McCullen's Secret Son (The Heroes Of Horseshoe Creek Book 2) Read online

  Fortified by her resolve to tell him to leave the signed divorce papers so she’d be rid of him for good, she strode to the bedroom. The room was dark, the air reeking of the scent of booze.

  Just as she’d feared, Leo was in bed, the covers rumpled, a bottle of bourbon on the bedside table.

  Anger churned through her, and she crossed the room, disgusted that he’d passed out in her house. She leaned over to shake him and wake him up, but she felt something sticky and wet on her hand.

  She jerked the covers off his face, a scream lodging in her throat. Leo’s eyes stared up at her, wide and vacant.

  And there was blood.

  It was everywhere, soaking his shirt and the sheets...

  Leo was dead.

  Chapter Two

  Willow backed away from the bed in horror. The acrid odor of death swirled around her. There was so much blood...all over Leo’s chest. His fingers. Streaking his face where he must have wiped his hand across his cheek.

  Nausea rose to her throat, but she swallowed it back, her mind racing.

  Leo was...really dead. God...he’d said he was in trouble, but he hadn’t mentioned that someone was after him...

  She had to get help. Call the police.

  Sheriff McCullen.

  Her head swam as she fumbled for the phone, but her hand was sticky with blood where she’d touched the bedding.

  She trembled, ran into the bathroom and turned on the water, desperate to cleanse herself of the ugly smell. She scrubbed her hand with soap, reality returning through the fog of shock.

  Where was the killer? Was he still in the house?

  She froze, straining as she listened for signs of an intruder, but the house seemed eerily silent.

  Sam... Lord help me. Her neighbor would probably drop Sam off any minute. She couldn’t let him come home to this.

  Panicked, she dried her hands, then ran for the phone again. But a shadow moved across the room, and she suddenly realized she wasn’t alone.

  Terrified, she dived for the phone, but the figure lunged at her and grabbed her from behind. Willow screamed and tried to run, but he wrapped big beefy hands around her and immobilized her.

  His rough beard scraped her jaw as he leaned close to her ear. “You aren’t going to call the cops.”

  Fear shot through her. “No, no police.”

  He tightened his grip around her, choking the air from her lungs. “If you do, you’ll end up like your husband.”

  Willow shook her head. “Let me go and I promise I’ll do whatever you say.”

  A nasty chuckle rumbled in her ear. “Oh, you’ll do what we want, Willow. That is, if you want to see your little boy again.”

  “What?” Willow gasped.

  He twisted her head back painfully, as if he was going to snap her neck. She tried to breathe, but the air was trapped in her lungs. “Please...don’t hurt him.”

  “That’s up to you.” He shoved her head forward, and she felt the barrel of his gun at the back of her head. “We’ll be in touch with instructions.”

  Then he slammed the butt of the gun against her head. Pain shot through her skull, and the world spun, the room growing dark as she collapsed.

  * * *

  BRETT HAD MUDDLED his way through the funeral and tacked on his polite semicelebrity smile as the neighbors offered condolences and shared the casseroles that had been dropped off.

  He didn’t know why people ate when they were grieving, but Mama Mary kept forcing food and tea in his hands, and he didn’t have the energy to argue. He’d grown accustomed to cameras, to putting on a happy face when his body was screaming in pain from an injury he’d sustained from a bull ride.

  He could certainly do it today.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said as he shook another hand.

  Betty Bane’s daughter Mandy slipped up beside him and gave him a flirtatious smile. She looked as if she’d just graduated high school. Jailbait. “Hey, Brett, I’m so sorry about your daddy.”

  “Thanks.” He started to step away, but she raised her cell phone. “I know it may not be a good time, but can I get a selfie with you? My friends won’t believe I actually touched the Brett McCullen!”

  She giggled and plastered her face so close to his that her cheek brushed his. “Smile, Brett!”

  Unbelievable. She wanted him to pose. To pretend he hadn’t just buried his old man.

