by Kym Roberts
Over the next thirty minutes, I collected a couple hundred dollars of donations from reporters alone. The computer program was definitely antiquated. I’d log-in and print out a ticket, but then I could go back and delete that same ticket. They weren't numbered or tracked, and they weren’t connected to anything but the laptop in front of me. It would be easy to pilfer a bunch of cash if someone was so inclined.
When there was a break in traffic, I turned to Jessie. “Have you worked the ticket window before?”
“Ever since my hip started giving me fits eight years ago, I’ve worked whatever sitting down job they had. I’ve done ticket sales more than a few times.”
I pointed at the laptop in front of me. “Has this always been the program they used for ticket sales?”
“For the last eight years, we’ve been pretty spoiled. Before then, it was all handwritten.”
“Really?”
“Yes, ma’am. It was about as easy a milking a bull. I wouldn’t recommend it.”
I laughed. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“That’s my husband,” Daisy said as she stepped into the ticket booth.
“Yes, ma’am and I won’t forget it.” I winked at Jessie and turned to my next customer.
Fifteen minutes later, and I’d had enough. My backside hurt. My ribs hurt, and the portable fan Daisy insisted we needed was blowing the hairs on my arm. That wouldn’t have been a big deal if I didn’t have an abrasion the size of Texas on my arm. All the little nerve endings had come to life in a very bad way.
“Would you mind if I took a little break to stretch out. My tailbone is bruised and it’s really stiffening up on me.”
“I expected as much,” said Daisy, although her nose didn’t seem to be held too high in the air, so I figured I’d made a little progress.
I left my donut in the ticket booth and walked toward the restroom. The crowd was growing, but most of the fans were using the main entrance. I noticed a group of people who began running toward something in the parking lot and got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach—especially when the group grew like a snowball rolling downhill.
Not that we see snowballs in this part of the country, but I’d seen plenty in Denver. This snowball was determined to make it to world record size. I could almost see the hands and feet sticking out of its core—the core being a cowboy dressed in a white felt hat, a blue western style shirt with white piping and mother of pearl buttons, jeans, and a pair of worn cowboy boots. I’d never seen Dalton look so old-school Western. Scarlet was with him, wearing a matching shirt and jeans that looked more like skin than denim. Her hat was very similar to his, but maybe a little darker and a little too big for her head. Her brown hair was braided and fell over one shoulder in a loose, beautiful twist. She’d traded in the cowboy boots for a matching set of high heels. Dalton’s fingers were laced through hers, and they had eyes only for each other.
It was kind of sickeningly sweet.
To my right, Travis Sinclair and Dusty Lamb stopped to watch the spectacle at the entrance to the barn. Neither one looked happy. My dad would probably describe their expressions as madder than two roosters in an empty hen house, and I’d have to agree. When two more cowboys joined them, things really began to look like some blood was going to be spilled. And as if on cue, Dalton looked up to check out something other than Scarlet’s mouth. Scarlet followed his gaze to the group of riders gathering, and visibly paled. That’s saying a lot for a woman with an alabaster complexion.
It was Dusty who broke the growing silence. “Dalton Hibbs, you’re no longer welcome here. Especially wearing that.”
Dusty was out of line, but no one argued. In fact, a few of the fans were nodding in agreement. The riders just stood their ground with stoic faces in support of Dusty’s comment.
Dalton and Scarlet faced-off with them together, still linked, still standing strong against stronger adversity. “This is Wyatt’s shirt and Scarlet’s wearing mine. Our mother got these shirts for us the day I went pro. Said people needed to know who we were, not only by our character but how we dressed. Wyatt about died when he saw it. I’m thankful my mom didn’t see his expression. But from that day on, he wore it to every rodeo he entered. I never wore mine, and I wish that I had. Because my brother showed the world what family meant to him. Today, I’m wearing Wyatt’s shirt, in honor of him.”
His declaration was met with silence. The crowd became uncertain, and the riders lost some of the ire. Dalton stood up a little taller. “And I’m riding for him.”
