chapter Eleven
Aggie Wells came into the kitchen as if she lived there. She carried a small box that she set on the table before she headed back into the living room.
McCall watched her from her hiding place in the pantry, but lost her when she left the kitchen. She could hear her in the living room and dining room. She seemed to just be wandering around the house.
McCall wondered if she was pretending she lived here. Her former supervisor had suggested that Aggie might have gotten too involved with Hoyt Chisholm and his case, that she had fallen in love with Hoyt.
The insurance company Aggie had worked for let her go after they found out she was still working the case on her own time—even after her investigation had been unable to prove anything other than Laura Chisholm’s drowning had been an accident.
Aggie came back into the kitchen, shoved one of the chairs closer to the table and stood on it. Reaching into the box she’d brought, she took out what looked like a small smoke alarm and replaced the one the Chisholm brothers had destroyed.
She worked with a single-minded efficiency, making McCall wonder how many other houses she had bugged over the years.
McCall frowned as she realized she hadn’t heard a vehicle. How had Aggie gotten here? Not by a road, or one of the deputies would have alerted McCall.
As Aggie finished reinstalling the listening device, she froze on the chair and looked around as if she suddenly sensed she wasn’t alone. She lowered herself off the chair to the kitchen floor, clearly trying to be as quiet as possible, picked up her box and slipped out the back door.
McCall was ready to pitch the plan. Aggie had been spooked. What would she do? McCall couldn’t bear to think that the woman might just take off and never be seen again. But what if she had taken Emma and was now going back to wherever she’d hidden her?
Arresting Aggie now might mean never finding Emma. McCall made herself stay where she was, counting to ten before she eased out of the pantry.
She caught a whiff of perfume as she edged to the back door and peered out. Aggie was a few hundred yards from the house, walking toward a four-wheeler.
McCall swore. That’s why the deputies hadn’t seen her. She hadn’t taken a road, but had come across country.
Grabbing her radio, she barked out an order for the deputies to close in. Now! “She’s on a four-wheeler.” She opened the back door, heard the four-wheeler crank over and saw Aggie take off through the pasture.
McCall realized the deputies couldn’t possibly get there fast enough. Aggie was going to get away unless—
She raced through the house, slowing at the front door. It was standing wide open. She got another strong whiff of perfume. Why would Aggie leave the front door open?
McCall didn’t have time to consider what it might mean as she sprinted to the corral. She’d never had a horse of her own, but she’d ridden any horse that would let her since she was a girl. Because of it, riding bareback was the only way she knew how to ride.
One of the horses came toward her. She grabbed a halter off the post by the gate and, slipping it on, led the mare out of the corral and swung up onto her back. Spurring the horse, she went after Aggie as the wind whipped the cottonwoods, sending dust swirling around her. In the distance she could see storm clouds over the mountains and smell rain in the air. The weatherman had been wrong.
As she rode the horse over the first rise, she caught sight of Aggie tearing through the open country on the four-wheeler. Dust churned up behind the rig, obscuring the rider. Even if Aggie looked back, she wouldn’t be able to see McCall coming after her.
McCall leaned over the mare’s neck and galloped across the pasture, keeping her focus on the four-wheeler and where it was headed.
DAWSON TOPPED THE LAST RISE and saw Chisholm Cattle Company sprawled below him. He reined in his horse. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Except for the woman who rode up next to him.
She smiled over at him and he saw her concern. She must see how hard it was for him to even stay in the saddle he felt so weak.
“You going to make it?” she asked.
He smiled back at her. “I am now.”
As they rode down toward the ranch, he saw dust boiling up along the road into the ranch. Two sheriff’s deputy vehicles came racing up the road toward them.
Jinx rode out to flag down one of the deputies. “Dawson’s been shot by some rustlers. He needs medical attention right away,” she said.
As Dawson rode up, he recognized the deputy as his future sister-in-law Halley Robinson. She started to reach for her radio, no doubt to call an ambulance.
“There isn’t time,” Jinx said. “We need to take him in your patrol car.”
Dawson felt the last of his strength seep out of him. He slumped over his saddle, only to feel someone pulling him down and into the patrol car. He lay back against the seat for a moment before Jinx drew him over, cradling his head in her lap. He felt her fingers brush back a lock of hair from his forehead, heard her say, “Please hurry.”
The sound of the siren came on and he felt the patrol car turn around and head toward town. He closed his eyes.