  He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from telling her she was shallow and insensitive, then extricated himself as soon as she got the shot. He shoved his plate on the counter, wove through the crowd and stepped outside, then strode toward the stable.

  He wanted to be alone. Needed a horse beneath him, the fresh air blowing in his face and the wild rugged land of Horseshoe Creek to make him forget about the man he and his brothers had just put six feet under.

  Or...he could take a trip down to The Silver Bullet, the honky-tonk in town, and drown his sorrow in booze and a woman.

  But the thought of any female other than the one he’d left behind in Pistol Whip didn’t appeal to him. Besides, if the press got wind he was there, they’d plaster his picture all over the place. And he didn’t need that right now. Didn’t want them following him to the ranch or intruding on his brothers.

  A heaviness weighed in his chest, and he saddled up a black gelding, climbed atop and sent the horse into a sprint. Storm clouds had rolled in earlier, casting a grayness to the sky and adding to the bleakness of the day.

  He missed the stars, but a sliver of moonlight wove between the clouds and streaked the land with golden rays, just enough to remind him how beautiful and peaceful the rugged land was.

  To the west lay the mountains, and he pictured the wild mustangs running free. He could practically hear the sound of their hoofs beating the ground as the horses galloped over the terrain.

  Cattle grazed in the pastures, and the creek gurgled nearby, bringing back memories of working a cattle drive when he was young, of campfires with his father and brothers, of fishing in Horseshoe Creek.

  He’d also taken Willow for rides across this land. They’d had a picnic by the creek and skinny-dipped one night and then...made love.

  It was the sweetest moment he’d ever had with a woman. Willow had been young and shy and innocent, but so damn beautiful that, even as the voice in his head cautioned him not to take her, he’d stripped her clothes anyway.

  They’d made love like wild animals, needy and hungry, as if they might never be touched like that again.

  But he and his brothers had been fighting for months. His father had started drinking and carousing the bars, restless, too. He’d met him at the door one night when he’d been in the barn with Willow, and warned Brett that if he ever wanted to follow his dreams, he needed to leave Willow alone.

  His father’s heart-to-heart, a rarity for the two of them, had lit a fire inside him and he’d had to scratch that wandering itch. Like his father said, if he didn’t pursue rodeo, he’d always wonder if he’d missed out.

  That was ten years ago—the first time he’d left. He’d only been back once since, five years ago. Then he’d seen Willow again...

  He climbed off the horse, tied him to a tree by the creek, then walked down to the bank, sat down, picked up a stone and skipped it across the water. The sound of the creek gurgling mingled sweetly with the sound of Willow’s voice calling his name in the moonlight when they’d made love right here under the stars.

  He’d made it in the rodeo circuit now. He had fame and belt buckles and more women than any man had a right to have had.

  But as he mourned his father, he realized that in leaving, he’d missed something, too.

  Willow. A life with her. A real home. A family.

  Someone who’d love him no matter what. Whether he lost an event, or got injured and was too sore to ride, or...too old.

  He buried his head in his hands, sorrow for his father mingling with the fact that coming back here only made him want to see Willow again.r />
  But she was married and had a kid.

  And even if she had troubles like his father said, she could take care of them herself. She and that husband of hers...

  He didn’t belong in her life anymore.

  * * *

  WILLOW ROUSED FROM unconsciousness, the world tilting as she lifted her head from the floor. For a moment, confusion clouded her brain, and she wondered what had happened.

  But the stench of death swirled through the air, and reality surfaced, sending a shot of pure panic through her.

  Leo was dead. And a man had been in the house, had attacked her.

  Had said Sam was gone...

  She choked on a scream, and was so dizzy for a second, she had to hold her head with her hands to keep from passing out. Nausea bubbled in her throat, but she swallowed it back, determined not to get sick.

  She had to find her son.

  A sliver of moonlight seeped through the curtains, the only light in the room. But it was enough for her to see Leo’s body still planted in her bed, his blood soaking his clothes and the sheets like a red river.

