky had caught it, too. Urging their horses to a gallop, the two men thundered toward the sound.

Minutes later they found the ATV. The open vehicle had careened and landed on its side in a hollow, where a minuscule spring seeped out of the ground. Protected by the roll bar, Jasper was sprawled belly down, one side of his face pressed in the water-slicked mud. The Border Collie stood guard, barking at their approach.

“Get the dog out of the way.” Cursing, Beau dropped to a crouch beside the old man, who was as much a part of the Rimrock Ranch as the land itself.

Gripped by dread, Sky held the dog’s collar, stroking and soothing the agitated animal while Beau, who’d had some medical experience as an Army Ranger, checked for vital signs.

“Is he alive?” Sky asked, steeling himself against the answer.

“Barely. His pulse feels week. Sounds like he might have some fluid in his lungs, too.” Beau worked a hand beneath Jasper’s head to lift his face clear of the mud. “I’d guess he’s been here awhile. Damned lucky he didn’t drown.”

Sky’s free hand whipped out his cell phone. “I’ll get Life Flight. Want me to call the house, too? Will and Bernice will be worried. And they’ll need to tell Erin.”

Beau was probing for broken bones. “Go ahead and call Life Flight. Then you can help me push the ATV off him and turn him over. I’ll phone Will when we’ve got him more comfortable.”

By the time Sky had finished the call, the dog was calm enough to stay put. Between them, Sky and Beau tipped the light vehicle back onto its wheels and pushed it out of the way. Jasper was semiconscious, muttering and moaning, his Stetson gone, his muddy white hair plastered to his scalp.

“I’ll take his head and shoulders,” Beau directed. “You support his hips and spine. On the count of three, we roll him onto his back.”

Crouching low, Sky worked his hands beneath the bony old body and waited for the count. Jasper had been on the Rimrock since before Will and Beau were born. By the time Sky showed up, he was already a silver-haired elder. Arthritis had ended his days in the saddle, but he remained a treasure trove of wisdom, humor, and experience. If he didn’t make it, his loss would devastate the ranch family.

Between advanced age and dehydration, Jasper’s body felt almost weightless. After lifting him like a child, they rolled him onto a patch of dry grass. By then the twilight had deepened to dusk. But even without the flashlight, they could see the dark stain spread around the hole in the front of his faded plaid shirt. Sky’s heart slammed. Beau cursed.

Jasper had been shot.

Will Tyler had left for the hospital within minutes of Beau’s call, taking Bernice, Jasper’s widowed younger sister who’d run the Tyler household for the past thirty years. Beau had gone with Jasper in the helicopter, leaving Sky to take the dog and horses to the barn and return in the pickup for the ATV.

Sky had decided against going to the hospital. Somebody had to look after things at the ranch—and even though he thought the world of Jasper, Sky was aware that he wasn’t family. Not like the Tylers were family.

He was helping with early-morning chores when the call came from Will. “The old man’s barely hanging on.” Will’s voice was gritty with exhaustion. “He’s got pneumonia now, as well as the gunshot wound. He’s a tough old man, but the doctor isn’t sure he’ll make it.”

“Anything I can do?” Sky spoke past the knot in his throat.

“Yes. Jasper’s conscious and asking for you. Get here as soon as you can.”

Still in his work clothes, Sky piled into his ten-year-old Ford pickup and set out on the hour-long drive to the hospital in Lubbock. He couldn’t think of any reason why Jasper would ask for him, but if that was what the old man wanted, he would be there. If the worst happened, it would at least give him a chance to say good-bye.

The rising sun, a fireball above the rolling plains, promised another day of blistering heat. On either side of the road, the grassy landscape stretched as dead as broom straw, dotted with clumps of dry mesquite. Buzzards, a half mile distant, flocked around a dark, bulky shape. A dead cow, maybe even a horse. At least the scavengers were eating well.

Sky had seen droughts before, but never one as bad as this. With the summer not half over, things were bound to get even worse. Will had already talked about selling off the cattle early, which made Sky’s work training horses to sell even more vital to the ranch’s survival.

But concerns about the drought would have to wait. Right now what mattered most was Jasper’s life.

As Sky swung the pickup into a parking spot, a white Toyota Land Cruiser pulled up next to him. Beau’s fiancée, Natalie Haskell, flew out of the driver’s seat to join Sky on a fast walk to the waiting room. Doll-sized, she was dressed for her work as a vet in jeans and a tan cotton shirt.

