The Missing Mccullen. Rita Herron
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“They were wrapped up in each other’s arms.”
Cash had denied being romantically involved with Sondra. “Text me a copy. I need to see them myself. What else?”
“Ask him about my business plan,” Cash said from the backseat. “And my guns.”
BJ gripped the phone tighter. “Did you find a business plan?”
“Sure did,” Jasper said. “Koker needed finances to make that happen. My guess is he hated Elmore for firing him and decided to use that kid for blackmail money to buy his own spread.”
BJ bit her bottom lip. She and Cash had discussed a blackmail accusation back at the jail, but he hadn’t disclosed his plans to start his own business. Unfortunately, jurors might see that as a motive.
“What about Koker’s guns?”
“Took them for analysis,” Jasper said. “Besides, a dangerous man like him doesn’t need firearms in his possession.”
BJ gritted her teeth. “What about other suspects?”
“Listen, Ms. Alexander, we have motive and physical evidence. We got the right man.”
“We’ll see.” BJ ended the call, irritated.
Jasper did have a case. No doubt he’d twist the fact that Cash claimed he had amnesia to suggest he was lying. The ranch hand’s testimony about that phone call between Cash and Sondra would also be incriminating.
Damn. With motive and physical evidence, Jasper might get a conviction.
* * *
CASH WAS SHOCKED that Sheriff McCullen went by the impound lot and allowed him to retrieve his pickup truck.
“Just follow me to the ranch,” Sheriff McCullen said. “You can stay at Horseshoe Creek until the case is over. Miss Alexander is already staying in a cabin on the ranch.”
Suspicion once again flared inside Cash. Nobody helped a stranger for nothing. He’d just have to bide his time until he figured out what the sheriff wanted.
Questions nagged at him as he followed the police SUV. Farm and ranch lands spread for miles and miles, the open space beckoning.
He could not give up his freedom. He’d rather die than be locked away for the rest of his life.
All the more reason he find out who’d framed him and killed Sondra. Poor little Tyler—he must be scared out of his mind.
Sweat beaded on Cash’s neck. The cards were stacked against him, though. How hard would BJ Alexander fight to get him acquitted?
And what the hell did any of this have to do with the McCullens?
A sign for Horseshoe Creek Ranch mocked him as the sheriff veered down a long drive. The lawyer lady followed in her fancy car.
Cattle grazed in a pasture to the north and barns and horses were scattered throughout the beautiful farmland. An article a few months ago had featured Brett McCullen, former rodeo star, and his awards. He’d also expanded the ranch to include horse training and breeding. His popularity and skills definitely drew customers, and his contacts across the states aided in him securing the best horses.
Elmore had an impressive spread, but he’d talked about Joe McCullen with both admiration and resentment. McCullen had built a legacy for his sons—a fact Elmore envied. Sondra hadn’t cared about the ranch business, and Elmore had never had a son.
The sheriff drove toward the main ranch house, an impressive farmhouse with wraparound porches that sat on a hill overlooking the massive acreage. He bypassed the house, though, and veered onto a lane that weaved through the property. A half mile from the house, several smaller cabins had been built for employees or guests. Sheriff McCullen pulled in front of one and parked. Cash swung his truck in beside him, then the lawyer parked on the other side.
“This is where you’ll be staying, Cash,” Sheriff McCullen said.
Cash straightened. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Sheriff.”
The sheriff and lawyer exchanged a look. “Get cleaned up, then we’ll meet in the main house to discuss the situation.”
“You mean you trust me to stay here alone, or do you have a guard dog on me?” Cash asked.
The sheriff folded his arms. “Are you going to jump bail?”
Cash bit the inside of his cheek. His flight reflex was strong. How many times had he moved when things became sticky or uncomfortable where he was?
Too many to count.
But if he ran from this, the law would hunt him down. And he needed help finding Tyler.
“No.” He swallowed hard. “I intend to clear my name.” It was the only way he’d be free. “Tyler needs me, too. That kid has to be scared.”
The sheriff’s gaze met his, some kind of emotion flickering in his eyes that Cash couldn’t read. “All right then.” He gestured toward Miss Alexander. “Let’s meet in half an hour at the house.”
She agreed and Cash nodded. Then maybe he’d finally learn what the McCullens wanted with him.
* * *
BJ BATTLED HER uneasiness at sleeping in a cabin in close proximity to Cash. He thought she was afraid of him because she believed him guilty of murder.
But that wasn’t the problem. Cash Koker was too sexy.
Sexy men were dangerous.
She stepped onto the porch of the cabin where she’d been staying, phoned her father and left a message updating him. A breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees, bringing her the scent of wildflowers and freshly cut grass. Rays of sunshine slanted across the ranch, the sky so beautiful that it nearly robbed her breath.
And reminded her of Aaron’s rainbows.
She allowed herself a second to imagine him running across the field, then forced the image at bay. Work always helped take her mind off her grief.
Work was all she had.
The McCullens had lived here for decades, but they’d suffered their share of loss, both with the murder of their mother, and then the loss of their father to questionable circumstances. Yet they’d found a way to stay together as a family.
She wasn’t sure she could say the same about her own father. All her life, she’d craved his love. She’d tried to please him and make him proud, but nothing she did brought them any closer.
Sometimes, she thought he blamed her for her mother’s death, that he wished she’d never been born.
And although he hadn’t said much about her mistake with the Davis case, she had disappointed him.
She slipped into the cabin and surveyed the interior, admiring the space for its hominess. Painted wood-paneled walls. A kitchen and an adjoining living area with a stone fireplace. Bathroom and bedroom complete with a queen four-poster bed draped in a country blue quilt.
Feeling overdressed, she considered a change of clothes.
But she hadn’t brought anything casual enough to wear on a ranch. No jeans or flannel shirts or cowboy boots.
She went to freshen up and stared at herself in the mirror. It didn’t matter if she had ranch clothes. Or if she wore her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
Or if Cash Koker thought she was a stuffy bitch.
She was here to do a job and nothing more.
Her phone dinged, alerting her that she had a text, and she rushed to see it. Anger hit her as a photo of Cash and Sondra hugging appeared on her screen.
Sheriff Jasper was right. The two of them looked close in the picture, a lot closer than Cash had led her to believe.
But