The two cowboys I didn’t know stepped forward, but Dusty and Travis stepped directly in front of them, stopping their progress.
“He can't get away with this!” one of them yelled.
“He’s not going to…because he’s going to turn and walk away, out of respect for Wyatt,” Dusty explained.
Dalton, however, was having none of it. He shook his head and turned toward Scarlet. “Why don’t you and Charli go find a seat close to the gate? I want you there when I take the lead from Travis.”
“That’s not going to happen because you’re not going to be riding in the Invitational or any other bull riding event.” Travis crossed his arms over his chest. He looked like he was ready for a showdown at sundown. “I don’t know if you’re guilty or not—”
“I’m not.”
“But you being here isn’t appropriate. And you know it.”
“All I know is that my brother is dead.” Dalton struggled to keep the emotion from his voice. “And I’m going to ride in his honor. No one, and I mean no one, is going to stop me.”
“Fellas!” Taylor came rushing from the back of the Ranch with Cade and Joe Buck on her heels. Joe wasn’t wearing his usual friendly smile; he also had his bouncer look that said these bull riders might participate in the most dangerous sport in the world, but he was much more dangerous than any bull. Cade frowned in my direction, as if I’d caused this whole chest-pounding incident, before he turned his attention to the others. He and Joe eyed each cowboy to see which one was going to blow his macho lid first.
My money was on Travis.
But somehow Taylor weaved her magic and got all the guys to meet inside The Ranch and have a calm discussion. Cade insisted the residents of The Cowboy Ranch have a say in how the evening would proceed, and even Dalton agreed to the vote. He wasn’t happy, but he also recognized the event was for them, not him.
I dragged Scarlet to the restroom with me, determined to talk some sense into her.
“He’s been charged with murder. On two counts.”
“He’s innocent.”
“I know you believe that, but have you seen the evidence against him?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She wore that stubborn look on her face, like her heart could make the truth bend to her will. I’ve worn that look a time or two myself. Eventually, she’d have to accept the facts, or find more evidence to prove them wrong. I decided to show her a few things from the law’s perspective.
“Have you seen the probable cause statement against Dalton?” Aubrey had shown it to me and it wasn’t very encouraging.
“I don’t have to. He told me everything.”
“Dalton made a statement to the press that he was going to unseat his brother right before Wyatt disappeared.”
“Courtney Force says she’s going to unseat her father in the NHRA Funny Car National Championship too. It doesn’t mean she’s willing to kill him to win. It’s called having a competitive drive.”
“I don’t know who Courtney Force is, or even what funny car racing is, but Dalton’s statement isn’t the only thing hanging over his head,” I insisted.
Scarlet didn’t care. It was obvious that nothing I said would change her mind. She knew what she knew, and that was it. What she knew, however, shocked me so badly I bypassed cardiac arrest and went straight for brain dead.
“They found a gun in Dalton’s cabin,” said Scarlet.
; “You…You know about that?”
Her patience was endless. “Of course I do. He told me.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Is it his gun?” I asked.
“Are you asking out of concern for me, or are you working for Mateo?”
“For you.” Although, I wasn’t above telling Mateo if I thought she was in imminent danger.
“Dalton has no idea where it came from. He’s never seen it before.”
“What about his cell phone? They found it in Erik’s grave.”
“He thought he’d lost it but Erik must have taken it.”
“And he didn’t try to get a new one? Come on, Scarlet. No one goes without their phone that long.”
“He did order a new one, and he had it shipped to his hotel. He figured a couple days off the grid would do him some good.”
I wasn’t even going to try and wrap my head around that. I went on the next bit of evidence. “That gun was used in both homicides.”
“That proves the murders are linked. Not that Dalton pulled the trigger.”
“It was found in his cabin minus two bullets. Erik was shot twice.”
“Again it proves they’re linked. Not that Dalton’s guilty.”
I chalked that up to love being as blind as a Texas blind salamander. Neither had eyes; only shock waves could make them see. And Scarlet hadn’t been shocked hard enough…yet.