“Beau said I didn’t need to come, but I couldn’t stay away. I’ve known Jasper all my life.” She brushed back her mop of dark curls. The diamond on her finger scattered rainbows where it caught the sunlight.

Sky didn’t reply as he held the door for her. There were no words for a time like this.

The small waiting room was crowded. Beau, who’d been awake all night and looked it, hurried forward to pull Natalie in his arms. The two held each other, taking and giving comfort.

Bernice, red-eyed and disheveled, huddled on a couch, needles clicking with each stitch of the brown afghan she was knitting. Will’s ex-wife, Tori, a willowy blonde, sat next to her with an arm around their twelve-year-old daughter, Erin. Tears stained the girl’s pretty, young face. Jasper was like a grandfather to her.

A wall-mounted television in the far corner was blaring an early-morning talk show, but no one in the room was paying it any heed. As he looked around for Will, Sky found himself wondering if the sheriff’s men had been here, or if the press had caught wind of the shooting. If Jasper didn’t make it, the authorities would be looking for a murderer.

Unshaven and haggard, Will stood alone by the window. Dark, blue-eyed, and muscular, he was the near image of his late father. Seeing Sky come in, Will crossed the room to join him.

For the past six years, since Bull Tyler’s paralysis in a riding accident, Will had run the Rimrock. After Bull’s recent death, Beau had come home for the funeral and stayed on as foreman, freeing Sky to manage the horses full time. But it had been Jasper’s deep knowledge of the ranch—the how and why of things—that had sustained them all. Much as Jasper would be missed by the ranch family, Sky suspected Will would miss him most.

“He’s down the left hallway. I’ll show you where.” Will opened the swinging doors that led from the waiting room to the ICU.

“Do we know who shot him?” Sky asked.

“Jasper says he didn’t see a soul. When the bullet hit, he lost control of the ATV, and that’s the last thing he remembers. The doctor thinks he may have a concussion.” Will’s lips tightened. “He’ll have an oxygen mask on, but he can take it off long enough to talk to you. Just make sure you don’t tire him.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make the visit a short one.” Sky had long since accepted Will’s need to manage things. Bull’s nature had been much the same.

Alone now, Sky opened the door to Jasper’s room and walked in. Propped in bed with a thin blanket covering his legs, the old man looked as frail as an ancient skeleton, ready to crumble at a touch. Monitors and IV lines formed a web around him, beeping and flashing. Anchored by a clip, a catheter bag hung over the side of the mattress.

Growing up among his Comanche mother’s people, Sky had learned to accept age and death as a natural process. To truss up an elder in such a way, denying him the dignity of a good death, struck him as demeaning. But who was he to question the wisdom of the doctors?

A plastic cup, supplying oxygen, covered Jasper’s nose and mouth. Above it, his pale eyes were open and surprisingly alert. One hand gestured feebly toward the oxygen mask, signaling that he wanted Sky to move it aside—easily done, since it was held in place by a strip of soft elastic.

“Isn’t this a pickle? For two cents I’d yank off all this fancy rigging and walk out of here.” Jasper’s voice was weak. Will had been right about not tiring the old man. Every word seemed to cost him strength.

“Will said you wanted to see me,” Sky said. “I got here as soon as I could.”

“Thanks. Feelin’ like hell. If the good Lord’s ready to take me, I’m willin’ to go. But I won’t rest easy till I’ve told you a secret—” Jasper’s voice dropped to a labored breath. “A secret I’ve kept all your life.”

“You need to rest, Jasper.” Why did Sky feel that he was about to hear something he was better off not knowing? “The secret can wait.”

“No. You deserve the truth. And I’m the only one left who knows to tell you.” Jasper’s gaze flickered toward the open door. “Close it,” he rasped.

Sky closed the door and returned to the bed. Jasper seemed to be struggling to breathe. Sky touched the oxygen mask in a silent question. The old man shook his head. “This won’t take long,” he said. “Lean closer.... That’s better. You never knew about your father, did you, boy?”

“Only that he was white. And that he wouldn’t marry my mother.”

“Listen, then.” Jasper was fighting to breathe. “I swear this is God’s truth. Your father was Bull Tyler.”

Leaving 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.

Lord help her, she wanted the man. . . .

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.

It 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. . .