by Rita Herron
Bennett steepled his big beefy hands on top of the massive desk. “Do I need my lawyer?”
“I don’t know, do you?” Deputy Whitefeather asked.
Ray liked the way the deputy operated. He was so still and calm that it was unnerving.
Bennett shifted. “No. My cousin asked me to move in and take care of things while he’s away.”
“You mean while he’s incarcerated,” the deputy pointed out.
Bennett’s jaw twitched. “Yes. But if you’ve looked into my background, and I’m sure you have, you know I’m clean.”
“Boyle appeared to be clean, too,” Ray pointed out, “but he took advantage of his ranch hands, my father and other ranchers in the area.”
Bennett’s ruddy face formed a scowl. “As I said, I’m here to clean up the business. You decide to take me up on my offer?”
Ray squared his shoulders. “No, my brothers and I aren’t interested in selling any part of Horseshoe Creek. That land stands for family.” He’d fight for the McCullen legacy if he had to.
Bennett drummed his fingers on the desk. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“We won’t,” Ray said firmly. “Although I believe someone might be trying to sabotage our plans to expand.”
Bennett’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “What are you talking about?”
“Someone set fire to the new barns we were building,” Ray said.
Bennett made a low sound in his throat. “Good God, you think I’m responsible?”
Ray met the man’s stare head-on. “I don’t know. Are you?”
Bennett stood, jowls shaking as he clenched his jaw. “That’s ridiculous. Just because my cousin crossed you, you have no right to accuse me of arson. Besides,” he said, his voice rising with irritation, “maybe you set the fire so you could frame me and destroy the Circle T. If you run us out of business, Horseshoe Creek will prosper even more.”
Ray shot up, furious. “That is ridiculous.”
The deputy laid a hand on Ray’s shoulder to keep him from attacking the man. “Bennett, where were you last night?”
Bennett glared at both of them, then flattened his palms on the desk and leaned forward, cheeks bulging. “I had dinner at the Cattleman’s Club. You can ask the other twenty-five people there.”
Ray gritted his teeth. He was making an enemy of Bennett, and for business’s sake that wasn’t a good idea. But he had to know the truth.
“You could have hired someone to set the fire,” Ray said.
Bennett cursed and swung a thumb toward the door. “I’m through with your accusations and insults. Get out, McCullen.”
“I would like to speak to your hands,” Deputy Whitefeather said.
Bennett went very still, his calm demeanor returning, although his voice held barely controlled rage. “Then get a damn warrant.”
“I don’t need a warrant to have a conversation with them,” Deputy Whitefeather said in a tone that brooked no argument.
A vein throbbed in Bennett’s forehead. “Then I’ll call my attorney.”
Whitefeather shrugged. “Fine, if you have something to hide, go ahead.”
Bennett picked up the phone on his desk. “I don’t have anything to hide, but I don’t intend to be railroaded for something I didn’t do or let you ruin my reputation.” He glared at McCullen. “You’re going to regret this, McCullen.”
“That sounds like a threat,” Ray said.
“Take it however you want to take it. But when the other ranchers around here find out you’re pointing fingers at the locals, no one is going to be your friend.”
Ray understood the threat now. Bennett would blackball the McCullens in the ranching community, and that wouldn’t be good.
Two could play that game. “You think they trust you after what your cousin did?” Ray asked.
Bennett’s face heated. He knew Ray was right.
But had he or one of his people set that fire?
“Print me a list of your employees and call them together,” Deputy Whitefeather said. “If you have nothing to hide, I’ll be out of your hair in an hour or two.”
Bennett muttered another curse, called his foreman, clicked a few keys and hit Print, then handed the deputy a list.
“I’m going with you to talk to my men,” Bennett said.
Whitefeather stood. “Then let’s get to it.”
Ray wanted to accompany them, but his phone was buzzing. Brett. He snatched it up. “Yeah?”
“Gus Garcia wants to meet with us. He might have a lead on the arsonist.”
* * *
SCARLET STARED AT the picture, fear mingling with shock. She flipped the envelope over and searched for an address or postal address. Except for her name, though, the envelope was blank.
“Where did you get this?” she asked Hugh.
“It was on the floor when I returned from lunch today. Someone slipped it under the door.”
“Did you see anyone hanging around the office who could have left it?”
Hugh jammed his hands in his pockets. “No. The Fullers were the only ones who stopped by today.”
“How about a strange car? Maybe in the parking lot or down the street.”
“I didn’t see anything,” Hugh said, his voice slightly defensive. “If I had, I’d tell you, Scarlet.”
“I know you would, Hugh. I’m just trying to figure out who left this. It might be the same person who cut my brake lines.”
“Are you going to give it to the sheriff?”
Scarlet laid the envelope on the table by the sofa. “He’s out of town, but I’ll show it to Deputy Whitefeather. Maybe he can lift some prints from the envelope or picture.”
Although she doubted he left prints. Whoever had sent this was clever and had probably worn gloves.