I moved on. “Why did he treat you so badly that night at the bar? Why didn’t he call you and let you know he was going to disappear? Why did he make everyone believe you were a groupie one night stand when he came back?”
“He doesn’t remember anything after our first two dances at The Tool Shed Tavern. He doesn’t remember walking off the dance floor. He doesn’t remember putting me on the bar. He doesn’t remember any of it.”
“Yet, you can’t deny the man treated you terribly.”
“He did. But he doesn’t remember it, nor does he know why he did it.”
I wanted to knock some sense into her, but that would put me on the same level as Dalton. “That’s no excuse. What will he do next time he drinks too much?”
Scarlet folded her arms and began tapping that beautiful sky-blue heel on the bathroom tile. “Are you about done?”
I wasn’t even close to being done. “Why didn’t he call? He let you worry for days… You thought he’d fallen off a cliff and was lying in the woods, injured.”
“He thought I would think he was off with another woman.”
An indignant noise escaped my lips. “And that’s better?”
“It is to a man who’s been told that I was going around town saying I had another notch in my lipstick case.”
“What?”
“Erik told him that I’d swept him to the curb like yesterday’s trash and was going around bragging about another rider I’d rode hard, like I was a groupie or something.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” It was Scarlet’s turn to get fired up. “So excuse me if I’m not feeling particularly broken up about the man’s death.”
“But—”
“That doesn’t mean I wished him dead. It means I’m not going to mourn him now that he’s gone.”
I could understand that, but there was one fact she was forgetting. Dalton attacked me with a branding iron and left his mark on my barn. “What about my hair and the brand he left on The Barn?”
“I asked him about that. He didn’t know anything about it. So let me ask you a question, Charli.” I could tell she was starting to get angry with me and my constant pushing.
“Shoot.”
“Do you really believe a bull rider with the size of Dalton’s arms couldn’t overpower you and leave a brand on your forehead if he tried? You’re a beanpole.”
I was kind of tired of being compared to a bean. It was insulting as a woman. I had curves; they just weren’t hairpin curves. Then again, maybe my curves defined a hair pin more appropriately. “I don’t know.”
“It wasn’t him.”
“I never saw the guy’s face. I honestly don’t know. All I know for sure is that the branding iron that left its mark on my barn was found in his cabin.” And that wasn’t all, but I was guessing Scarlet hadn’t seen the morning news. “Did you read about the book Dalton had in his backpack?”
She shook her head, still not open to much of anything I was saying.
“Inside Dalton’s copy of The Dangerous Eight was a map to Wyatt’s grave.”
That one tidbit changed everything. Scarlet hadn’t known about it. I could see the wavering of doubt in her eyes—until she shut it down. Slammed that door without a glance back at the resounding consequences. Then she went another direction. “I’ve been doing research on potential suspects.”
“What are you talking about?”
“All the people who were here when Wyatt disappeared.”
“The entire population of Hazel Rock?” At least I was excluded from her list.
“No, don’t be silly.” She rubbed her chin. “Although they could be included…” Thank God she shook that idea right out of her head. “There are a few people here, but mostly those on the rodeo circuit.”
It was my turn to look skeptical. She continued anyway.
“Look at Jessie.” Scarlet said.
“Jessie Mahan?” Scarlet was beginning to grasp at imaginary pieces of straw in a hay basket.
“You’ve seen that evil eye of his.”
“I’ve seen his blind eye. His cornea transplant went bad and he lost his sight.”
“Exactly! He got hit in the eye while he was helping Wyatt in the chute on Wyatt’s very last ride. The bull bucked and Wyatt’s hand reared back and struck him in the eye. Jessie was mad.”
I couldn’t see Jessie being mad at anyone. The guy was as tame as a bunny. “Daisy wouldn’t have let Jessie out of her sight long enough for him to get away with murder.”
Scarlet’s face lit up. “That’s it! They’re in this together.”
The only argument I could muster was an eye roll.
“Okay fine. I’ll scratch Jessie and Daisy off the list.”
“Thank you.”
