Page 5

C HAPTER F IVE

R oper had posted his brother’s $500 bail and followed Rowdy’s truck home, where his mother waited to lay on the shame. Against the advice of his public defender, Rowdy had elected to plead not guilty. His trial had yet to be scheduled. Meanwhile, since Rowdy couldn’t leave the county to compete in the rodeos, he’d be put to work on the ranch, finishing the stable and building more fences. He’d whined and complained about that, but Roper couldn’t be bothered to listen. His brother had some hard lessons to learn.

After seeing Rowdy safe with the family, Roper turned the truck around and headed back to the Culhane Ranch. By now it was midmorning. He’d spent a couple of precious hours handling Rowdy’s situation. Now it was time to deal with his own.

Lila was his first priority. With Fire Dance already on the road and due sometime that afternoon, he needed to square things with his boss.

His beautiful boss.

As he drove, the memory swept over him—Lila’s legs wrapping his hips, her eager body, her little cries as he brought her to climax.

With a curse, Roper forced the images from his mind. But his body remembered—the feel of her skin on his, the fragrance of her hair, her seeking mouth, and the warm moistness that had welcomed him home . . .

As he turned the truck into the employee lot, he could see her standing on the patio. Was she waiting for him? Did she know that he’d already arranged for Fire Dance’s delivery?

Braced for the confrontation that had to come, Roper left his truck and strode across the lot and up the path to the patio gate. She held her ground, waiting for him to come to her. Only as he opened the gate and stepped through did she speak.

“Sam told me you’d sent for the horse.” Her voice carried a distinct chill.

“Did he also tell you that I’d accepted your terms?” Roper faced her, taking stock of her stubbornly set chin and the flash of temper in her coppery eyes.

“He did. At least you could have told me yourself.”

“There wasn’t a good time—I was dealing with a family problem. I called Chet Barr last night because I needed to let him know my decision. By then it was too late to bother you.”

“And today? What’s your excuse?”

After a morning that had tried his patience, Roper’s temper broke through. The woman might be his boss, but he wasn’t accountable to her for every minute of his life. “My kid brother was in jail for cocaine possession. I was there to post bail and make sure he went straight home. And if you’re expecting an apology—”

“Of course not.” Her expression softened. “I’m sorry about your brother, Roper. I hope he’ll be all right. But you could have called.”

“It wasn’t the most pressing thing on my mind. The horse will be here this afternoon, and I’ll have my hands full. I’ve agreed to your terms—all expenses for Fire Dance and twenty-five percent of my prize if we win. If you want to draw up an agreement, I’ll sign it.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll hold you to your word.”

“Thanks. I mean it, Boss.” Roper hadn’t meant for the informal name to sound like a caress, but it had. He and Lila would have a lot of tension to work through, especially after Fire Dance’s arrival. But at least they’d made it this far.

“We’ll talk later,” he said, turning away. “I’ll be working if you need me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Her words followed Roper as he strode away. He’d do well to remind himself that she was in charge. But in the weeks ahead, he’d be walking a tightrope between the need to meet her expectations and his burning desire to win.

* * *

Sitting on the bed in her rented room at the Blue Rose, Crystal keyed the doctor’s number on her phone, then quickly cancelled the call. Her hands trembled as she put down the phone.

She wasn’t ready for the test. She was too scared. What if the baby turned out to be Judd’s? All her hopes, all her plans for a better life would be gone—and she would be faced with the prospect of an unwanted pregnancy.

Lighting a cigarette, she took a long, languid drag. Smoking was bad for the baby, but she needed something to calm her nerves.

If only she could find out about the baby’s father before going to Lila’s doctor for the test. As things stood, Lila would get the test results first. Then she would make the follow-up call to Crystal. Crystal would be at her mercy—the bitch could even lie to her if she chose not to deal with Frank’s baby and its mother.

Of course, Crystal could go to another doctor first. But because she had no insurance, the test would cost more than she could afford.

After tamping out the cigarette in an empty plastic soda cup, she did a search on her phone. She found several labs in Abilene that advertised walk-in DNA testing. But the price was still too high.

Then she remembered something. Last year, a cocktail waitress named Monique had a paternity test done on her unborn baby. Single and uninsured, she could not have paid for a regular test. She had to know somebody or know of a place to get it done cheap.

