He wanted Lindsey

And she needed him. She circled his neck with her arms, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss. Her thighs brushed against his.

What he wouldn’t give to carry her to bed and run his hands over every inch of her smooth skin. He stepped farther into the apartment, pulling her with him. Something crunched under his boot.

Bart drew back from the kiss and looked down. A smattering of letters and a mail-order catalog were strewn across the floor. A battered answering machine lay on the tile, its plastic casing in shards.

What was he thinking? Lindsey had been attacked here tonight. She could have been hurt. She could have been killed. She needed him, all right. But not to kiss her, not to make love to her. She needed him to keep her safe.

He looked up, peering into her intense blue eyes. “Pack your things.”

“My things.”

“You’re moving out to the ranch. With me.”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

As you make travel plans for the summer, don’t forget to pack along this month’s exciting new Harlequin Intrigue books!

The notion of being able to rewrite history has always been fascinating, so be sure to check out Secret Passage by Amanda Stevens. In this wildly innovative third installment in QUANTUM MEN, supersoldier Zac Riley must complete a vital mission, but his long-lost love is on a crucial mission of her own! Opposites combust in Wanted Woman by B.J. Daniels, which pits a beautiful daredevil on the run against a fiercely protective deputy sheriff—the next book in CASCADES CONCEALED.

Julie Miller revisits THE TAYLOR CLAN when one of Kansas City’s finest infiltrates a crime boss’s compound and finds himself under the dangerous spell of an aristocratic beauty. Will he be the Last Man Standing? And in Legally Binding by Ann Voss Peterson—the second sizzling story in our female-driven in-line continuity SHOTGUN SALLYS—a reformed bad boy rancher needs the help of the best female legal eagle in Texas to clear him of murder!

Who can resist those COWBOY COPS? In our latest offering in our Western-themed promotion, Adrianne Lee tantalizes with Denim Detective. This gripping family-in-jeopardy tale has a small-town sheriff riding to the rescue, but he’s about to learn one doozy of a secret…. And finally this month you are cordially invited to partake in Her Royal Bodyguard by Joyce Sullivan, an enchanting mystery about a commoner who discovers she’s a betrothed princess and teams up with an enigmatic bodyguard who vows to protect her from evildoers.

Enjoy our fabulous lineup this month!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor, Harlequin Intrigue

Legally Binding
Ann Voss Peterson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ever since she was a little girl making her own books out of construction paper, Ann Voss Peterson wanted to write. So when it came time to choose a major at the University of Wisconsin, creative writing was her only choice. Of course, writing wasn’t a practical choice—one needs to earn a living. So Ann found jobs ranging from proofreading legal transcripts to working with quarter horses to washing windows. But no matter how she earned her paycheck, she continued to write the type of stories that captured her heart and imagination—romantic suspense. Ann lives near Madison, Wisconsin, with her husband, her two young sons, her Border collie and her quarter horse mare. Ann loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at ann@annvosspeterson.com or visit her Web site at annvosspeterson.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Lindsey Wellington—Eager to prove Bart Rawlins innocent, she jumps at the chance to defend him in court.

Bart Rawlins—After waking up with blood on his hands, a murder charge against him and no memory of the night before, Bart needs Lindsey to prove his innocence.

Jebediah Rawlins—When Bart’s uncle winds up dead, and old family feud points to Bart as the prime suspect.

Hurley Zeller—What kind of grudge does the deputy have against Bart?

Gary Tuttle—Does the foreman at the Four Aces Ranch know more than he’s letting on?

Kenny Rawlins—Could Bart’s cousin have killed his own father for his inheritance?

Brandy Carmichael—Who is the mystery blonde?

Paul Lambert—Lindsey’s boss has faith in her. Is it well-founded?

Donald Church—The wills and trusts attorney may know all the Rawlins family secrets, but he’s keeping them to himself.

Nancy Wilks—Does the office administrator of Lambert & Church know more than she should about the firm’s clients?

Beatrice Jensen—The geriatric nurse has a secret of her own.

Shotgun Sally—The legendary frontierswoman influences the lives of Kelly, Lindsey and Cara in their quest for the truth!

To Denise O’Sullivan, Lynda Curnyn and Allison Lyons.

Thanks for inviting me to Mustang Valley.

To Susan Kearney and Linda O. Johnston.

Thanks for exploring Mustang Valley with me.

And a special thanks to Jack, Sandy, Kevin and Troy Jones

for introducing me to the state of Texas

all those years ago!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Bart Rawlins forced one eye open. Late-morning sun slanted through his bedroom window, blinding him. Pain, sharper than his old Buck knife, drilled into his skull. He gripped the edge of the mattress and willed the room to stop spinning.

He hadn’t had that much to drink at Wade Lansing’s Hit ’Em Again Saloon last night, had he? Not enough to warrant a hangover like this.

He remembered hitching a ride to the bar with Gary Tuttle, his foreman at the Four Aces Ranch. Remembered wolfing down some of Wade’s famous chili and throwing back a few beers. Not enough to make his head feel like it was about to explode. Not enough to make his mouth taste like an animal had crawled in and died.

Damn, but he was too old for this. At thirty-five, he always thought he would be settled down with a woman he loved, raising sons and daughters to take over the Four Aces Ranch. Instead he was lying in bed with his boots on and a hangover powerful enough to split his skull.

He raised a hand to his forehead. His fingers felt sticky on his skin. Sticky and moist and smelled like—

His eyes flew open and he jerked up off the mattress. Head throbbing, he stared at his splayed fingers. Something brown coated his hands and had settled into the creases of work-worn skin. The same rusty-brown flecked his Wranglers.

Blood.

What the hell? Had he gotten drunk and picked a fight? Was a well-aimed punch responsible for his throbbing head?

Bart pushed himself off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Peering into the mirror, he checked his face. Although his nose was slightly crooked from a fall off a horse when he was ten, it looked fine. So did the rest of his face. And a quick check of other body parts turned up nothing, either. The blood must have come from the other guy.

The doorbell’s chime echoed through the house.

Who the hell could that be? He tried to scan his memory for an appointment this morning, but his sluggish mind balked.

The doorbell rang again. Whoever it was, he wasn’t going away.

Bart turned on the water and plunged his hands into the warm stream. He splashed his face, grabbed a towel and headed down the stairs. He’d better answer the door before the bell woke his dad. Good thing the old man was a heavy sleeper. Bart would get rid of whoever it was so he could nurse his hangover in peace. And try to remember what in the hell had happened last night.

He reached the door and yanked it open.

As wide as he was tall, Deputy Hurley Zeller looked up at Bart through narrowed little eyes. The sheriff’s right-hand man had a way of staring that made a man feel he’d done something illegal even if he hadn’t. And ever since Bart beat him out as starting quarterback in high school, he’d always saved his best accusing stare for Bart.

Bart shifted his boots on the wood floor. “What’s up, Hurley?”

“I have bad news.”

Bart rooted his boots to the spot. If he’d learned one thing about bad news in his thirty-five years, it was that it was best to take it like a shot of rotgut whiskey. Straight up and all at once. “What is it?”

“Your uncle Jebediah. He’s dead.”

