Texas! Chase

  Prologue

  “Chase, please, let’s get out of here.

  We shouldn’t bother her.”

  The hushed words had to penetrate pain and narcotics to reach her. Somehow they did. Marcie Johns pried open her swollen eyes.

  The hospital room was dim, but the scant daylight leaking through the drawn blinds seemed painfully brilliant. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust.

  Chase Tyler was standing at the side of her bed. With him was his younger brother. Lucky, whom she recognized though they’d never met.

  Chase was staring down at her with unstinting intensity. Lucky seemed apprehensive.

  Though she couldn’t be specific about the time of day, she believed it to be the morning following the fatal auto accident. Earlier, the efficient hospital staff had moved her from an intensive care unit into this standard room at St. Luke’s Methodist Hospital.

  She had been examined by a team of doctors, each of whom specialized in a different field, and had been informed that her injuries were serious but not critical. She had suffered a concussion, a broken arm and collarbone, and shock.

  She was grateful to be alive and relieved that her prognosis for a full recovery was positive. But no one had mentioned Tanya.

  From the moment she regained consciousness in the intensive care unit, she had frantically asked questions about Tanya. At last they told her: Tanya Tyler had died upon impact in the crash. A Texas Tech student, home for summer vacation, had run a stop sign and hit the car broadside.

  Marcie had been wearing her seat belt. Even so, she’d been hurled to the side and momentum had brought her up and forward. Her head had crashed into the windshield. Her face was bruised and abraded. Both eyes had been badly bruised. Her nose and lips were battered and swollen. Her shoulder was in a cast designed to keep her broken arm elevated.

  The impact that had done so much damage to her had instantly killed Chase’s wife.

  In less than twenty-four hours, Chase had undergone a physical change as drastic in appearance as Marcie’s injuries. His handsome features were now ravaged by grief. He was disheveled, unshaven, bleary-eyed. If she hadn’t known him for most of her life, if his face hadn’t always been dear to her, Marcie might not have recognized him.

  She had been retained as the Tylers’ real estate agent, but had been working strictly with Tanya. They had looked at several properties over the course of a few weeks, but Marcie’s enthusiasm for one particular house had been contagious. Tanya had fallen in love with it and was eager to see if Chase’s opinion would match hers.

  Chase Tyler and Marcie Johns had gone through thirteen grades of public schooling together, but hadn’t seen each other for years, until yesterday when she and Tanya had unexpectedly called on him at the office of Tyler Drilling Company.

  “Goosey!” He had stood and rounded his desk to greet her with a handshake, then a quick, hard hug.

  “Hi, Chase,” she had said, laughing at the ancient nickname. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Why haven’t you been to any of our class reunions?” His smile made her believe him when he added, “You look fantastic.”

  “I can’t believe you’re calling her by that horrid name,” Tanya had exclaimed.

  “You didn’t take any offense, did you?”

  Chase asked.

  “Of course not. If I could bear it as a sensitive, self-conscious adolescent, I can bear it as a mature adult. As for the class reunions, I lived in Houston for several years, but it was never convenient for me to make one.”

  He gave her an approving once-over. “You’re really looking terrific, Marcie. The years have been more than kind. They’ve been generous.

  I hear your business is going great guns, too.”

  “Thank you, and yes, I’ve enjoyed being in business for myself. The economy has slowed things down the past year or two, but I’m hanging in there.”

  “Wish I could say the same,” Chase had remarked good-naturedly.

  “Oh, but I understand you’ve got something very special to celebrate.”

  “I told her about the baby,” Tanya informed him. “And she’s convinced me that even though our budget is tight, we can afford a house, and that now is an excellent time to buy. It’s a buyer’s market,” she had told him, repeating what Marcie had told her earlier.

  “Should I be reaching for my checkbook?”

  he had asked teasingly.

  “Not yet. Marcie and I want you to come see the house she showed me yesterday. I think it’s perfect. Will you come?”