Monique was still working the night shift at the saloon. With luck, she’d be there tonight, willing and able to give Crystal the information she needed.

It felt good to have a plan in mind. Still thinking about the test, Crystal swung off the bed, walked into the bathroom, and started her makeup ritual. Besides her own blood, the test would require a DNA sample from the possible father. She had nothing from Frank, but that was all right. Judd had left plenty of DNA in his car—beer cans, cigarette butts, soiled napkins, tissues, and more. Surely she could find something that would work. If Judd’s sample came up negative for a match, that would mean the baby was Frank’s. Simple.

So why did she feel so nervous?

Dressed in her hostess outfit of tight jeans, a fitted black tee, and high-heeled boots, she checked the time on her phone. She was already late for her afternoon shift at Jackalope’s. Picking up her purse and keys, she strode outside to the junk heap that passed as a car.

* * *

Sam was waiting when the saloon opened. Taking a booth, he ordered a Michelob and settled back into the shadows. A few customers wandered in to sit at the bar, where an elderly bartender was setting up drinks. Country music blared over speakers mounted above the bar. So far, there was no sign of the hostess Sam had come to meet. He sipped his beer and waited.

Moments later, she arrived, rushing in through the back entrance. Her high-heeled boots clicked across the wooden floor. Sam recognized her at once from the photos he’d seen and from Lila’s description. Despite her overdone makeup, she was even prettier than he’d expected. Sam could understand how a man such as Frank—past his prime and fighting to hold on to his youthful virility—might become infatuated with her. But was this beautiful young woman an innocent victim or a predator, capable of extortion and possibly murder?

Now, while the place was quiet, would be the best time to question her. Sam slid out of the booth. Displaying his badge, he walked over to where she stood. “Miss Carter, I’m Agent Rafferty, FBI,” he said, letting the music cover his voice. “I need to ask you a few questions.”

Her eyes widened like a startled animal’s. “Am I in some kind of trouble?” she asked.

“No. I just need to verify some information. Can you sit with me for a few minutes?”

She glanced around the room. “Just for a few minutes,” she said. “I’m on the clock.”

“Understood. I won’t keep you long.” He motioned her toward a seat in the booth.

* * *

Crystal faced the FBI agent across the table. He was a good-looking man with movie star features and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. But something in his unsmiling manner set off alarms in her head. Maybe Judd had said something to get her in trouble.

“What’s this about?” she asked him.

“I’m investigating the murder of Frank Culhane,” he said. “I understand you knew him.”

The dread inside her chilled and darkened. So this wasn’t about Judd. It was worse. “But didn’t you find the man’s killer?” she asked. “That’s what I heard.”

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “It turned out we were mistaken. I asked you a question, Miss Carter.”

Crystal sighed. “All right, yes, I knew Frank,” she said. “He came in here sometimes. He seemed lonely. We were friends.”

“Anything else? According to Lila Culhane, you were more than friends. In fact, you told her that you were pregnant with Frank’s baby. Is there any truth to that?”

Crystal’s gaze dropped to the table. “We were in love,” she said. “He wanted to marry me. He would have if she hadn’t—I mean, if he hadn’t been killed.”

The blue eyes narrowed. “I caught what you almost said. Were you about to tell me that Lila killed her husband?”

“Who else would have done it? Frank was going to leave her. He’d promised me he would.” Crystal could imagine how na?ve she must sound. All to the good.

“Did Frank know about the baby?”

“I never got the chance to tell him. Lila’s insisting that I take a paternity test before she’ll even talk to me. I’m making the arrangements. But I really shouldn’t have to bother with that. I know my baby is Frank’s. There was nobody else. Why can’t she just believe me?”

“I’ll ask you straight out. Where were you the night—or morning—when Frank was killed?”

“Sleeping in my room at the Blue Rose. I was alone.”

“And you were there all night?”

“Yes. I didn’t see Frank. He’d told me he was busy.” She glanced around, looking for any excuse to get away. Three cowboys, sweating and dusty from a morning on the range, had just walked in through the front door. Crystal slid out of the booth. “It’s back to work for me. I hope you’ve heard enough, Agent.”