Bart blew a stream of air through tight lips. Uncle Jeb’s death meant there would be no reconciliation. No forgiveness to mend the feud in the Rawlins clan that had started the day Bart’s granddad died and left his son Hiriam a larger chunk of the seventy-thousand-acre ranch. Now it was too late for a happy ending to that story. “Well, that is bad news, Hurley. Real bad. How did he die?”

Hurley focused on the leather pouch on Bart’s belt, the pouch where he kept his Buck knife. “Maybe I should ask you that question.”

Bart draped the towel over one shoulder and moved his hand to the pouch. It was empty. The folding hunting knife he’d hung on his belt since his father gave it to him for his fourteenth birthday was gone. Shock jolted Bart to the soles of his Tony Lamas. “You don’t think I killed—” The question lodged in his throat. He followed Hurley’s pointed stare to the towel on his shoulder.

The white terry cloth was pink with blood.

A smile spread over Hurley’s thin lips. “I think you’re coming with me, Bart. And you’ve got the right to remain silent.”

LINDSEY WELLINGTON ADJUSTED her navy-blue suit, tucked her Italian leather briefcase under one arm and marched toward the Mustang County jail and her first solo case. She hadn’t been this nervous since she’d taken the Texas bar exam. At least her years at Harvard Law School had given her plenty of experience taking tests. This was a different story. This was real life.

This was murder.

She’d explained to Paul Lambert and Donald Church, senior partners of Lambert & Church, that she hadn’t specialized in criminal law. She’d also reminded them she didn’t have trial experience, that either of them would be far more qualified. But they’d insisted she take the case anyway. Even though both Paul and Don had backgrounds that included criminal law, Lambert & Church didn’t have a true criminal attorney on staff. Not since Andrew McGovern had died in the annex fire last month. Not since Andrew was murdered, she corrected herself. A murder that wouldn’t have been discovered, let alone solved, if not for her dear friend, Andrew’s sister Kelly, and Kelly’s new husband Wade Lansing.

Lindsey pushed into the air-conditioned lobby of the jail, checked in at the desk and followed a deputy back to a small visiting room to wait for her client.

Her client.

A shiver crept up her spine at the thought. She tried to quell it. She couldn’t afford to be nervous. This case was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Over fifteen hundred miles from her well-meaning family’s influence and penchant for pulling strings to help her, she was finally getting a chance to prove herself on her own terms.

She set her briefcase on the table and took a calming breath. She couldn’t let her client know how nervous she was. Or how little experience she had. If she wanted to prove herself a professional, she had to act like one.

The door swung wide and a deputy led a tall man wearing an orange jumpsuit into the room. Lindsey looked up into a tanned face and sparkling green eyes, and struggled to catch her breath. It was a good thing she was sitting because her knees felt weak.

When she’d imagined defending an alleged murderer named Bart Rawlins, she’d pictured Black Bart, the infamous outlaw. Big and mean, with coal black hair to match his black hat. But the man who folded his big frame into the chair opposite her couldn’t be further from that image. With the body of Adonis and blond visage to match, he looked more like a hero straight from the silver screen.

“You must be Lindsey Wellington.” He held out a hand. “I’m Bart Rawlins.”

She shook his hand, a thrill skittering over her skin at the touch of work-roughened fingers. “Don’t worry, Mr. Rawlins. I’ll get you out of here immediately.” Her voice sounded breathless in her ear. As breathless as she felt. She inwardly cringed.

“Call me Bart. Paul and Don said you were the best criminal lawyer in the firm.”

The best? So they hadn’t told him they’d handed his case to a lawyer who’d just passed the bar. “Paul and Don exaggerate. But I’ll do my best, Bart. I promise you that.”

“I’m sure you will.” He tilted his head to study her, the fluorescent lights overhead gleaming off his sun-bleached hair. “They forgot to tell me you were the prettiest lawyer in the firm, too. Hell, I’d be willing to bet you’re the prettiest lawyer in the whole damn county.”

To Lindsey’s horror, a warm flush inched up her neck and burned her cheeks. “I—we should—I mean, thank you,” she finished lamely. What was wrong with her? She was blushing and stammering like a teenager with a crush.

“So where do we start?” he asked.

She looked at Bart, her mind a blank.

“My defense. Where should we start?”

She snatched herself out of the idiot-trance that had grabbed her the moment he’d strode into the room. She had to pull herself together. She was a professional. “Tell me what happened last night.”

He ran a big hand over his face and shook his head as if he’d already told the story more times than he cared to remember. “I went to Wade Lansing’s place, a saloon down on Main Street called Hit ’Em Again. I shot some pool, downed a few beers and found myself at home with a hangover to wake the dead.”

“What time did you leave the bar?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember the time?”

He grimaced. “I don’t remember leaving.”

She tried to keep her surprise from showing on her face. Bart Rawlins didn’t strike her as a heavy drinker. In the high-pressure world of law in which her family lived, heavy drinkers abounded. But all the heavy drinkers she’d known in her twenty-six years had an air of despair about them that was lacking in Bart. “How many beers did you drink?”

“Three. Four, tops.”

She looked him up and down, trying to ignore the tightening sensation low in her stomach at the sight of his long, lean legs and broad muscled shoulders. With his size, three or four beers shouldn’t lead to a blackout. But then, people often underestimated their alcohol consumption. “Are you sure you didn’t have more?”

“To tell the truth, the whole night is kind of fuzzy. But I usually only drink three or four. Maybe I did have more.”

“How did you get home?”

He shook his head, obviously at a loss for an answer.

“You didn’t drive, did you?”

“I didn’t have my truck. I hitched a ride to the tavern with my ranch foreman. Maybe I left with him. I don’t remember.”

“I’ll talk to him. And a talk with the bartender might shed some light on exactly how much you drank.” Lindsey jotted notes on her legal pad. “Of course there’s always the possibility that you were drugged.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Drugged?”

“Rohypnol or something similar. The date-rape drug.”

“Date-rape drug?”

“It’s an illegal tranquilizer that causes blackouts.”

“I’ve heard of it in the news. But who would give me something like that?”

“Someone who wanted to make sure you took the fall for your uncle’s murder.”

He nodded, a frown claiming his brow. “Then what about the blood? Where did that come from?”

She clamped her bottom lip between her teeth. “What blood?”

“When I woke up, I had blood all over my hands and clothes. At first I thought I must have gotten in a brawl. But I don’t have any scrapes or bruises.”

“Did the deputies take samples of the blood?”

“Sure did. A load of pictures, too.”

The start of a headache pulsed behind her eyes. If the prosecution tied the blood on Bart’s hands and clothes to his uncle by DNA tests, Bart was as good as convicted. Only O.J. had beaten evidence like that. And he hadn’t been tried in Texas.

“There’s another thing.”

She almost flinched. “What?”

“My knife. A Buck Model One-Ten. It’s missing. And from the look on Hurley Zeller’s face when he arrested me, he knows where it is.”

“At the murder scene.”

“That’s my guess.” His voice was heavy, as if his charm and good humor had finally given way under the weight of the evidence against him. Or maybe he’d just read her face.

