chin, he rode across the fire-scarred flat and up toward the edge of the foothills. The stiff breeze whipped waves across the yellow grassland and battered his sheepskin coat. A pair of ravens soared on the windy swells, tumbling as if in play.
In the pastures red-coated Hereford cattle clustered with their backs to the wind. After the summer drought and the fire that followed, Will had sold off most of his steers at a loss. The animals that remained were breeding stock—prime cows and bulls and last spring’s half-grown calves—his best hope for the next season. If he could keep them fed and healthy over the winter, he’d have a good start on next summer’s herd. But if the coming winter turned harsh, the price of extra hay and the calorie-rich cottonseed cake known as “cow candy” could bankrupt him.
In the distance he could see Beau’s crew with the flatbed truck, setting up stacks of baled hay to serve as extra wind breaks for the cattle. Two generations ago, when Bull’s father, Williston Tyler, had cleared the land for pasture, he’d had the foresight to leave clumps of cedar growing in place. Last summer’s wildfire had destroyed many of the scrubby evergreens. A few stands had been spared, but if the storm turned out to be a bad one, the trees wouldn’t be enough. Cold would be the worst danger. The cattle were still growing their long winter coats. They’d been given extra feed to strengthen their resistance, and heaters had been installed to keep their water tanks from freezing over. But the worry wouldn’t ease till this early storm had passed.
Last summer, after the drought and the fire, he and Beau had taken out a hundred-thousand-dollar short-term bank loan, secured by some acreage, to tide the ranch over for a few months, pending the sale of the steers and Sky’s colts. But the cattle had sold low; and with other Texas ranches in as much trouble as the Rimrock, few of their owners had cash to spend on new horses.
At the first of the year, the loan, along with the interest, would be due. If they could talk the bank into an extension, they had a chance of pulling through. Otherwise, they’d have no choice except to lose the land or sell it—a solution that would make Bull Tyler turn over in his grave.
As if spurred by the thought, he headed the horse uphill toward the escarpment. A forty-minute ride brought him to the mouth of a narrow box canyon with high, red sandstone walls. Sheltered from the wind, it was a mystical place. Soft red sand covered the floor. On the side where a sheer cliff rose straight up, a panorama of Native American petroglyphs—wild animals, warriors, mythic spirits, and many, many horses—paraded across the sandstone face, telling silent stories of a past that would never live again.
Will dismounted, tethered the horse, and walked up the canyon, enjoying the peace of the place. But someone had been here recently. For the space of a breath, Will felt the warning prickle at the back of his neck. Then he relaxed as he recognized the prints of Sky’s worn soles and Lauren’s narrow designer boots. This, he knew, was one of their favorite places.
Near the spot where Will stood, mesquite bushes screened a small, steep side canyon—the disputed canyon that his father had sold to Ferg Prescott years ago for a dollar. The last time Will had been here, the stream in its bed had been dammed at the top. Barbed wire had blocked the entrance with a sign reading, PROPERTY OF PRESCOTT RANCH. But as Will pushed his way through the brush, he realized something had changed. The barbed wire and the sign were gone. Water trickled down the rocks, the sound of it music to a rancher’s ears.
Lauren had kept her word. But the parcel was still in Prescott hands, and she had nothing to gain by selling it. Will was doing his best to be patient, but with the threat of jail hanging over him, he needed to get the matter settled. Whatever happened next, he owed it to his father’s memory to make the Rimrock Ranch whole again.
* * *
Will returned to the ranch house, hung up his coat and, hearing voices, found Jasper and Erin at the kitchen table, drinking cocoa with marshmallows. “You look like you could use some thawin’ out,” Jasper said. “Pan’s still hot on the stove. Help yourself to what’s left.”
“Thanks.”