“For now.” His face revealed nothing as he passed a card across the table. “Call this number if you have anything more to tell me. Don’t be surprised if I pay you another visit.”

“That’s fine.” She tucked the card into her pocket. “I have nothing to hide. And everybody’s welcome at Jackalope’s.”

Forcing a playful smile, she sashayed over to meet her customers. Inside, she was shaking. Clearly, the agent had tried to catch her in a lie. How much did he know that he wasn’t telling her? Did he actually suspect her of murder?

Only one thing was certain. She couldn’t trust the handsome FBI agent. He was clearly out to trap her any way he could.

Smiling and chatting, she showed the cowboys to a table. When she turned around again, Rafferty was gone.

* * *

While he was in town, Sam decided to pay a call on Darrin and Simone. He hadn’t talked with them since before Madeleine’s arrest. Sam was aware that Jasmine’s brother was up to his neck in schemes to get rid of Lila, including his part in causing her car accident. Technically, with charges dropped against his mother, Darrin was subject to arrest. But Sam and Nick had agreed to let him run for now and watch where he led them.

As he mounted the steps to the historic bungalow-style house, Sam remembered coming here the first time with Jasmine as his guide. They’d arrived to hear a violent argument through the front door. Had anything changed? Sam was about to find out.

As he raised his hand to ring the doorbell, he heard voices from the far side of the door. After a moment of listening, he realized he was hearing a TV talk show. Sam rang the bell.

After a short delay, the door opened a few inches. Simone peered up at him. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “What are you doing here? Haven’t we told you everything we know?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard that your mother-in-law wasn’t responsible for Frank’s death,” Sam said. “I’m back on the case, and I need to talk to both of you again. Is Darrin here?”

“He’s in court this afternoon.”

The narrow opening of the door remained. She seemed almost frightened.

“If you’re uncomfortable being alone, I can come back when Darrin’s here,” Sam said. “Is there a good time?”

She hesitated. Then the door opened wider. “No, it’s all right,” she said, stepping back, giving Sam room to enter. “You can come in. I was just watching TV. I can turn it off. Would you like some ice cream?” Sam detected a note of desperation in her voice.

“It’s tempting,” Sam said, “but I’ll pass, thanks. I don’t plan to be here long.”

Only as she bent to pick up the remote from the coffee table did he notice the blaze of florid color down the left side of her face—the early stages of a nasty bruise. Sam had seen marks likes that before. Simone had been slapped—hard.

Switching off the television, she turned away, trying to hide the evidence; when it became clear that he’d already noticed it, she faked a laugh. “Don’t I look a fright? I got up in the night and stumbled into the doorframe. I’ve tried putting ice on it, but . . .” She shrugged. “I’ll just have to wait until it goes away—and watch my step. Being pregnant has made me so clumsy.”

“My sympathies. I’ve taken some clumsy steps myself.” Sam sensed that she wouldn’t want him to voice the truth. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m as right as rain. Have a seat on the sofa, Agent. You’re sure you wouldn’t want some ice cream? It’s chocolate, the best.”

“You’ve talked me into it. But only if you’ll have some with me.” He was doing his best to put her at ease.

“Certainly. But only a little bit for me. Darrin says I’m getting fat.”

“Not too much for me, either. I gained ten pounds on my last visit to the ranch.” Sam took a seat and watched her walk into the kitchen. Her sundress was tight through the bodice, the waist hitched up to ride above the slight bulge of her belly. But that was as it should be. She was pregnant. What kind of husband would slap his pregnant wife and taunt her about putting on weight? The last modicum of respect Sam might have felt toward Darrin was slipping away fast.

But he was a federal agent, here to solve a crime, he reminded himself. It was his job to view every suspect without prejudice and without emotion. That included Darrin, Simone, and even Jasmine.

Simone returned with two small bowls of chocolate ice cream. She handed one to Sam and sat down on the far end of the sofa, turning to face him. Sam spooned a taste and nodded. “Not bad,” he said.

“It’s my favorite brand, and it was on sale.” Simone took a spoonful, swirling it in her mouth before setting the bowl on the table and fixing her gaze on Sam. “Agent, I invited you in for a reason. I’ve suspected all along that Lila was having an affair with her horse trainer, but I had no proof. Now I do.”