She forced a confident smile. “We’ll find the answers. Don’t worry.”

He nodded, but judging from the pallor under his tan, he wasn’t buying her strained optimism.

“The first thing we have to do is get you out of here. Do you have money or property to put up for bail? It’ll be pretty high.”

He waved a hand. “I can come up with the money.”

She nodded, grateful for a development that was positive, even if it was merely a matter of available cash. “I’ll push for a bail hearing. Then we need to get you to a doctor as soon as possible to test for drugs. If we can prove you were drugged, at least we’ll have something to fight with.”

“I didn’t kill him, Ms. Wellington.”

The naked honesty aching in his voice brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them back. “You don’t have to tell me that, Bart.”

“I want to. No matter what differences I or my father had with my uncle, I didn’t kill him. I wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“Your father?”

Bart’s eyes narrowed. “My daddy is sick. Even if he wasn’t, he’d never kill his own brother any more than I would kill my uncle.”

“Of course.” Lindsey nodded. “We just have to prove it. And we will.”

“Am I looking at the death penalty?”

“No. They’ll charge you with first-degree murder. Only capital murder carries the death penalty in Texas, and for this case to be classified as capital murder, there would have to be other factors involved.”

“Other factors?”

“Like the victim was a police officer. Or the murder was intentionally committed in the course of another felony. Or more than one person was killed as part of the same scheme or course of conduct. The most severe sentence you can get for a first-degree murder charge is life in prison.”

“That sounds the same as death to me.” Elbows on the table, he tented his fingers in front of his mouth and blew a stream of air through them. “Give it to me straight. My chances don’t look good, do they?”

If she had more experience, maybe she would have been ready for the question. She’d have a prepared spiel that was both comforting and realistic. As it was, she didn’t have a clue what to say.

“That bad, huh?”

“No. Not that bad. We’ll get to the truth, Bart. I promise.”

He dropped his arms to his sides and looked deeply into her eyes. “Thank you, Ms. Wellington.”

“You can call me Lindsey.”

“Thank you, Lindsey.”

A shiver crept up her spine at the sound of his Texas drawl caressing her name. But this time the shiver wasn’t only the result of physical attraction, it was one of fear. Because this time, losing didn’t mean embarrassing herself in moot court or lowering her grade point average.

This time losing could cost a man his freedom.

Chapter Two

Bart grimaced as the needle sank into the tender spot at the inside of his elbow. Once the needle was in place, Doc Swenson attached the vacuum tube, filling the vial with deep red blood. His blood. Blood that, if he was lucky, might still be spiked with Rohypnol or some other drug. “Damn.”

Lindsey Wellington leaned her sweet body close. The scent of roses tickled his nose. Her shiny chestnut hair draped over one shoulder and brushed his arm despite the clips securing it back from her face. “Does it hurt?”

“What, the possibility of being a victim of the date-rape drug? Damn straight it hurts. It hurts my sense of manhood.”

A smile teased the corners of her soft-looking lips. “I doubt your sense of manhood is that fragile.”

“Maybe not when you’re around. You’re ladylike enough to make even a gelding feel like a stud.”

That pretty pink color stained her cheeks again. God, she was a beautiful woman, delicate as a China doll with her clear blue eyes, porcelain skin and long, silky hair. But that wasn’t all. In addition to looks, Lindsey Wellington had intelligence to burn and a refined Boston accent that reminded him of the Kennedy family.

And she was his lawyer. Amazing.

With the possible exception of Paul Lambert and Don Church, he’d grown up with a healthy belief that lawyers were bloodsuckers at best, sharks at worst. But Lindsey Wellington had destroyed every preconceived notion in his head the moment he laid eyes on her.

It was a damn shame he hadn’t met her last week, last month. Before he had a murder charge hanging over his head. Maybe he wouldn’t have been at Hit ’Em Again last night. Maybe he would have been too busy trying to win her to be hanging out at the local watering hole. It was a twist of fate too cruel to be believed that he’d finally found a woman who set a spur in his side when he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Doc Swenson pulled the filled vial from the needle in his arm, capped it and attached an empty one in its place. More blood flowed.

“Are you planning to drain me dry, Doc?”

The crusty old coot peered at him over little reading glasses. “Word has it you’re the one draining people dry, Bart. The whole town is talking about what you did to your uncle Jeb.”

He should have known. He’d been arrested just this morning, but waiting for a bail hearing had taken much of the day. He shouldn’t be surprised that the news of his arrest for murdering Jeb had already swept through town. Gossip traveled fast in Mustang Valley. Especially gossip over something as juicy as family feuds and murder. Of course Doc would have learned about Jeb’s murder even without the gossip. Jeb’s body was probably waiting in the autopsy room this very minute for Mustang Valley’s only doctor and coroner to poke and prod. “I didn’t kill Jeb, Doc.”

Doc waved a hand, as if he hadn’t believed it from the beginning. But the sharpness in his old blue eyes suggested different. He nodded at Bart’s arm. “What do you want this blood for, anyway?”

“We want to have it tested for any kind of drug that might have altered Bart’s consciousness. We also need a urinalysis done for Rohypnol or any similar tranquilizer,” Lindsey explained.

Doc capped the second vial, pulled out the needle and snapped off the rubber tourniquet wrapping Bart’s biceps. Rummaging through stacks of supplies on the adjacent counter, he grabbed a plastic specimen cup. He held it out to Bart. “Fill this.”

Bart looked down at the cup and shifted his boots on the floor. Discussing bodily functions had never bothered him before. He was a cowboy born and bred, used to dealing with anything cattle or horses could come up with. But somehow with Lindsey looking on, his bodily functions took on an entirely different meaning. And focus. He forced himself to take the cup from Doc’s hand.

“So you think he got drugged up the night of Jeb’s murder?” Doc smiled stiffly at Lindsey, the old buzzard’s best shot at charm.

Lindsey ignored the doc’s question. “When can you have the results?”

Doc’s smile faded. “We don’t have a lab here. Got to send the sample out.”

Lindsey nodded and fished a card from her briefcase. She scrawled something on the back and handed it to the doc. “Here’s the lab I’d like it sent to. And on the back, I’ve written my home address. Have them send the results there and to my office. I want to make sure I see them as soon as they come in.”

Doc took the card. “Could take a few days, could take a few months, depending on how busy the lab is. Then there’s always the chance the drug won’t show up at all.”

“What do you mean? If it’s in his system, it should show up, right?”

Doc scowled down at Bart. “Boy, what time did you take those drugs last night?”

“I didn’t take drugs, Doc.”

“Well, what the hell is this good-looking lady asking me about then?”

“Someone might have put something in my beer last night when I wasn’t paying attention. A drug to make me black out.”

“More likely you just got a little too friendly with a whiskey bottle.”

Bart expelled a frustrated breath.

“What were you saying about the drugs not showing up in Bart’s system?” Lindsey asked.

The old man turned his attention back to Lindsey. “If too much time has passed since Bart took those drugs, they won’t show up on the screens.”

Lindsey worried her bottom lip between straight white teeth. “I thought it took twenty-four hours for the drug to clear.”

“That’s right. But Bart’s a big boy, so it might take a lot less.”