  “What, now?”

  “Please.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t,” Chase had said.

  Tanya’s animated face became crestfallen.

  “If it were any other time, I would, but I’m expecting a rep from the insurance company He was supposed to be here right after lunch, but called to say he was running late. I need to be here when he arrives.”

  Marcie remembered saying, “I read in the morning papers that your brother has been cleared of those ridiculous arson charges.”

  “Is there another problem, Chase?”

  “No,” he had said, reassuringly pressing Tanya’s hand between his. “We just need to go over the inventory of all the equipment we lost and discuss our claim.”

  She sighed with disappointment. “Well, maybe tomorrow.”

  “Or even later today,” he had offered. “Why don’t you go look at the house again, and if you’re still excited about it, call me. Maybe I can meet you there after he leaves. That is, if you’re free, Marcie.”

  “I blocked out the entire afternoon for Tanya and you.”

  Tanya, smiling again, had thrown her arms around Chase’s neck and kissed him soundly on the mouth. “I love you. And you’re going to love this house.”

  With his arms around her waist, he had hugged her tight. “I probably will, but not as much as I love you. Call me later.”

  Following them to the doorway, he had waved them off.

  That was the last time Tanya and Chase had seen each other, touched, kissed. Marcie and Tanya had gone without him and had spent another hour touring the vacant house.

  “Chase is going to love this,” Tanya had said as they walked through yet another spacious room. Her excitement had been as keen as that of a child with a secret. Her smile had been so sweet. Her eyes had sparkled with exuberance over life in general.

  Now she was dead.

  At the sight of her grieving widower, Marcie’s sore chest muscles contracted around her heart. “Chase, I’m sorry,” she wheezed. “So sorry.”

  She wanted to reach out and touch him, and she tried to before realizing that her arm and collarbone were unmovable in their cast.

  Had he come to rebuke her for being a reckless driver? Did he blame the accident on her? Was she to blame?

  “We … we never even saw him.” Her voice was thin and faint and unfamiliar to her own ears. “It was just … a racket and …”

  Chase lowered himself into the chair beside her bed. He barely resembled the man he’d been the day before. Always tall, with a commanding presence, he was now stooped. Lines seemed to have been carved into his face overnight.

  His gray eyes, characteristically intense, were bloodshot. Not only did they look bereaved, there was no life behind them. They reflected no light, as though he were dead too.

  “I want to know about Tanya.” His voice cracked when he spoke her name. He roughly cleared his throat. “What kind of mood was she in? What was she saying? What were her last words?”

  Lucky groaned. “Chase, don’t do this to yourself.”

  Chase irritably threw off the hand Lucky placed on his shoulder. “Tell me, Marcie, what was she doing, saying, when … when that bastard killed her?”


  Lucky lowered his forehead into one of his hands and massaged his temples with his thumb and middle finger. He was obviously as upset as his brother. The Tylers were a close family, never failing to bolster, defend, and protect each other. Marcie understood the concern they must feel for Chase. But she could also empathize with Chase’s need to know about the final moments of his young wife’s life.

  “Tanya was laughing,” Marcie whispered.

  Pain medication had slowed and slurred her speech. Her brain had trouble conveying the correct words to her tongue, which felt thick and too large for her mouth. It was a struggle to get the words out, but she tried very hard to make herself understood because she knew Chase would cling to every careful word she managed to speak.

  “We were talking about the house. She … she was so excited about … about it.”

  “I’m going to buy that house.” Chase glanced up at Lucky, his eyes wild and unfocused.

  “Buy that house for me. She wanted the house, so she’s going to have it.”

  “Chase—”

  “Buy the damn house!” he roared. “Will you just do that much for me, please, without giving me an argument?”

  “Okay.”

  His wild and loud outburst was jarring to Marcie’s traumatized system. She recoiled from this, another assault, to her injured body.