“Go on.” Sam had sensed the tension between Lila and Roper, but this was new.

“We have a witness who saw them—not exactly doing it, but that had to be what was happening.”

“Who was the witness?” Sam demanded.

“It was Mariah. Darrin’s mother asked her to keep an eye on them, and she did. They were in that little shed that houses the sprinkler controls. Mariah saw them go in and come out.”

Sam tried to picture the shed. Not much room in there. But room enough, he supposed.

“So you were in touch with Darrin’s mother?”

“Darrin called her,” Simone said. “She agreed to phone Mariah. Mariah would do anything for her.”

“How is Madeleine doing? Did she say? Did Darrin talk to Jasmine?”

Simone shook her head. “I guess not. But we were talking about Lila and her affair. Now that we have proof—”

“But proof of what?” Sam’s ice cream was melting. He set the bowl on the coffee table. “There’s still no proof Lila was having an affair while she was married to Frank. And even if she did, I can’t arrest people for sleeping together. I’m looking for evidence in a murder case.”

“But what about motive, means, and opportunity? They had it all.”

“True. And I appreciate your efforts to help the case. But what I need is proof that will hold up in court. I’m still looking for that.” Sam stood up to leave. “You have my card. Call me if there’s anything more you need to tell me.”

“I’ll let Darrin know you came by,” she said, reaching for the remote. “Is there anything I should tell him?”

“That’s up to you. Don’t get up, Simone. I’ll see myself out. Thank you for your hospitality and your time.”

He left her and drove away, lost in thought. Darrin was capable of violence. Did that mean he was also capable of murder? As for Simone, she’d shown herself to be ambitious, even scheming. But she and her unborn baby were vulnerable. It wasn’t Sam’s place to interfere in a marriage without cause. He could only offer her a lifeline in case the situation became dangerous. Maybe tonight he would risk a call to Jasmine. She was in the best position to understand her brother. She might have some insights to offer.

But what was he thinking? Hadn’t he just told Jasmine not to communicate with him except in an emergency?

He was nearing the ranch when a red Corvette roared around him on the two-lane paved highway and sped on ahead. Sam swore as he recognized the car and its driver. It was Charlie Grishman.

The Corvette had been Jasmine’s, a prized gift from her father. When Charlie had found evidence that she’d been with the animal rights group who’d raided his property, set a fire, and freed many of the animals, the Corvette had bought Charlie’s silence and kept Jasmine out of jail.

Now the little rat was wasting no opportunity to flaunt the beautiful car. Sam watched as he made a hard left turn, ground the gears, and sped up the graveled side road to his ranch. The way he was abusing that car, it would serve him right if he crashed it.

Tomorrow, Sam resolved, he would pay a call on the man. He’d been to Charlie’s place before. He wasn’t looking forward to the noise and foul odors of the place, the wretched pens and cages, and the frustration of not being able to change the situation. At least Jasmine had tried. She couldn’t help it if the protest, meant to attract attention, had spiraled out of control.

Charlie was still on Sam’s list of suspects. But so far, he’d been unable to come up with a motive. Maybe he needed to take a closer look.

Could Frank have done anything to make an enemy of Charlie? True, he’d kept Charlie from pursuing Jasmine—probably threatened him with bodily harm if he came near her. But that hardly seemed like a reason for murder.

But what if there was another connection—a hidden connection—like blackmail? Charlie was certainly capable of that. It was how he’d gotten his hands on Jasmine’s Corvette.

Maybe he’d discovered a secret from Frank’s past and was extorting money from him. But no—Sam dismissed the idea. Why would Charlie kill off his cash cow? And it didn’t make sense that Frank would be blackmailing Charlie either.

It could be something else, then. Or maybe nothing. Sam would keep his eyes and ears open tomorrow when he paid a call on Charlie and his menagerie.

His thoughts shifted as he drove in through the ranch gate. Roper’s truck was back in the lot, along with a luxury-class truck and horse trailer, parked outside the stable. Sam could see the Barr Stables logo on the trailer’s side. Roper’s horse for the million-dollar reining event had arrived.