A weight descended on Bart’s chest. The clock on the wall of Doc’s little examination room read six o’clock. Twenty-one hours had already passed since his last memory of the saloon. If Doc was right about his size making the time shorter, they were cutting it close. Damn close.

He glanced at Lindsey and closed his fingers tighter around the plastic cup. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded. Judging from the worry creases digging into that pretty forehead, she’d noticed the time as well. If the substance was no longer in his system, he couldn’t prove he was drugged. And if he couldn’t prove his amnesia was real, he wouldn’t have much of a defense, no matter how pretty and smart his lawyer was.

BART HELD THE DOOR of the Hit ’Em Again Saloon for Lindsey and followed her inside. The place was nearly empty except for a couple of regulars at the pool table, the cowboys and working men who filled the place nightly still hard at work this early in the evening. On the jukebox, Dale Watson belted out a real country song, the music echoing off the empty postage-stamp dance floor.

They crossed to the oak bar and bellied up. The smell of stale cigarette smoke warred with the bleach-like smell of bar sanitizer, but it was the soft scent of roses that held Bart’s attention. He leaned closer to Lindsey and took a deep breath.

“You don’t usually drink beer this early, Bart. Need a little hair of the dog that bit you?” Wade Lansing pushed through the swinging door leading back to the kitchen and took his usual spot behind the bar. Despite his flip statement, Bart could see the worry lining his friend’s face. Worry focused on him.

Bart glanced at Lindsey. “Lindsey, this is Wade Lansing, the owner of this fine establishment.”

“You mean beer joint,” Wade said.

“Beer joint with the best food west of the Mississippi,” Bart threw in.

Wade grinned. “Nice to see you again, Lindsey.” Wade cleared a couple of highball glasses from the bar, the gold band on his finger shining in the bar’s dim light.

“I thought you and Kelly were supposed to be on your honeymoon by now,” Bart said.

“I’m training a kid to take over this place while I’m gone. Don’t want to come back to find the till empty and the building burned to the ground.”

Lindsey nodded. “Kelly said the two of you are planning to go to Hawaii. Sounds wonderful.”

“We could go anywhere as far as I’m concerned. As long as Kelly is with me, I’m happy. I’m glad to hear you’re representing Bart here, Lindsey. It’ll keep me from worrying.” He zeroed in on Bart. The grin turning his lips faded. “The whole town is talking about you.”

“I didn’t kill Jeb, Wade.”

“I know that. But Hurley Zeller doesn’t share my opinion. He was in here as soon as I opened, asking questions.”

“Damn.” Bart grimaced. Hurley sure had a leg up on them. Bart still didn’t have a clue what had happened. He hoped Wade could give them some answers.

Lindsey set her briefcase on the bar, opened it and pulled out a pad of paper and pen. “We’d appreciate anything you can tell us about last night, Wade.”

“Like what you told Hurley,” Bart said.

“I didn’t tell that prick anything.”

Bart couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Wade might be happily married, but he still hadn’t shed his distrust for authority.

“What do you remember seeing?” Lindsey asked.

“I set up a few bottles of beer and served Bart up some chili. Then I had to duck out to change some big bills.” Wade grabbed a dirty glass and plunged it up and down on a dishwashing contraption made of spinning brushes located in a sink behind the bar. “When I got back, you were fall-down drunk, Bart. I figured you must have been doing some serious whiskey-drinking while I was gone. Though I’ve never known you to drink more than a few beers.”

Bart and Lindsey exchanged looks. Wade’s description jibed with their theory that Bart was drugged. Unfortunately, it could also be a description of a man who’d simply sucked down too much whiskey.

“Who served drinks while you were gone?” Lindsey asked.

“The kid I’m training to fill in for me.” Wade jotted something on a cocktail napkin and handed it to Lindsey before resuming glass-washing. “That’s his name and number. He has tonight off, but otherwise you can also find him here.”

“Thanks.” Lindsey stowed the napkin in her briefcase. “When did Bart leave and who did he leave with?”

Wade stopped the plunging motion and glanced up at Bart. “Blackout?”

Bart nodded.

Wade looked at Lindsey. “The place was hopping last night, but best I can remember, he left around midnight. I just assumed he rode back to the ranch with his foreman, Gary Tuttle, same way he came. I can ask around tonight, see if anyone saw different.” Wade dipped the glass in the sink full of sanitizer and set in on a mat to drip-dry. “Are you going to tell me what was going on last night, Bart? You aren’t one to drink till you black out.”

“We think Bart was drugged,” Lindsey supplied. “Maybe Rohypnol or something similar.”

Wade didn’t look surprised. “There’s something strange going on in Mustang Valley. First Andrew and now this.”

Bart couldn’t agree more. The revelation that Andrew McGovern had been murdered by Mustang Valley’s mayor had been a shock. And now Jeb. Two murders in two months. Not to mention the mayor’s fatal car accident. “The problem is, I don’t know if I can prove I was drugged. Hurley might have kept me tied up in jail too long for the tests to show the drug in my system.”

“What if you could find the bottles you were drinking out of?”

Lindsey leaned toward Wade. “You said the bar was busy last night. There must be hundreds of bottles. Can you really find the ones Bart drank out of?”

“My friend here has an annoying habit of peeling the label off every bottle of beer he drinks.” He glanced at his watch. “This place will be full of cowboys soon, so I don’t have time to look. But if you want to sort through the bottle bins out back, be my guest.”

“It’s worth a shot.” Lindsey looked to Bart. “Do you want to help me search through empty beer bottles?”

“I’ll sort through a thousand bottles if it will help prove I didn’t kill Jeb.”

“Then let’s get started.”

They slid off their bar stools and followed Wade through the prep kitchen and out Hit ’Em Again’s back door. Wade pointed toward a Dumpster in the narrow alley. On one side of it was a row of large trash cans. Wade nodded toward them. “Have at it.” Turning, he ducked back into the bar.

Bart glanced at Lindsey’s sharply pressed suit, gossamer stockings and polished nails. “I’ll do the searching.”

Lindsey set her briefcase on the ground and pushed up her sleeves. “It’ll go a lot faster if we both search.”

He held up a hand. “I insist. A lady like you shouldn’t be rummaging around in garbage.”

Lindsey flashed him a pointed grin. “You forget. I’m no lady, I’m a lawyer.”

Bart couldn’t keep a laugh from bubbling out. “All right, then. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re a lady. A real smart one.”

She looked away from him before he could see if she was blushing again and set to work picking through the brown-glass bottles.

Suddenly footsteps and voices rose above the clank of glass hitting glass. Bart turned just in time to see his cousin Kenny round the building and stride into the alley, his black felt Stetson slung low over his eyes. “I heard you were here. I should have known you’d be hiding in a back alley,” Kenny slurred, his voice rough with cigarettes and soggy with booze.

Bart hadn’t spoken to Uncle Jeb’s son in years. And he sure didn’t want to start tonight. But it looked like he had no choice. “What do you want?”

“I want to know why the hell you aren’t in jail.”

“I don’t want trouble, Kenny.”

“You can take a knife to an old drunk’s throat, but when it comes to fighting an able man, you don’t want trouble?”