  Yet she readily forgave him. In his own way he had been just as traumatized as she by the accident.

  To anyone who had seen Chase and Tanya together, it was instantly apparent that they had shared a special love. Tanya had adored him, and he had cherished Tanya, who had been pregnant with their first child. The accident had robbed him of two loved ones.

  “Right before we went … through the intersection, she asked me what color I thought…”

  A shooting pain went through her arm, causing her to grimace. She badly wanted to close her eyes, surrender to the anesthetizing drugs being dripped into her vein, and blot out consciousness and the anguish that accompanied it.

  More than that, however, she wanted to help alleviate Chase’s pain. If talking about Tanya would ease his pain, then that was the least she could do. She would continue talking for as long as she could hold out against her own discomfort and the allure of unconsciousness.

  “She asked me … what color she should paint the bedroom … for the baby.”

  Chase covered his face with his hands. “Je sus.” Tears leaked through his fingers and ran down the backs of his hands. This tangi ble evidence of his grief caused Marcie more agony than the brutal car crash.

  “Chase,” she whispered raggedly, “do you blame me?”

  Keeping his hands over his eyes, he shook his head. “No, Marcie, no. I blame God. He killed her. He killed my baby. Why? Why? I loved her so much. I loved—” He broke into sobs.

  Lucky moved toward him and again laid a consoling hand on his brother’s shaking shoulders.

  Marcie detected tears in the younger man’s eyes also. He seemed to be battling his own heartache. Recently Lucky had made news by being charged with setting fire to a garage at Tyler Drilling. The charges had been dropped and the real culprits were now in custody, but apparently the ordeal had taken its toll on him.

  She searched for something more to say, but words of comfort were elusive and abstract.

  Her befuddled mind couldn’t grasp them. It didn’t really matter. Anything she said would sound banal.

  God, how can I help him?

  She was an overachiever to whom helplessness was anathema. Her inability to help him filled her with desperation. She stared at the crown of his bowed head, wanting to touch it, wanting to hold him and absorb his agony into herself.

  Just before lapsing into blessed unconsciousness, she vowed that somehow, someday, some way, she would give life back to Chase Tyler.

  “We’ve got a bunch of mean bulls tonight, ladies and gentlemen, but we’ve also got some cowboys who’ve rough and ready to ride ‘em.” The announcer’s twangy voice reverberated through the cavernous arena of the Will Roger’s Coliseum in Fort Worth, Texas.

  “Eight seconds. That’s how long a cowboy has to sit on top of that bull. Doesn’t sound like much, but it’s the longest eight seconds you can imagine. There’s not a cowboy here who wouldn’t agree to that. Yessiree. In the world of rodeo, this is the most demandin’, most dangerous, most excitin’ event. That’s why we save it till last.”

  Marcie looked toward her two guests, pleased to see that they were enjoying themselves.

  Bringing them to the rodeo had been a good idea. What better way to introduce them into pure, undiluted Texana? It was like a baptism of fire.

  The announcer said, “Our first bull rider tonight comes from Park City, Utah, and when he’s not bull riding, Larry Shafer likes to snow ski. Here’s a real thrill-seekin’ young man, ladies and gentlemen, coming out of chute number three on Cyclone Charlie! Ride ‘im, Larry!”

  The couple from Massachusetts watched breathlessly as the Brahman bull charged out of the chute with the cowboy perched precariously atop his bucking back. Within a few seconds, the cowboy/skier from Utah was scrambling in the dirt to avoid the bull’s pounding hooves. As soon as he’d gained his footing he ran for the fence, scaled it, and left it up to the two rodeo clowns to distract the bull until it ran through the open gate and out of the arena.

  “I never saw anything like that,” the woman said, aghast.

  “Do these young men train to do this?” her husband wanted to know.

  Marcie had only recently become interested in bull riding and her knowledge was still sketchy. “Yes, they do. There’s a lot of skill involved, but a lot of chance too.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like which bull a cowboy draws on a particular night.”