Hugh reached for her hand and pulled it into his. “I know this is scary, Scarlet. I’ll be happy to stay here with you. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
Uncomfortable with the possessive look in his eyes, Scarlet squeezed his hand, then pulled away. “Thank you, Hugh, but I’m exhausted and really want to rest.”
He gestured toward the sofa. “I’ll stay out here.”
“Hugh,” Scarlet said, her voice firm as she led him to the door. “It’s been a really difficult day, and I need to be alone. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”
He stood in the doorway for a few more seconds, lingering, obviously hoping she’d change her mind, but the longer he stalled, the more irritated she became.
“There is something you can do for me,” she said, anxious to smooth over the tension. “Please open up the office in the morning. I’ll be in after I drop this envelope at the sheriff’s office.”
He finally agreed and left. Scarlet locked the door, then watched him drive away, but just as she was about to head back to bed, lights flickered along the street.
She couldn’t make out the type of car, but it slowed as it passed her yard, and suddenly the window slid down, giving her a view of the man’s face.
Pullman.
* * *
“WHAT DO YOU think about Bennett?” Ray asked as Deputy Whitefeather walked him to his vehicle.
“I don’t like him, but we need proof that he’s done something illegal,” Whitefeather said. “He could easily have paid someone to set the fire. I’ll look into his financials.”
“Does he have a record?”
“Nothing that I’ve found. But I’ll keep digging.” He gestured toward the man who was standing on his front porch watching them. “He’s definitely suspicious, though.”
“Let me know what happens with his hands. Brett called. I’m meeting him to talk to one of our men who might have information about the fire.”
They sho
ok hands and agreed to stay in touch. Ray jumped in his Range Rover and drove back toward Horseshoe Creek. The dark clouds thickened, casting a grayness to the land as night set in.
He wondered what Scarlet was doing, if she was resting. If she was safe.
Dammit, he shouldn’t care so much.
He veered down the drive to the ranch, scanning the pastures and stables in search of trouble. The memory of those flames shooting in the sky haunted him.
The scent of smoke still lingered in the air as he drove past the burn site. Crime scene tape roped off the area, a reminder of the violence against them. Brett had moved the animals to another stable nearer to the main house.
They couldn’t chance one of their horses being injured or...worse.
Sweat broke out on his brow at the very thought. Cruelty to animals ranked almost as high as cruelty to women and kids.
Brett had suggested they meet at Brett’s cabin to keep other hands from suspecting that Garcia might be ratting one of them out.
Brett’s wife, Willow, was outside playing horseshoes with Sam, the son she and Brett had had together. She looked up and waved, and he got out of his SUV, strode over and ruffled Sam’s hair.
“Looks like your daddy’s teaching you to be a pro,” he said.
Sam grinned and tossed the horseshoe. “He gave me a riding lesson this morning.”
“You’ll be in the rodeo before you know it.”
Willow shook her finger at him. “Don’t start that, Ray.”
He chuckled, enjoying the light moment, and glad Brett had finally come home.
Maybe it was time he returned for good, too.
He froze, wondering where that thought had come from. He was a rambling man. His detective work took him wherever the case led.
No ties. No one to question him.
Or to love him.
Although love had never been high on his priority list.
Brett appeared on the porch and waved him in. “See you in a bit, Sam. Keep practicing and we’ll have a McCullen tournament.”
Sam high-fived him, then Ray climbed the porch. Garcia was already inside with a cup of coffee when Ray entered.
“You remember Ray, Gus?”
“Yes, sir.” Gus stood, wiped his hands on his jeans and shook Ray’s hand. Brett had told him about Gates setting Garcia up for cattle rustling, and that the leader of the gang had threatened to hurt Garcia’s family if he ratted out the real rustlers. Thankfully, Brett had convinced Garcia to talk and he’d given Garcia’s family protection. Once the arrests were made, Maddox had offered Gus a job on the ranch.
“You have information about the fire?” Brett said.
Gus rubbed his jaw with work-roughened hands. “I don’t like to speak bad about the men. Most of them work hard and are like me, they need the jobs.”
“I understand that you’ve had it tough, Gus,” Ray said. “And trust me, no one will know that you talked to us. But our horses could have been killed in that fire.”
“Sí, I understand.” Gus spread his hands on the table and looked down at them. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who set the fire.”
“Then why did you want to see us?” Ray asked.
“There is someone who has a grudge against your family.”
Brett patted his back. “Who are you talking about?”
Gus sipped his coffee as they seated themselves around the table. Ray tapped his foot on the floor as they waited on Gus to talk.
He drummed his fingers on his leg. “One of the new hands, Marvin Hardwick, he used to work for Boyle Gates.”
Ray and Brett straightened. “Hardwick, he’s one of the guys I pointed out to you when we met at the dining hall, isn’t he, Brett? He was smoking outside.”
“Yeah, the other guy was Stan Romley. I looked at their employment files but they seemed clean.”
Of course they could have faked information, Ray thought.
“You’re sure Hardwick worked with Gates?” Brett asked.