A good-looking blonde walked into the alley and stopped a few steps behind Kenny. Frowning, she folded her arms across her ample chest, like she was turned off by the prospect of her boyfriend picking a fight. A smattering of other spectators who’d apparently followed Kenny’s bluster hung back in the shadows, content to watch from a distance.

Bart glanced at Lindsey. She watched Kenny the way a person eyed a car crash, repulsed but unable to look away. Bart shook his head. He didn’t want to get into a family brawl in front of her. Hell, he didn’t want her to know Kenny was family at all.

He pulled his gaze from Lindsey and focused on his cousin. Kenny had been an ornery cuss since the day he was born. But he’d also just lost his father—a father he despised, but his father, nonetheless. It was probably natural he’d want to blame Bart. Especially when the law was blaming Bart, too. “Listen, Kenny. I didn’t kill Jeb.”

“And you expect me to believe you?”

“I’m telling God’s honest truth.”

“The same truth your daddy told when he talked Grandad into leaving him most of the Four Aces Ranch?”

Bart almost groaned. It was still about the ranch. “When Grandad died, Jeb didn’t want any part of working the ranch. He never did. He just didn’t want my daddy to have it. Look what he’s done with the land Grandad gave him. Nothing.”

“He didn’t have it as easy as your daddy.”

“And why was that? Because he liked to drink more than he liked to work?” Bart tried to bite back the words, but it was too late. He’d had it with Kenny’s whining and excuses for his good-for-nothing daddy and himself.

Kenny balled his hands into fists and swaggered closer. “Maybe Jeb was a bastard and a drunk. Maybe he deserved what he got. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get my fair share. Or are you planning to kill me too and take it all?”

Bart held up his hands, palms facing Kenny. “I didn’t kill Jeb, Kenny. And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

Kenny stepped closer. The stench of cheap whiskey wafted on his breath. He jabbed a fist at Bart. The punch missed. “Gonna pull out your knife, Bart? Oh, that’s right. The police confiscated it after you used it to kill your own flesh and blood.”

Lindsey stepped forward. “How do you know about Bart’s knife?”

Kenny didn’t bother to give her a glance, as if she wasn’t important enough to answer.

Bart tried to keep a lid on his simmering temper. Getting into a fistfight with Kenny wouldn’t do anyone any good. “Go home and sleep it off, Kenny.”

“Won’t change anything. When I wake up, my old man will still be dead, and you’ll still be the one to blame.” He threw another punch. His fist plowed into Bart’s arm, connecting solidly this time.

Bart’s arm throbbed with the blow. His own hands clenched into fists. Grieving or not, one more hit and Kenny was history. “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you.”

“Or what? You going to sic your whore on me?” He leered at Lindsey and drew back his arm.

Bart didn’t wait for Kenny’s next punch to fall. His own fist was already flying.

Chapter Three

Lindsey stared in horror as Bart’s big fist plowed into Kenny’s middle.

Kenny hunched over and stumbled to the side. He slammed into a bottle bin and fell. The receptacle tipped over. Glass shattered. Bottles scattered along the ground, brown glass everywhere.

The blonde who’d entered the alley with Kenny ran to his side. “Kenny? Are you all right?”

Kenny sputtered, as if trying to catch his breath. “You saw that. He attacked me. He tried to kill me.”

Bart loomed over him. “If I’d tried to kill you, you’d be dead. Now get the hell out of here.”

The blonde grabbed Kenny’s arm, pulling him to his feet and toward the mouth of the alley. “You heard him, Kenny. Let’s go.”

Kenny shrugged off her hold. “I ain’t going nowhere. He tried to kill me. You saw it. I want the sheriff. Somebody call the sheriff. I want to press charges.”

Lindsey almost groaned. The last thing Bart needed was for the sheriff’s department to get involved. The court could decide to revoke his bail over this. He’d be locked in jail awaiting trial. “You threw the first punch, Mr. Rawlins. I think you’ll be hard-pressed to prove Bart tried to kill you.”

Kenny’s mouth flattened into a hard line. His eyes narrowed. “What do you know about it?”

“Plenty.” She fished a card from the pocket of her suit jacket and thrust it at him, hoping her profession would give him pause. “I’m a lawyer.”

He squinted at the card, then looked up at Bart. “So she’s not your whore after all. She’s worse. She’s your goddamn lawyer.”

Bart charged Kenny.

Spinning on his heel, Kenny scampered from the alley. Once he was a safe distance away, he looked over his shoulder. “I’ll get you, Bart. You won’t get away with what you’ve done.”

The door of the tavern flew open and Wade Lansing stepped out. Assessing the situation through narrowed gray eyes, he walked over to Bart. “What the hell is going on out here?”

While Bart explained what had happened, Lindsey watched the small crowd that had followed Kenny to the alley disperse. A single woman stayed and stepped out from the shadows, the light from the setting sun turning her curls to fire. She scribbled notes on a pad of paper.

Cara.

Under normal circumstances, Lindsey would be happy to see one of the few good friends she’d made since moving to Mustang Valley. But these circumstances were anything but normal. Cara Hamilton was a reporter for the Mustang Gazette. And next to the sheriff or one of his deputies, a reporter was the last person Lindsey wanted to see right now. Even if it was Cara.

She darted around Wade and Bart. She couldn’t do anything to change what had happened between Bart and Kenny, but maybe she could appeal to Cara not to splash the news all over Mustang Valley. “Hey, Cara.”

Cara brushed a curl from her forehead and looked up from her notebook. “Hi, Lindsey. How are you mixed up in this? Are you representing Bart Rawlins?” Cara’s eyes flashed with inquisitiveness, her pen poised over paper.

Great. Lindsey hadn’t taken into account that she might be part of Cara’s story. “Are you covering Jeb Rawlins’s murder?”

“Of course not.” Cara rolled her eyes. “Beau is keeping the good stories to himself as usual.”

Lindsey nodded. Cara’s editor, and owner of the Mustang Gazette, Beau Jennings, had covered every major story in Mustang Valley for the past forty-some years. “He knows once he gives you a major story, the Dallas papers will snatch you up in a heartbeat.”

Cara tilted her head. “Of course, having a friend representing Bart Rawlins might just give me the break I need. So are you Bart’s lawyer, Lindsey?” she asked again.

Lindsey should have known changing the subject wouldn’t throw Cara off. Once her friend smelled a story, she didn’t give up until she rooted out the truth. Lindsey sighed. “Yes.”

“Why the heavy sigh? Is his case that bad?”

“No.”

“He has a strong case then?”

She gave her friend a warning smile. “Quit fishing, Cara.”

“Then talk to me.”

“Off the record?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t print anything about this ridiculous fight.”

“You’re kidding, right? This is news, Lindsey. I can’t just pretend I didn’t see what happened.”

She let out another sigh. “No, I suppose you can’t. I’m just worried about poisoning the jury pool.”

“I don’t know what it’s like in a big city like Boston, but gossip travels like dust in a strong wind around here. Even if I don’t write about what happened, people will hear about it. And there’s no telling what kind of twisted version they’ll get.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Damn straight.” Cara’s hazel eyes twinkled with humor.