“Listen to me, Chisholm,” Jinx whispered next to his ear. “I didn’t ride all the way off that mountain to have you die on me now.” He heard the emotion in her voice and realized she was close to tears.
He opened his eyes, looked into her adorable face and tried to smile. That was the last thing he remembered.
MCCALL SLOWED THE MARE to a trot as she saw the four-wheeler turn onto an old dirt road. At the end of it sat an empty farmhouse. She eased the mare through the trees along the edge of a creek that ran the length of the property as she watched the four-wheeler come to a stop behind the farmhouse and Aggie climb off to disappear inside.
McCall kept to the trees, working her way to the back of the house, all the time keeping an eye on the dust-coated windows. Was Emma inside? She could only hope.
She thought about calling for backup as she slid from her horse, but a patrol car could be spotted for miles out here and McCall couldn’t chance what Aggie might do to Emma. If Emma was even in there.
No, she thought as she drew her weapon and moved stealthily toward the back door. She couldn’t risk Emma’s life by tipping off Aggie they were onto her, and she had a strong feeling that Emma was inside.
The back door wasn’t locked. It swung open with a creak that made McCall grimace. The old, bare kitchen was empty. She stepped inside. As she moved toward the front of the house, she heard voices upstairs.
Her heart soared. Aggie wasn’t alone. Someone was with her. Emma?
Weapon in hand, McCall started up the stairs. Normally she would be thinking about what she was going to find at the top of the steps, but suddenly she had a flash of memory of lying in bed with her husband—and the realization that she could already be pregnant, just as she’d joked with Luke last night.
The thought of having Luke’s baby made her go soft inside. She hesitated on the stairs, surprised by this sudden well of emotion. McCall had never thought anything could keep her from doing her job.
And while she wouldn’t let it now, she realized that having Luke’s baby was going to change everything—especially the way she felt about risking her life.
She shook the thought away as she continued up the stairs, torn between her love for her job and her love for her husband and the thought of their child.
At the top of the stairs she stopped to listen, afraid the creaking stairs might have given her away. With relief she heard two women’s voices coming from behind one of the closed doors. One of them was Emma’s.
McCall inched toward the door, fearing it would be locked. Her hand closed over the knob. She took a breath, let it out and tried the knob. It turned in her hand.
On the count of three. One. Two. Three.
“I MEAN IT, DAWSON, don’t you dare die on me, you hear me?” Jinx said as she cradled his head in her lap. He looked so pale and yet so handsome. Her heart broke at the sight. She checked his pulse again. He was still alive, but he’d lost so much blood….
She felt that if she kept talking to him, she wouldn’t lose him. She whispered to him as the deputy drove, talking about anything she could think of, her childhood, her first boyfriend, her dreams, her hopes.
“I wish we’d met at a community dance, that you saw me from across the room and that you worked your way through the crowd, determined to dance with me,” she whispered. “Our first dance would be a slow one and you would hold me close and—” her voice broke “—and you would never let me go.”
She felt tears burn her eyes as the deputy said, “Once we get to the hospital, I’m going to have to get your statement about who shot him.”
Jinx glanced up and nodded to the deputy looking at her in the rearview mirror, then started as she felt Dawson move in her lap, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“What’s your real name?”
She looked down and saw that his eyes were open and he was staring up at her.
“Brittany Bo Clarke.”
He smiled. “Easy to see why you go by Jinx.” Then his eyes closed again.
She didn’t know if he could hear her or if he had passed out again, but she kept talking to him. “I grew up on the Double TT Ranch. It was home even though we lived at the old homestead and my father was only the ranch manager all those years. My father worked for Hank Thompson. When he died his son, Lyndel, inherited the ranch.”
Jinx couldn’t help remembering her first run-in with Lyndel when they were both kids. Lyndel was only four years her senior, a son born to the older Hank and his young wife, who left him right after Lyndel was born.
Dawson groaned as if he sensed something unpleasant had happened with Lyndel and that was what had caused her to stop talking to him.
“My first boyfriend was a neighbor boy,” she said quickly as she stroked Dawson’s dark hair. “We used to swim together in the creek, ride horses, build forts, you know the kind of puppy love best friends have as kids.” She wondered if there had been anyone like that in Dawson’s life and realized how little they knew about each other. That seemed strange since they’d been through so much together and she was in love with him.
“I went off to college. My first boyfriend married a local girl. They have three children and raise horses. I always wanted to raise horses, live on a ranch, a ranch of my own….” Her voice broke again and she looked up to see that they had reached town.