* * *

Fire Dance snorted, yanked at his halter, and tried to bolt as Roper led him down the trailer ramp and into the stable. Chet Barr had warned him that the stallion could be skittish at first, especially in a new place, so Roper was prepared for some hijinks. Still, it was a relief to get the nervous horse safely in the stall.

Speaking softly and avoiding any sudden moves, Roper backed out of the stall and closed the gate behind him. He’d hoped to be in the arena before day’s end. But the stallion needed time to calm down.

Looking over the gate, Roper studied the horse he’d chosen to carry him in the Run for a Million. The stallion was magnificent, from the flare of his nostrils to the muscles of his powerful haunches. His coat was the color of a newly minted penny, his large eyes alert and intelligent. But the most striking thing about Fire Dance was the energy that quivered in every muscle, every movement. If that energy could be focused on his performance in the arena, he would be unstoppable. If not, the jumpy, suspicious horse could be a disaster.

“Hello, boy,” Roper murmured. “You and I have got a lot of work to do and not much time to get it done. For starters, we’ll be learning to trust each other.”

Hayden Barr, Chet’s son who’d delivered the stallion, had come up behind Roper. “Fire Dance is a great horse,” he said. “But he’s got a mind of his own. I competed on him in the last Cactus Classic. We didn’t make the cut—let’s just say we had a disagreement that cost us points. He’s got the potential to win it all, but you have to show him who’s boss.”

“I can see that already,” Roper said. “I hope I can handle him.”

“Dad wouldn’t have offered you the horse if he didn’t believe you could.” Hayden was in his early twenties, tall and lean, and he moved with the easy grace of a natural rider. With dark hair curling low over his collar, arresting hazel eyes, and a lopsided smile, Hayden bore no resemblance to his stocky, blond father.

“So, are you registered for the Shootout?” Roper asked him.

“Not this year,” Hayden said. “I’ve got a prime cutting horse, and I’ll be going for the Cutting Horse Challenge. The competition is killer, but I’ll never make it if I don’t take a chance. I’m in this to win.”

“Aren’t we all? But good luck with that. I’ll be cheering for you.” Roper signed the paperwork that Hayden had brought—two copies, specifying the terms and limits of the stallion’s use, liability for damages, and any financial arrangements involved.

“We’ll be picking up the stallion in Vegas after the event. Let us know if there’s a problem.”

“Will do. Tell your dad I’ll be doing my best to win that million for both of us.”

After Hayden left, Roper turned his full attention back to Fire Dance. Staying outside the stall for now, he studied the horse over the gate. The stallion eyed him, clearly sizing him up. He snorted, his ears twitching and shifting.

Roper’s success as a rider and trainer depended on his bonding with the horse, allowing him to use and receive silent body signals. The key to that bond was trust—and winning Fire Dance’s trust could be a challenge.

The stallion knew the routines and could do them perfectly, at dazzling speed. Roper had seen him compete. But without that vital connection between horse and rider, there’d be no chance of winning.

“What a beautiful horse.” Lila had come up behind him. She spoke softly to avoid startling the stallion. “He looks spectacular. When are you going to ride him?”

“I was hoping to start today. But he needs time to settle in. I’ll try him in the morning—first thing, before the workday starts. I’m aware that I agreed to keep up with my regular schedule. That means I’ll be training with him early mornings and late evenings.”

“I take it you won’t be getting much sleep.” A smile played around her lips, stirring the memory of her kisses. For a fleeting moment, Roper dared hope she might give him more time. But this was Lila. She would hold him to his promise.

“Sleep is the least of my concerns,” he said. “In fact, I plan to spend the night here, with Fire Dance. I want him to know that, even in a strange place, I’ll be here to keep him safe.”

“In that case, I’ll have some supper sent out,” Lila said. “I want you and the stallion to do well, even though you won’t be riding for the Culhane Stables.”

“You should, since you’ll be getting a hundred twenty-five thousand dollars in prize money if we win.”

“Yes, there is that,” she said, and turned to go.

Too late, as she walked away, Roper realized he’d rebuffed a sincere effort to make peace. But it was too late to apologize. And now, from far down the row of box stalls came a shrill and angry call.

One in a Million had caught the scent of a rival stallion. He was screaming his challenge.