Lindsey tried to return her smile, but her attempt fell flat.

“But you don’t have to worry. I’ll tell the whole story.”

She gave Cara a questioning look.

“Meaning, I’ll be writing that Kenny came looking for Bart and threw the first punch. I’ll also include a bit of background, like Kenny’s conviction for fraud.”

“He’s been convicted?”

“Kenny Rawlins is a master of the get-rich-quick scam. He’s cheated a lot of people in Mustang Valley, a fact my readers won’t easily forget.”

Lindsey pressed her lips into a line. It wasn’t a great situation, but she could live with it. “Thanks, Cara.”

“For what? Telling the truth?” Cara smiled. “If you really want to thank me, give me a few quotes about Bart’s case.”

Lindsey took a deep breath of evening air. She supposed it was only fair she give her friend a quote. “He’s an innocent man. You can print that. And I’ll give you the scoop on who’s guilty as soon as I find out.”

BART WATCHED a single set of approaching headlights play across Lindsey’s flawless skin. His attention trailed to her long, elegant fingers wrapped around the steering wheel of her little white sports car. On her right hand, a platinum ring with some kind of red stone glowed in the dashboard light. Her left ring finger was free of jewelry.

He tried to concentrate on the ribbon of highway stretching from Mustang Valley to the Four Aces Ranch. He shouldn’t be noticing Lindsey’s skin and fingers and whether she was wearing a wedding ring. She was his lawyer, not a pretty young thing he’d met at some honky-tonk.

Besides, he had more pressing things to deal with than a crush he couldn’t do anything about. Like being accused of murdering his uncle. Like the real possibility he would be spending the rest of his life behind bars. Even if Lindsey wasn’t his lawyer and far out of his league, he couldn’t do a damn thing about his attraction to her. Not with the prospect of spending the rest of his life in Huntsville hanging over his head.

After Kenny had left the alley, he and Lindsey had resumed their search for beer bottles with missing labels. All they’d come up with were two bottles and a few shards of glass from the bin Kenny had tipped over. Tomorrow morning Lindsey planned to drive to Fort Worth to drop off the bottles and shards at the same lab where Doc had sent the other samples. A long shot, but better than nothing.

Of course, if it hadn’t been for Lindsey’s theory about the drug, he wouldn’t have a shot at all.

His focus drifted back to her face. Her eyebrows knit together. She gnawed on her lower lip. All in all, she looked as worried as he felt. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

She started at his voice, then glanced at him briefly before bringing her attention back to the road ahead. “Your cousin, Kenny. Cara Hamilton said he’s been convicted for fraud.”

“I suppose Cara’s going to write an article about what a hothead I was tonight.”

“She promised to be fair and accurate. Under the circumstances, it’s the best we can hope for.”

“Fair and accurate is still going to make me look like a hothead. I doubt that will help my case with the good people of Mustang County.”

“The article probably won’t help, but something she brought up to me tonight might. What can you tell me about the scams your cousin pulled?”

Bart searched his memory. He’d tried not to pay too much attention to Kenny’s dealings. Just thinking about them made his cheeks burn with shame that he and his cousin shared the same blood. “He was into everything from selling lame horses to spreading stories that local legend Shotgun Sally was born and raised on Jeb’s ranch, the Bar JR.”

“My friends Cara and Kelly like to talk about Shotgun Sally. Kelly is one of Sally’s descendants.” Her elegant eyebrows dipped low over those intense blue eyes. “How could Kenny profit from saying Sally was born on the Bar JR?”

“If there was a way, he found it. He sold worthless tin plates claiming they were from Sally’s homestead. Tried to promote tours of Jeb’s property. He even sold jars of dirt saying it came from Sally’s grave.”

“But that’s all pretty harmless. Why was he charged?”

“After he gave up on cashing in on Shotgun Sally, he sold cemetery plots to old folks. A lot of cemetery plots. Only the plots weren’t his to sell. He did three years in Huntsville. That was the end of his scams, far as I know. Though I’m sure he’s still finding some way to make a quick buck.”

“How far would he go to make money?”

He cocked his head at her question. “What are you thinking?”

“From the way he talked about his father, I assume they didn’t get along.”

“You assume right. Kenny had no use for Jeb. The only people Kenny blamed more than Jeb for his failures were me and my daddy.”

“Because your father inherited more land?”

“Yes. And because my father was a success with the land he inherited. Jeb started with a nice cattle operation. It only took him about two years to drink it away.” He could see where she was going. Her mind was heading down the same path his had since his run-in with his cousin. “You’re thinking Kenny might have killed Jeb.”

“I keep wondering how he knew your knife was the murder weapon.”

“Unless he used it himself?”

“Is it possible? Would Kenny kill his own father if it meant a big inheritance?”

“I wish I could say no. But I wouldn’t put it past him. If he inherits.”

“He might not?”

“Like I said, there wasn’t much love lost between them. Jeb might have written Kenny out of his will, for all I know.”

“I’ll find out. Our firm is handling the estate.”

“And defending me. Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“I’m not handling Jeb’s estate. Don Church is.”

Bart nodded. Donald Church was a specialist in wills and trusts and a full partner of Lambert & Church. Back before Bart’s dad had gotten sick, he’d always sworn Don was the most honest lawyer in Texas. Bart gestured ahead to the next turn off the highway. “You’ll want to take a right up here.”

Lindsey swung the car onto the road. Juniper groves flanking both sides, the drive twisted up a gentle hill overlooking the most beautiful country this close to Dallas/Fort Worth. Too bad it was way past nightfall. He would have loved to show her the view.

Still looking worried, she squinted her eyes at the road ahead. “How about that blonde with Kenny tonight? Who is she?”

“You got me. Last I kept track, he was dating Debbie West. But that was years ago. Before she married that other loser.”

“Debbie West?”

“A girl who grew up on a ranch bordering the Four Aces.”

“That blonde last night sure didn’t look like the girl next door.”

Lindsey was right about that. “She’s built like the women Kenny usually goes for—long legs, lots of curves—but something isn’t quite right.”

“Like what?”

“Her clothes. Her attitude. She has too much class to be hanging around Kenny. Of course, anyone who saw you and me together might say the same thing.”

She pulled her eyes from the road and gave him more than a quick glance. “What do you mean?”

“Look at you. Sophisticated, smart, a real lady yet sharp as a barbed-wire fence. If you weren’t my lawyer, you’d never be hanging around an old cowboy like me.”

“Says who?” A smile softened her pretty lips. “If I wasn’t your lawyer—” She pressed her lips together and looked out the window, like she was embarrassed by the unprofessional blunder she’d almost made.

If she wasn’t his lawyer…

Did she mean she would be interested if… Bart shook his head and smothered the hope sparked by her comment. It didn’t matter. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be doing much dating. Not where he was headed. If they didn’t find some evidence they could use for a defense, the last thing he would have to worry about was his love life.

He looked at the white pipe corrals and sprawling ranch house, apartment building, bunkhouse and barns ahead. A red dually pickup stood parked in its usual spot next to the main horse barn. He tilted his watch to read the face in the dashboard glow. It was plenty late, but this was important. “Gary’s home.”