Dawson groaned softly and she had to lean in to hear his words. “Why did they change their pattern at your ranch?”
She frowned, realizing he must be delirious and talking nonsense.
As the patrol car raced to the emergency room, sirens blaring, the staff came running out with a gurney. Jinx had to let go of Dawson as he was loaded onto it and wheeled into the emergency room.
She stood just inside the draped room, watching the doctor and nurses rushing around. “Is he going to be all right?” she asked, hating that she couldn’t control the tears streaming down her face.
“He’s lost a lot of blood, but it looks like a clean wound,” the doctor said. “The bullet went right through the shoulder. This wound,” he said, probing at the blood-dried injury on Dawson’s forehead, “appears to be a graze, but you can never tell with a head wound. Are you next of kin?” She shook her head. “Family should be notified.”
She watched them wheel Dawson down the hall, her heart in her throat. She realized the deputy was still waiting as well and wondered now why two sheriff’s deputy patrol cars had been racing into the ranch this morning.
“What was going on at the ranch as we were riding in?” she asked the female deputy.
“I’m not at liberty to say. I am going to need your statement, though,” Deputy Robinson said. She pulled out a notebook and pen.
“The doctor said I should notify his family.”
“I already did. I’m engaged to Dawson’s brother Colton.”
Jinx nodded as she recalled that one of the brothers had gotten engaged to a sheriff’s deputy.
“Why don’t we start with your name?”
“Brittany Bo Clarke.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“He was shot by rustlers,” Jinx said. “Could you check with the doctor and ask how he is? Please. I’m so worried about him.”
“You’re the one who brought him out of the mountains?”
“Yes. I was afraid he wasn’t going to make it. When I saw your patrol car…”
“How was it you were up there?”
Jinx had known that question was coming. She turned to look down the hallway. “Please. The doctor might tell you how he is. I have to know.”
The deputy gave her a sympathetic nod, got up and, pocketing her notebook and pen, went to check on Dawson.
Jinx stood watching her go, thinking that she already had Rafe’s blood on her hands. Not that she could do anything for Dawson now anyway. He was in God’s hands—and the doctor’s.
Suddenly Rafe’s last words seemed to echo in her ears.
I see why he called you Jinx.
Her heart began to pound harder. She saw the deputy talking to a nurse, then heard the nurse say Dawson had regained consciousness, his wounds didn’t appear to be life-threatening and that they were getting fluids into him and he should be fine. Dawson’s words came to her. Why did they change their pattern at your ranch? Yes, why had they?
She said a silent prayer for Dawson, then made sure no one was looking and slipped out the back of the hospital. Once outside, she took a deep breath and ran.
MCCALL TURNED THE KNOB and eased open the door to the upstairs room in the old farmhouse. Aggie’s back came into view, then the corner of an old mattress lying on the floor and finally Emma.
She appeared to be fine, though McCall couldn’t tell if Aggie was holding a gun on her or not.
Easing the door open a little more— The hinges creaked and Aggie started to turn. McCall raised the gun as the former insurance investigator swung around in surprise.
“Don’t move!” McCall ordered, relieved to see that Aggie was unarmed except for the pistol sticking out of her waistband. She quickly took the pistol and forced Aggie deeper into the room. “Emma? Are you all right?”
“Glad to see you,” Emma said.
Aggie stood looking defeated. “Agatha Wells, you are under arrest,” McCall said as she cuffed the woman and read her her rights.
“I only took Emma to protect her,” Aggie said. “You don’t understand. Her life is in danger.”
McCall said nothing as she radioed for backup. “It’s the old Harrington place. We’ll be waiting outside for you.” She helped Emma to her feet and led the two of them outside. She’d expected to see Deputy Robinson first, since she’d been the closest, and she was suddenly worried something had happened. She tried to radio Deputy Robinson and couldn’t get through. Her concern grew.
What if Aggie hadn’t been working alone?
“Where’s Deputy Robinson?” McCall said when one of three deputies came racing up in a patrol SUV. She was anxious to get Emma back home and Aggie behind bars. A second patrol car roared up the road in a cloud of dust.
“Deputy Robinson was called away on an emergency,” the deputy said so the others couldn’t hear. “There’s been a shooting. No details yet.”
“Emma, you have to listen to me,” Aggie was saying. “I know you all think I’m crazy, but the only reason I took you was to—”
McCall reminded Aggie that anything she said could be used against her as the deputy loaded Aggie into the back of the first patrol car. She asked the second deputy to please take Emma home and stay with her until one of her stepsons returned.