“Yes, sir.” Gus lifted his head, the mole at the corner of his mouth twitching as his lips thinned. “He worked for Gates when they framed me for the cattle rustling.”
“Did he help set you up?” Brett asked.
Gus shrugged. “I don’t know, and it don’t matter now. But I heard him talking about those barns. He said he rode out there to check on the progress.”
The chair legs rattled as Brett pushed back from the table. “I’m going to get him and make him talk.”
Ray’s phone buzzed. He checked the number. Scarlet.
He started to ignore it. He and Brett had work to do here. They finally had a lead. Although someone had tried to kill Scarlet earlier, so he couldn’t ignore the call.
He excused himself and punched Connect. “Scarlet, I—”
“Ray, it’s that man Pullman. He’s outside my house.”
Ray’s heart stuttered with panic. “Keep the doors locked. I’ll be right there.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rain began to splatter the windshield, and the wind picked up, shaking the trees with its force as Ray drove toward Scarlet’s. Another car zoomed up on his tail, and Ray cursed as the headlights blinded him.
He tapped his brakes to signal to the driver to get off his tail, but the car sped up instead. Clenching the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, Ray pressed the accelerator, maneuvering the Range Rover around a curve.
The car accelerated as well, riding him so close that Ray thought he was going to ram into him. Furious, he spotted a dirt road to the side and steered his vehicle onto it, his tires churning over gravel and rock as he tried to slow.
But he hit a slick patch and skidded, a boulder coming toward him. Determined not to collide with it, he swung the steering wheel to the right and barely missed it, then skidded another few feet until he lurched to a stop only inches away from a thicket of trees.
Breathing hard, he checked his rearview mirror, searching for the car, then cursed again when he spotted it barreling toward him.
Ray’s instincts surged to life. He needed his gun.
He reached for the dash to unlock it, but suddenly the car slammed into his rear, jarring him. Cursing again, he scrambled to reach the gun, but before he could unlock the dash, a hulking man yanked open his door and jerked him from the SUV. Ray raised his fist to punch the man and tried to get a look at his face, but it was so damn dark and rainy all he could see was a shadow.
The man dodged the blow, then shoved Ray to the ground on his knees. He heaved a breath, spun around and rammed the man in the belly with his head, hoping to knock him backward. This SOB wasn’t going to get the best of him.
Ray knew how to fight.
But just as he tackled him, something slammed into his lower back. Metal. A tire iron?
Pain screamed through his kidneys, and he dug his hands into the muddy ground to steady himself. Before he could recover, another blow came, this one higher. The blow knocked the wind from his lungs and sent him sprawling on the ground.
He spit out dirt and mud, swaying as he pushed himself up to fight. He grabbed the man’s ankle, hoping to slam his fists into his knee and bring him down, but another blow from the tire iron to his kidneys sent him writhing in pain again.
Taking advantage of the moment, the bastard kicked the hell out of him. His boots pounded into Ray’s back, then his knees. Ray struggled to breathe through the pain and get up, but the man had the strength of three men and knew where to hit.
Ray rolled to the side to dodge another blow, but the tire iron connected with the side of his head. Shock from the blow disoriented him.
He inhaled and grabbed at the man’s legs to pull him down, but the tire iron caught him on the side of the head again and Ray collapsed.
H
e fought to stay conscious but he lost the battle, and the damn world went black.
* * *
SCARLET WATCHED THROUGH the window as Pullman slowed his truck and parked on the street. He had chosen a strategic spot giving him a view of her house.
Was he going to break in, or did he just want to frighten her?
Rain drizzled down, and he rolled the window up slightly, leaving it open just enough so she could see his menacing face in the shadows of the streetlight.
The tip of his cigarette glowed bright orange in the dark, smoke curling out the window and disappearing into the fog.
She inhaled sharply, determined not to succumb to panic. Ray was on his way. She was safe in the house.
Still...she rushed to her nightstand and retrieved her gun, then returned to the window.
In spite of her resolve to be strong, fear nearly choked her. He was gone. Not inside the truck.
Was he going to break into the house?
Heart pounding, she pushed back the curtain and scanned the street. He wasn’t in front of the truck. Or at the rear.
She searched around the car, then her yard, but she didn’t spot him anywhere. Sweating now, she inched to the door and peeked through the peephole.
Nothing.
A noise echoed from the back, and she startled, tightening her fingers around the gun handle. Forcing herself to be very still so she could hear, she listened for sounds of an intruder. The rain was coming down steadily now, the wind rattling the house.
Suddenly something banged the window in the back. A tree limb? Or was it Pullman?
A bead of perspiration trickled down the back of her neck as she inched through the living room and peered into the hallway leading to the laundry room and back door.
The wind whistled through the eaves of the house. Then another noise. Someone jiggling the door knob?
Terrified and praying Ray showed up soon, she gripped the gun at the ready. If Pullman tried to hurt her, she would shoot him.
A thumping started at the back door, and she held the gun in front of her, aiming it at eye level. If he was inside, she wanted him to realize she was armed.