  Who was the man in the house? Was he still here? And why would he kidnap Sam?

  Shaking all over, she clutched the edge of the dresser and pulled herself up to stand. Her breathing rattled in the quiet, but she angled her head to search the room. It appeared to be empty. She staggered to the kitchen and living room.

  Both were empty.

  Nerves nearly immobilized her, but she held on to the wall and made herself go to Sam’s room. Tears blurred her eyes, but she swiped at them, visually scanning the room and praying that the man had lied. That her little four-year-old boy was inside, safe and sound. That this was all some kind of sick, twisted dream.

  Except the blood on the bed and Leo’s body was very real.

  At first glance, her son’s room seemed untouched. His soccer ball lay on the floor by the bed, his toy cars and trucks in a pile near the block set. His bed was still made from this morning, his superhero pillow on top, next to the cowboy hat he’d begged for on his birthday.

  But this morning his horse figurines had been arranged by the toy barn and stable where he’d set them up last night when he was playing rodeo. She was afraid he had his father’s blood in him.

  The horses were knocked over now, the toy barn broken. Sam was supposed to be at Gina’s...

  Her mind racing, she hurried to retrieve her cell phone from her purse and called her neighbor. Please let Sam still be there.

  The phone rang three times, then Gina finally answered. “Hello.”

  “Gina, it’s Willow. Is Sam there?”

  “No, his father picked him up. I hope that was all right.”

  Willow pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. So Sam had come home with Leo.

  Which meant he’d probably witnessed Leo’s murder.

  Fear squeezed the air from her lungs. The man who’d attacked her, warned her not to call the police, that she’d hear from him...

  But when?

  And what was happening to Sam now?

  * * *

  BRETT FELT WRENCHED from the inside out. He’d been living on adrenaline, the high of being a star, of having women throwing themselves at him, and everyone wanting a piece of him for so long, that he didn’t know what to do with himself tonight.

  He knew one thing, though—he did not want a picture of himself at his father’s graveside all over the papers. He’d told his publicist that, and banned her from making any public announcement about his father’s death.

  Grieving for his father and returning to his hometown were private, and he wanted to keep it that way.

  Night had fallen, the cows mooing and horses roaming the pastures soothing as he rose from the creek embankment, climbed on his horse and headed back to the farmhouse. The ranch hands would have been fed by now, the days’ work done, until sunrise when the backbreaking work started all over again.

  If he had to stay here a couple of days to wait on the reading of the will, maybe he’d get up with the hands and pitch in. Nothing like working up a sweat hauling hay, rounding cattle or mending fences to take his mind off the fact that he’d never see his daddy again.

  It made him think about his mother and how he’d felt at eight when she’d died. He’d run home from the school bus that day, anxious for a hug and to tell her about the school rodeo he’d signed up for, but the minute he’d walked in and seen his daddy crying, he’d known something was terribly wrong.

  And that his life would never be the same.

  Damn drunk driver had turned his world upside down.

  Shaking off the desolate feeling the memory triggered, he reminded himself that he had made a success out of himself. He had friends...well, not friends, really. But he was surrounded by people all the time.

  He’d thought that the crowd loving him would somehow fill the empty hole inside him. That having folks cheer for him and yell his name meant they loved him.

  But they loved the rodeo star. If he didn’t have that, no one would give him a second look.

  The breeze invigorated him as he galloped across the pasture. When he reached the ranch, he spotted Maddox outside with a woman. Moonlight played off the front yard, and he yanked on the reins to slow his horse as he realized he was intruding on a private moment. He steered the animal behind a cluster of trees, waiting in the shadows.

  Maddox was on his knees, and so was the woman he was with. They were kissing like they couldn’t get enough of each other.

  The two of them finally pulled back for a breath, and Brett froze as he saw Maddox slide a ring on the woman’s finger.

  His brother had just proposed.