“Thank you,” Emma said, giving the sheriff a hug before climbing into the patrol car.
“And if you wouldn’t mind,” McCall said, “return this horse to the Chisholm corral.” She handed the deputy the reins once he was behind the wheel.
Climbing into the patrol car with Aggie Wells locked in the back, she told the deputy to take them to Whitehorse and the county jail.
“You’re making a terrible mistake,” Aggie said from behind the wire divider. “You’re going to get Emma killed. If you’d given me just a little longer, I could have proved… Never mind. You wouldn’t believe me.” She fell silent, slumped in the backseat as the patrol car headed for Whitehorse.
“WHERE’S JINX?” They were the first words out of Dawson’s mouth when he opened his eyes again.
“Jinx?” Deputy Robinson asked from the chair next to his bed. She appeared to have been waiting there for him to wake up.
“The woman I was with,” he told his brother’s fiancée, then registered her expression. “What did she do?”
“She asked me to check on you and when I turned around…”
He nodded. “She was gone. That’s Jinx.” He closed his eyes, hiding his disappointment. He’d hoped she would be sitting beside his bed. He should have known she would go after the leader of the ring on her own. She had before and nothing had really changed.
That wasn’t true, he realized. At least not for him. He’d thought not for Jinx either.
“I need to ask you some questions,” Halley said. “That is, if you’re up to it. The sheriff should be here soon.”
Dawson opened his eyes again. His shoulder was bandaged, and so was the spot on his forehead where a bullet had grazed him. There was an IV hooked to his arm.
The last thing he wanted to do was talk about what had happened up on the mountain. He was sure Jinx had felt the same way. He thought about her talking all the way from the ranch to the hospital. He’d been in and out of consciousness, but he could remember most of what she’d said.
“Dawson?” Halley asked.
“Sorry, I’m not sure what I can tell you.” He touched the bandage on his forehead, stalling.
“The doctor said the bullet creased your forehead, but warned that there might be some memory loss.”
He wished that were the case. He could remember everything—the way it had felt to lie naked with Jinx in the tall summer grass, the sound of her laugh, the feel of her touch. He closed his eyes again at the memory, reminding himself she was gone.
“Maybe it would be better later, Halley,” he said without opening his eyes. The rustlers would be long gone by now, except for Rafe, even if the sheriff could get together a posse to ride up there.
He heard Halley rise from her chair.
“Do you have any idea where we can find Jinx?” she asked.
“No.” He realized the moment he heard her leave his room that he was wrong. He did know where to find Jinx.
He remembered in the patrol car on the way to the hospital when she’d stopped talking. She’d been talking about the Double TT where she’d grown up, where her father had been ranch manger, where he’d died. She’d been talking about Lyndel Thompson, the new ranch owner.
“What are you doing?” the doctor demanded as he came into the room after the deputy had left, to find Dawson disconnecting the IV from his arm.
Dr. Brian “Buck” Carrey wore a cowboy hat over his long gray ponytail. His face was tanned and weathered with deep lines around his bright blue eyes. “You’re still too weak to be going anywhere, son.”
“You patched me up fine, Doc.” Dawson swung his legs off the gurney and stood. He felt a little light-headed, but not bad. “Where are my clothes?”
“Your family is on the way to the hospital,” the doctor said, shoving back his cowboy hat. His look said he’d dealt with his share of stubborn cowboys in his day. “Anything you’d like me to tell them when they get here—other than the fact that you’re a damned fool to be taking off right now?”
“Tell them our summer range cattle need to be rounded up. Oh, and have them give this to the sheriff.” He scribbled a note on the pad by the bed and handed it to the doctor.
Buck sighed. “And as your personal secretary, what would you like me to say when they ask where the hell you’ve gone?”
“The Double TT Ranch in Wyoming. Just tell them I’ve gone after a woman. They’ll understand.”
EMMA WAS WAITING on the front porch when Marshall brought Hoyt home. She told herself she wasn’t going to cry, but of course she did.
He stepped from the pickup and she ran to him, throwing herself into his arms. The sheriff had called earlier, saying Hoyt had made bail after the county attorney had heard about Aggie Wells’s arrest. Hoyt’s call to the governor hadn’t hurt either.
“Emma,” he said as he hugged her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. Then he held her at arm’s length and looked her over. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he said and pulled her to him again. “I was so worried.”
“But you knew I would never leave you.”
He drew back to smile at her. “I knew no one could run you off, so something had to have happened.”