“What about Sly Alexander? He and Wyatt were always at each other’s throats. They battled back and forth for the championship. They fought like—”
“Like, brothers. Sly is naming his baby boy after Wyatt.”
“That’s to assuage his guilt,” she insisted.
I decided to use her heart against her hare-brained idea. “Does Dalton think Sly could have killed Wyatt?”
“Well no, but—”
“Let it go, Scarlet.” My voice echoed off the tile walls as if I was repeating myself over and over.
“What about Erik and Taylor?”
“Erik is dead and Taylor kind of has her hands a little full picking up the pieces of the invitational.”
Scarlet moved on. “Travis has always spoken poorly of Wyatt—”
Aubrey walked into the restroom before Scarlet could argue further. The young woman stopped when she saw us. Part of me felt sorry for her. She’d been pursuing Scarlet as a story for so long she wasn’t sure what to say to her on a personal level. The other part of me thought she needed to experience the backlash of putting a story before a relationship. Aubrey looked at Scarlet and waited for the anvil to drop on her head.
Scarlet, however, took the high road. “How’s your internship going?”
“Fantastic! I couldn’t have asked for a better assignment.” She beamed from ear-to-ear and I could tell she was truly happy. I could also see that she could be a real pain in the patootie.
“I’m glad.” Scarlet looked in the mirror, adjusted her hat, and swiped at a smudge in her make-up that wasn’t there.
The young girl, with her curls bound in a ponytail and freckles spattering her nose and cheeks, looked about twelve as she peered at Scarlet’s reflection. “Can I ask you a few questions, Sc
arlet?”
Scarlet eyed Aubrey in the mirror, then slowly turned. In that look, I saw Aubrey dying a slow and painful death if she asked the wrong questions. Scarlet had her limits, and I’d already pushed most of them. “I can’t promise I’ll answer any.”
Aubrey quickly put her camera down on the counter and pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jean shorts and turned on the voice recorder. “This is Aubrey Buchanan reporting for ABN News. I’m here at the Cowboy Ranch Invitational speaking to Scarlet Jenkins in the…er…the women’s restroom.”
I rolled my eyes and hoped someone would delete that bit of information.
Aubrey continued.
“Ms. Jenkins, I couldn’t help but overhear that you’ve been researching other possible suspects—”
“Aubrey Buchanan! Were you eavesdropping on us?” I asked.
Aubrey covered the mic on her phone. “I’m a reporter now, that’s what we do,” she said and then continued before I could object further. “I’ve also been looking into other possible suspects with the idea in mind that the killer would be lurking in the shadows. You know how they say the killer always returns to the crime scene?”
My shoulders dropped with impatience. I was beginning to know what Mateo felt like when I meddled. “Sometimes he doesn’t,” I muttered.
Aubrey’s cute brow scowled in my direction. “Sometimes he does.”
“What if the killer’s a she?” I asked just for the sake of argument.
“That’s what I’m saying,” added Scarlet.
“You’re jumping at possibilities without proof,” I insisted.
“But what if I have proof?” Aubrey was holding her phone up to her mouth like it was a microphone.
Her comment stopped Scarlet and me cold. Like we were playing a game, and Aubrey’d just said, Simon says don’t breathe.
We broke all the rules of Simon Says and reached for Aubrey at the same time. We pulled her back into the farthest part of the restroom, our backs against the last stall door.
“What do you mean you have proof?” I asked.
Aubrey was pretty pleased with herself, but cautious as well. She peered over her shoulder toward the door and held her phone up in the middle of our mini huddle before continuing in a hushed voice. “I found several interviews online that were given after Wyatt didn’t show up for his last night of competition eight years ago. Sly and Jessie spoke out against Wyatt. Said his disappearing act was in poor taste and a disservice to the fans and the riders at The Cowboy Ranch.” I knew about both statements, that was nothing new. “But Travis did one the day after Wyatt disappeared. He said, and I quote, ‘Wyatt Hibbs is going to find himself in an early grave.’” She leaned back on her heels, completely satisfied with herself.