“Your foreman?”

“You said you wanted to talk to him?”

“Very much. If he didn’t drive you home last night, maybe he knows who did.”

LINDSEY FOLLOWED Bart around a metal pole barn and toward the ranch foreman’s place. White buildings and a maze of pipe fence glowed in the moonlight and stretched as far as she could see. Even in the dead of night, the ranch was impressive. “Beautiful place.”

“Wait until you see the whole thing in the daylight.” He motioned to the barn they were circling. “This is the horse part of the operation. It’s my addition.”

“Addition? Don’t all ranches use horses?”

“People in these parts don’t like to talk about it, but a lot of ranches rely on helicopters and four wheelers to move their cattle. With the cost of labor and the difficulty in finding qualified cowboys, it’s more economical than using horses. And these days, we in the beef industry need all the economy we can get. We even have a helicopter here at the Four Aces.”

“Do you use horses at all?”

“We use them most of the time. The helicopter just helps out. But most of the horses in this barn spend more time in the show ring than on the range.”

“I used to show horses when I was growing up. Pony Club.”

“No kidding? I’d like to take you riding.”

“Do you have a hunt seat saddle handy? Or do your horses just ride western?”

“Honey, quarter horses can do everything worth doing. And you can bet my quarter horses can do it better than anyone else’s.” He turned and gave her a teasing smile.

Her heart lurched sideways. He was something, this cowboy. Proud as any red-blooded Texan one minute, yet self-deprecating the next. And through it all, his green eyes shone with a sparkle that made her wish…

She stopped herself. What would she wish? That she could toss her career out the window and fall into his arms? The arms of a client, for crying out loud?

She’d kept her focus solely on proving herself in her career since she was eighteen. She wasn’t going to let a little Texas charm turn her head now that she was on the cusp of proving herself. And saving him from a life behind bars.

Looking straight ahead, she focused on the long, low apartment building. On the other side of a large paddock, another good-sized building that appeared to be more living quarters perched on top of a gentle swell of land. And if she turned around, she knew she’d see the roofline of the main house. “This place is like a mini city. How many people live here?”

“Me, my daddy, my daddy’s nurse, Beatrice, my foreman, Gary and eight full-time hands, more during roundup. Daddy and Beatrice live in the house with me. The others live in the apartment building if they have families, and in the bunkhouse if they’re single or just here for roundup.”

She looked at the low stretch of apartments. All the windows of the long building were dark. Except for the bark of a dog, the place was quiet as a tomb. “Is everyone gone?”

“Don’t let the quiet fool you. After working from can’t see to can’t see, there’s not much a body wants to do most days but eat and fall into bed. Come sunrise, this place will be hopping.” He strode to the first apartment and rapped on the door. “Gary? You awake? I need a word with you.”

No answer.

Bart knocked again. Still nothing. Finally he turned away from the door and shrugged. “Old boy’s probably worn-out after doing my work today along with his own. And probably being raked over the coals by Hurley Zeller to boot. Guess we’ll have to wait for tomorrow. I’ll walk you back to your car.”

They’d just circled the barn when Lindsey spotted her car. It lurched at a strange angle. As if the tires on one side were flat. “My car.”

Bart picked up his pace, long legs striding straight for the vehicle.

Lindsey half ran alongside to keep up. As they approached, her breath caught in her throat. Red spray paint slashed across the windshield and white hood, and dripped down like blood. Stay away from the murderer or die.

Chapter Four

Deputy Hurley Zeller leaned on the hood of Gary Tuttle’s dually and picked his teeth with a dirty fingernail. “I still can’t believe you called me all the way out here to report a prank.”

Bart had been trying to reach Deputy Mitchell Steele all night. Finally, he’d given up and asked the dispatcher to send whoever was available. He wasn’t surprised when Hurley showed up. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if the little bastard had conspired to keep Bart from reaching Mitch—the only fair-minded deputy in the county.

Bart narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t liked Hurley Zeller since high school. But after taking the brunt of the deputy’s sarcasm and bad attitude since his arrest, he was damn close to hating the man. “Seems more like a threat than a prank, Hurley. The car won’t start, either. Whoever did this took the distributor cap.”

Hurley shrugged. “Committing murder will win a few enemies. For you and your lawyer.”

Exactly what Bart was afraid of. He glanced at Lindsey. Despite her brave front, he could tell by the rigidity of her spine she was upset. “I want protection for Lindsey.”

Lindsey stiffened. “I don’t need protection. You’re the one in danger.”

Hurley scoffed. “You’re both kidding, right? We ain’t got enough deputies in Mustang County to haul all the drunks off the highways on Saturday night. We don’t have the manpower for baby-sitting.”

Bart forced himself to take a calming breath. Hurley might be right. It might be nothing. Whoever vandalized Lindsey’s car had the opportunity to hurt them, after all, and hadn’t taken it. But whatever the vandal’s intentions, Bart wasn’t taking chances. “Lindsey is a lawyer with Lambert & Church. I doubt Paul Lambert and Don Church would be happy if something happened to her. And last I knew, they were big political supporters of Sheriff Ben.”

The grin fell from Hurley’s lips. If there was anything the deputy believed in, it was keeping his boss happy. “Fine. I’ll arrange for a car to drive by her place every hour or so.”

Lindsey shook her head, her eyes shooting bullets at Bart. “I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself.”

“That may be, darlin’, but I want to make sure.” Bart glanced back at Hurley and nodded. “I’ll let Paul and Don know you’re handling the situation. Also, you might want to stop at my cousin Kenny’s house and ask him where he’s been tonight. And while you’re there, keep your eye out for red paint.”

Hurley looked like he wanted to spit. He turned and walked to his car.

“And another thing,” Bart added.

Hurley stopped in his tracks. “Don’t push your luck, Rawlins. I’m warning you.”

“You wouldn’t know what happened to my shotgun and hunting rifles, would you?” While waiting for the deputy to arrive, he’d gone into the house for his shotgun. He wanted to be able to protect himself and Lindsey in case the vandal decided to turn to more serious crime. But all he’d found was an empty gun case, its door gaping.

“We confiscated them when we searched the property this morning.”

Lindsey’s glower moved off Bart and onto Hurley.

The deputy nodded in her direction. “The warrant included all weapons. I’ll get you a copy.”

“You do that.”

“When can I get them back?” Bart asked.

“After you’ve served your time in Huntsville. I guess that would be twenty-five years to life.” Grinning, Hurley climbed into his car, slammed the door and hung an arm out his open window. “If you’d like, Ms. Wellington, I’ll drive you back to town, make sure you’re safe.” He glanced at Bart with that damn grin, as if he expected points for the offer.

BY THE TIME Bart fell out of bed the next morning, it was almost five o’clock. If he wanted to talk to Gary before the foreman left for the south pasture, he’d have to hurry.

He showered, shaved, downed a cup of coffee and made it to the barn just as Gary was saddling his little bay mare. “Hey, Gary. Can I have a word?”

Face deeply creased by sun, wind and hard living, Gary Tuttle looked and moved like a man twenty years older than his forty-five. He tossed his prized saddle, which he’d won on the rodeo circuit when he was young, on the mare’s back and squinted at Bart with tired gray eyes. “You’re the boss.”