“Aggie happened. She’s crazy, Hoyt.”
He nodded. “I guess when she couldn’t prove I had something to do with Laura’s death, she tried to frame me by killing Tasha and Krystal.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it himself. “I’m just so glad she didn’t hurt you.”
“She seemed to really believe that she was saving me from harm by abducting me. I feel sorry for her. That perfume she was wearing—”
He glanced away for a moment. “I should have told you right away. I recognized it. It was Laura’s favorite.”
Emma felt a cold chill snake up her spine. “Aggie said when she investigated a case, she tried to become the victim to understand what had happened to her. But wearing her perfume?” She shuddered as she realized just how sick Aggie really was and how lucky she was to be free from the woman.
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said you smelled the perfume that day,” Hoyt said.
Emma nodded, barely registering what he said. She was thinking about Aggie. “I wonder if she didn’t want to become Laura? That is what must have happened. In her mind, she became Laura and couldn’t bear to see you married to anyone else.”
“Well, the sheriff told me they are planning to send her up to the state mental hospital in Warm Springs for a psychiatric evaluation. I’m not too sure she will ever stand trial.”
“What does your lawyer say?” Emma asked, still worried.
“He thinks with Aggie’s arrest I will be exonerated.”
Emma let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, Hoyt, then it’s finally over.”
He smiled down at her, then swung her up into his arms and carried her into the house.
“Don’t mind me,” Marshall called after them, a laugh in his voice. “I’ll just be going now,” he said as the front door closed behind his father and stepmother.
LYNDEL THOMPSON LOOKED UP as Jinx walked into the main ranch house at the Double TT without knocking. He was standing behind the large breakfast bar in the kitchen about to pour himself a cup of coffee.
Surprise registered in his expression. He let out a soft chuckle as he finished pouring his coffee and put the pot back. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
“Why is that, Lyndel?” She’d had a lot of time between retrieving her pickup where she’d left it on the edge of Whitehorse and the long drive to Wyoming to think. The pieces seemed to be falling into place and she wondered why it had taken her so long to figure it out.
Dawson was the one who’d made her realize she hadn’t been thinking clearly since her father’s murder. All the other rustling jobs had been about the cattle. Her father’s had been different for a reason.
Why had the rustlers changed their pattern?
“I thought you had moved on since the funeral,” Lyndel said. “Didn’t think you’d have any reason to come back here.”
She smiled at that as she took in the ostentatious living room. Lyndel had built the house when he’d inherited the ranch. His father had cut off supporting him years ago but on his deathbed had relented and left the ranch to his only child—except it came with a small string attached.
He’d set up the inheritance where everything had to be run through Jinx’s father, a man he trusted after all these years. The only way Lyndel would have full control was when he reached forty—or when her father died. Apparently Lyndel couldn’t wait the eight years.
Her father had told her that Lyndel had been spending money as if there was no tomorrow—no doubt more money than the ranch had been taking in. And now he had the ranch up for sale. Her father had been fighting him—and losing. Under a clause in the inheritance, Lyndel could have lost the ranch if her father had taken legal action.
Her father had always been a fair and understanding man. He hadn’t wanted to take legal action unless necessary, thinking Lyndel would come to his senses and settle down. If her father had, though, the ranch would have gone into state conservation land and Lyndel would lose everything.
“I didn’t see any cattle on the way in to the ranch,” she said as she ran a finger along the expensive marble countertop.
“After the rustlers hit us, I decided maybe it was time to just lease the land and get out of the cattle business.”
“That right? Well, you never did have any interest in the day-to-day running of a ranch.”
His smile never reached his eyes. “Jinx, I have a feeling this isn’t a social call. Why don’t you just spit it out?”
“I’ve been doing some thinking.”
He chuckled and leaned against the breakfast bar. “You sure that’s a good idea, High Jinks?”
“High Jinks?”
“That’s what my old man used to call you. Somewhere along the way it got shortened to Jinx.”
She hadn’t known where she’d gotten the nickname, just that everyone had called her Jinx as far back as she could remember. But, she reminded herself, Rafe had known where she’d gotten the name.
“What’s on your mind?” Lyndel asked impatiently.
She studied him, remembering the mean, selfish boy he’d been and how he used to rub it in her face that she was just the ranch manager’s kid while his daddy owned the ranch. He used to brag that someday it would be his and he could kick her and her daddy off it if he wanted to.
Well, now it was his and he was selling the ranch that had meant so much to his father—and to her own.
“I know how angry you were when you found out the ranch came with strings,” she said.