  He should be glad for Maddox. His older brother had taken his mother’s death hard, and he and their daddy had been close.

  Maddox had obviously found love. Good for him.

  He tightened his fingers around the reins, turned the gelding around and rode back to the stables.

  Something about seeing Maddox with that woman made him feel even more alone than he had before.

  * * *

  WILLOW COULDN’T STAND to look at Leo’s dead body.

  She needed to call the police. But what if the killer was watching her and the sheriff came, and he saw her and hurt her son?

  She paced to the living room, frantic. She needed help. She couldn’t do this alone.

  But calling Sheriff McCullen was out of the question.

  Brett’s face flashed behind her eyes. She hadn’t talked to him since he’d left five years ago. When they’d made love that night, she’d thought that Brett might be rethinking his career, that he might have missed her. That he might have contemplated returning to her.

  But the next day he’d left town without a word.

  Still, he was Sam’s father. Even if he didn’t know it.

  Heaven help her...he’d be furious with her for not telling him. Although years ago, he’d made it plain and clear that he didn’t intend to settle down or stay in Pistol Whip. A wife and a child would have cramped his style and kept him from chasing his dreams.

  And Willow refused to trap him. He would only have resented her and Sam.

  Would he help her now?

  She picked up Sam’s photo and studied her precious little boy’s face, and she decided it didn’t matter. It might be a bad time for Brett, but her son was in danger, and she’d do anything to save him.

  Her hand trembled as she phoned the McCullen house. Mama Mary answered, and she asked to speak to Brett.

  “He’s out riding, can I take a message or tell him who called?”

  “It’s Willow James. And it’s important,” she said. “Can you give me his cell phone number?”

  “Why sure thing, Ms. Willow.” Mama Mary repeated it and Willow ended the call abruptly, then called Brett’s mobile. Nerves gripped her as she waited on him to answer. What if he didn’t pick up? He might not want to talk to her at all.

  The phone clicked, then his deep voice ec
hoed back. “Hello.”

  “Brett, it’s Willow.”

  Dead silence, then his sharp intake of breath. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry about your father,” she said quickly. “But I...need to see you tonight.”

  “What?” His voice sounded gruff, a note of surprise roughening it.

  “Please,” Willow cried. “I...can’t explain, but it’s a matter of life and death.”

  Chapter Three

  Brett clenched his phone in a white-knuckled grip as he paced the barn. He hadn’t seen or talked to Willow in years, and she hadn’t attended his father’s funeral today. Even as he’d told himself he didn’t care if she came, he’d looked for her.

  But now she wanted to see him?

  It’s a matter of life and death.

  What the hell was going on?

  He cleared his throat. Once upon a time, he’d have jumped and run at a moment’s notice if Willow had called. But she was a married woman now. “What’s wrong, Willow?”

  “I can’t explain on the phone,” she said, her voice strained. “Please, Brett... I don’t know what else to do. Who to call.”

  His gut tightened at the desperation in her voice. “Willow—”

  “Please, I’m begging you. I need your help.”

  “All right, I’ll be right there.” He didn’t bother to ask for her address. He knew where she lived. Mama Mary had managed to drop it in the conversation once when he’d had a weak moment and had called home.

  He’d already unsaddled his horse, so he jogged back to the house and climbed in his pickup truck.

  Thankfully, Maddox and his lady friend had gone inside, and he had no idea where Ray was, so he didn’t have to explain to anyone. Not that he had to tell them where he was going.

  He hadn’t answered to anyone in a long time.

  Well, except for his publicist and fans and the damn press.

  He drove from the ranch, winding down the drive to the road leading into town, the quiet of the wilderness a reprieve from the cities he’d traveled to. A few miles, and he drove through the small town, noting that not much had changed.

  At this late hour, the park was empty, the general store closed, yet country music blared from The Silver Bullet, and several vehicles were parked in the lot. He wasn’t surprised to see Ray’s. He was probably drowning his sorrows.