  “Some are more contrary than others?”

  Marcie smiled. “All are bred to be rodeo animals, but each has his mood swings and personality traits.”

  Their attention was drawn to another chute where the bull had already lost patience and was bucking so violently the cowboy was having a difficult time mounting. The woman from Massachusetts fanned her face nervously.

  Her husband sat enthralled.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like our next cowboy is going to have a time of it tonight,” the announcer said. “Anybody here want to take his place?” After a pause he chuckled. “Now, don’t all of y’all volunteer at once.

  “But this cowboy isn’t afraid of a tough bull. In fact, the rougher the ride, the better he seems to like it. He rodeoed for years before retiring from it. Took it up again about a year and a half ago, not the least bit intimidated that he’s a decade older than most cowboys who ride bulls.

  “He hails from East Texas. Anybody here from over Milton Point way? If so, put your hands together for this young man from your hometown, Chase Tyler, as he comes out of chute number seven on Ellll Dorado”

  “Oh, my God!” Unaware of what she was doing, Marcie surged to her feet.

  The announcer raised his voice to an eardrum-blasting volume as the gate swung open and the mottled, gray bull charged out, swinging his hindquarters to and fro and, moving in opposition, thrashing his head from side to side.

  Marcie watched the cowboy hat sail off Chase’s head and land in the dirt beneath the bull’s pulverizing hooves. He kept his free left arm high, as required by the rules of the sport.

  It flopped uncontrollably as the bull bucked.

  His entire body was tossed high, then landed hard as it came back down onto the bull’s back. He kept both knees raised and back, held at right angles to either side of the bull, rocking back and forth, up and down, on his tailbone.

  The crowd was wildly cheering, encouraging Chase to hang on. He managed to maintain his seat for about five seconds, though it had seemed like five years to Marcie. Before the horn sounded, the beast ducked his head so far down it almost touched the ground, then flung it up again. The movement had so much raw power behind it, Chase was thrown off.
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  He dodged the stamping hooves by rolling to one side. A clown, wearing baggy pants held up by suspenders, moved in and batted the bull on the snout with a rubber baseball bat. The bull snorted, stamped, and the clown scampered away, turning to thumb his nose at the animal.

  It looked as though it were all in fun and the crowd laughed. The seriousness of the clown’s job became instantly apparent, however, when the tactic failed to work.

  The bull swung around, slinging great globs of foamy slobber from either side of its mouth, its nostrils flared. Chase, his back to the bull, picked up his hat from the dirt and slapped it against his chaps. A warning was snouted, but not in time. The bull charged him, head lowered, over a ton in impetus behind the attack.

  Chase sidestepped quickly enough to keep from being gored by a pair of vicious-looking horns, but the side of the bull’s head caught him in the shoulder and he was knocked down.

  Everyone in the audience gasped when the pair of front hooves landed square on Chase’s chest.

  Marcie screamed, then covered her mouth with her hands. She watched in horror as Chase lay sprawled in the reddish-brown dirt, obviously unconscious.

  Again the clowns moved in, as well as two spotters on horseback. They galloped toward the bull. Each was standing in his stirrups, leaning far over his saddle horn, swinging a lasso. One was successful in getting the noose over the bull’s horns and pulling the rope taut. His well-trained mount galloped through the gate, dragging the reluctant bull behind him while one brave clown swatted his rump with a broom. The second clown was kneeling in the dirt beside the injured cowboy.

  Marcie scrambled over several pairs of legs and feet in her haste to reach the nearest aisle. Rudely she shoved past anyone who got in her way as she ran down the ramp. When she reached the lower level, she grabbed the arm of the first man she saw.

  “Hey, what the—”

  “Which way to the … the place where the people come out?”

  “Say, lady, are you drunk? Let go of my arm.”

  “The barns. The place where the performers come from. Where the bulls go when they’re finished.”