“Is there a point to this?” Lyndel asked, putting down his coffee cup. He hadn’t offered her a cup, but then that was no surprise.
“I met a friend of yours recently,” she said. “Rafe Tillman.”
He frowned and shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Think harder. He knows you. That is, he knew you. He’s dead.”
Lyndel lifted a brow. “If I’d known him, maybe that would mean something to me. But—”
“That’s funny, since he knew about my nick name.”
“Maybe he knew my father.” His voice had taken on an irritated clipped tone.
She slipped out of her jean jacket and casually hung it over the back of one of the breakfast bar’s chairs. “He had something interesting to say before he died.”
She had Lyndel’s attention now. “You were with him?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention? I hooked up with the rustlers.”
“Why would you do—” The rest of his words seemed to catch in his throat. So he hadn’t known that Rafe had let her join the gang. That shouldn’t have surprised her. Rafe wasn’t completely stupid. Lyndel wouldn’t want him adding another rustler without his permission—let alone a woman. Any fool would know how much trouble that could cause among the gang of men.
But if Lyndel hadn’t known, then that meant none of the other rustlers had told him. Because they hadn’t known who was behind the rustling ring.
“They killed my father,” she reminded him.
“So why would you have anything to do with them?”
“To get to the ringleader. I knew eventually Rafe would tell me who was behind it.”
Lyndel had gone stone still.
“You killed my father.”
“What are you talking about?” He picked up his coffee cup again and took a sip, avoiding her gaze. “Too bad this Rafe character is dead, because without him to verify your story…”
She shook her head. “I was so upset about what happened I wasn’t thinking straight at first, but as someone pointed out to me, everything about the rustling on the Double TT didn’t fit the rustlers’ normal pattern.”
“You’re talking foolishness. If you had a shred of proof you wouldn’t be standing here, you’d be talking to the sheriff.” He was back to his usual cocky self as he came around the end of the breakfast bar. “Now, get the hell out of my house.”
“Why? Why did you have to kill him?”
He shook his head. “If you don’t leave right now—”
“What are you going to do? Call the sheriff? Maybe you should. Maybe he would like to look at the ranch books. My father must have realized that you were up to something. Is that why you had to get rid of him?”
Lyndel smiled again, the old meanness coming back into his eyes as he advanced on her. “If the sheriff was to take a look at the ranch books he would find that your father had been stealing from the ranch for years.”
“That’s a bald-faced lie!”
He laughed. “Hard to prove otherwise, now, isn’t it?”
“That’s why you had him killed. He knew what you’d been doing. I remember him saying that your father wasn’t fool enough to leave you the ranch without some kind of protection against you either running it into the ground or selling your legacy. The only way you could have the ranch to do as you pleased was to kill my father.”
Lyndel swore under his breath. “If you want to blame someone, blame my old man. He gave me no choice.”
“You would have gotten the ranch free and clear once you were forty.”
“Forty?” He snorted. “It was my legacy, not your father’s. I had every right to do whatever I wanted with this place. I was sick to death of hearing how I couldn’t spend my own money. I should have killed him the moment I inherited the place, then I wouldn’t have had to listen to his lectures.”
Jinx let out a gasp. She’d known, and yet hearing Lyndel say it was like a stab through the heart.
“And you should have left things alone,” he snapped.
As he took another step toward her, she pulled the gun.
He froze. His gaze went from the gun to her face. His smile returned. “You can’t pull the trigger.”
She ran her finger lightly over the trigger. “Try me.”
He’d killed her father in cold blood and for what? Money, power, freedom from anyone telling him what to do? She had told herself that when she found the man behind the rustling ring, she would kill him. One shot through the heart—just like her father’s death had felt to her.
But she could still hear the boom of the gunshot that had killed Rafe. She could still remember the feel of his warm blood on her hands and the way he had looked at her before he died.
She swung the gun to the right and touched off a shot. A large pottery vase exploded, sending shards spraying across the living room as the sound of the shot echoed through the house. She quickly swung the gun back to point at Lyndel’s heart.
“Are you crazy?” he demanded. “I should have told them to wait to kill your father when you were home visiting him so you would be gone, too. My mistake.”
Her finger skimmed over the trigger of the gun. Just a little pressure and—
Strong arms looped around her. The gun was wrenched painfully from her hand. She struggled, but it was useless in this bear of a man’s arms.
“What kept you, Slim?” Lyndel demanded. “I buzzed the barn ten minutes ago.”