Bart frowned. Gary had been like a big brother when he was growing up on the ranch. He’d taught Bart how to rope a steer from horseback, how cattle break when they’re on the move and how to fly the ranch’s Enstrom F-28F piston helicopter. He’d put so much work into the Four Aces, Bart’s dad had given him a chunk of the place as a reward. But ever since Bart’s dad had gotten sick, Gary was like a different man. Tired. Distant. And he’d talked more than once about retiring from the ranching business.

Bart had hoped a night together shooting bull at the Hit ’Em Again would bring back some of the brotherly camaraderie they’d lost. Unfortunately he didn’t remember how his plan had turned out. “I suppose you heard about the goings-on yesterday.”

Gary settled the saddle on the mare’s back and flipped the near stirrup up. “Hurley Zeller told me you were arrested for killing Jeb. He asked me a bunch of questions.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothin’ much.”

“I didn’t do it. You know that, don’t you?”

“If anyone deserved it, it was Jeb.”

Bart shook his head. “As miserable as that son of a bitch was, no one deserves to die.”

Gary flicked a shoulder in a half shrug. Avoiding Bart’s eyes, he grabbed the cinch and fastened it around the mare’s girth. She took in air, bloating her belly so he couldn’t tighten it.

“I tried to wake you up last night.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted to ask you about our night at the Hit ’Em Again.”

“What about it?”

“How did I get home?”

“You blacked out, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Gary kneed the little bay in the belly. Pinning her ears, she let out the air with a grunt. He pulled the cinch tight, slipped the latigo into its keeper and let the stirrup fall against her side. “When I went to leave, you were already gone. I figured you must have left with that fine young thing you were talking to at the bar.”

“Fine young thing?”

“You would have to black out to forget her. Blond. Legs longer than this mare is tall. Former Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, according to your drunken babble.”

The same blonde who was with Kenny in the alley? There couldn’t be two long-legged mystery blondes in Mustang Valley. Had she been the one to drug his drink? Provided the date-rape drug was responsible for his memory loss. “Did you see me drinking whiskey?”

Gary shook his head. “Just beer. But I wasn’t watching over you like a goddamned nursemaid.”

Too bad. A nursemaid was apparently what he’d needed that night. Maybe he should have asked Beatrice, his daddy’s nurse, to go to the saloon with him instead of Gary. “What else did I say about the blonde?”

“You were too busy to have much conversation with me. But I got the impression she was hitting on you and not the other way around.”

At least he wouldn’t be known around town as some kind of womanizer. Just a drunk and a murderer. “Who was she?”

“Don’t know. But you might want to check out yesterday’s Mustang Gazette. They put out a special afternoon edition. There’s a picture of her in it with Jeb.”

“You have one?”

Gary nodded toward the tack room.

Bart stepped inside. The scent of horse sweat mingled with well-worn leather. He spotted the paper laying on a saddle rack. Bracing himself, he picked it up and looked under the headline proclaiming Mustang Valley’s second murder in two months. His gaze landed on a picture of his uncle. Thin-lipped mouth set at a mean angle, Jeb stared at the camera as if challenging it to a fistfight. And on Jeb’s arm was the blonde who’d accompanied Kenny to the alley last night.

The jingle of spurs jolted him out of his surprise. He glanced up from the paper as Gary leaned in the tack-room door, holding his saddled and bridled horse by a single rein. “She’s something, ain’t she? Can’t figure out for the life of me what she’d be doing with old Jeb.”

Neither could Bart. But he was damn well going to find out.

LINDSEY LOOKED UP from her paperwork as Bart laid a copy of the Mustang Gazette in front of her. Propping a hip on the edge of her desk, he watched as if waiting for her reaction.

She had a reaction, all right, but it wasn’t to the newspaper.

Dressed in a denim shirt, jeans, tooled belt complete with big silver buckle and a well-shaped straw hat that blended with the sun-kissed blond of his hair, Bart looked like a lonely woman’s cowboy dream. And his scent. Mmm. He wore the rugged scent of leather, honest work and fresh air. She breathed deeply and struggled to keep her composure.

What was it about being around this man that made her lose her equilibrium? She’d felt off balance since the moment she’d first touched his hand in the jail’s visiting room. His attempt to protect her last night after her car had been vandalized hadn’t helped matters. It had only made her feel helpless on top of fluttery. An unwelcome reminder of the way she’d always felt when her parents and brothers had hovered over her as she was growing up—the way they would still be hovering if she hadn’t moved halfway across the country. As if she were incompetent, helpless, dependent.

As if she were still a little girl.

She shoved her insecurities to the back of her mind and tried to focus on the faces in the newspaper photo. Her past feelings didn’t matter. Nor did her attraction to her client. She was on her own now, and the chance to prove herself was right in front of her. All she had to do was reach out and grab it by the throat. “I saw the picture about ten minutes ago. I would have called, but I figured you were already on your way here to keep our appointment.”

“I’ve never seen that blonde around Mustang Valley before. Suddenly she’s everywhere.”

She nodded and studied the woman’s attractive features. “At least, everywhere with Jeb and Kenny.”

“And me.”

“You?” Adrenaline jolted through her bloodstream, partly due to surprise, partly due to something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “When was she with you?”

“I caught up with Gary this morning. He said she was sitting with me at Hit ’Em Again the night Jeb was killed.”

“The same woman? Is he sure?”

He nodded.

Another jolt.

Jealousy. That was it. Plain, simple and inappropriate. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind, trying to reclaim her professional demeanor. “Does Gary know who she is?”

“Nope.”

“I gave Wade a call at the bar this morning. He didn’t remember seeing her at all that night. And neither did the kid he’s training. Of course, the kid was concentrating so hard on serving drinks, he didn’t remember much of anything.” Lindsey bit her bottom lip. “Maybe the blonde’s working with Kenny.”

He tilted his head and waited for her to go on.

“Say Kenny did kill his father in order to inherit the ranch and he wanted to make it look like you’re responsible. How would he do that? I mean, he could never get close enough to slip Rohypnol in your beer. Not without you being suspicious. But he could hire the blonde to do it.”

“If Rohypnol was in my beer.”

“I borrowed Cara’s car to take the pieces of bottle to the lab this morning.” She didn’t want to think about what she would do if the drug didn’t show up in any of the tests. She knew Bart was telling the truth about blacking out that night. And she knew he was innocent. She could feel the honesty in every word from his lips. But faith and trust weren’t exactly accepted as evidence in a court of law. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she wasn’t an unbiased judge where Bart Rawlins was concerned.

No, she needed evidence. And she needed it now.

“There’s one thing that bothers me,” Bart said, his gentle mouth turning down in a frown.

Lindsey pulled her gaze from his lips and met his eyes. “What?”

“A scam like the one you’re talking about would take a lot of planning on Kenny’s part. I’m not sure he has it in him.”

She didn’t know Kenny Rawlins, but from the limited exposure she’d had to him, she was inclined to agree. “Okay. What if he didn’t hire the blonde? What if she was the brains behind the brawn? It would explain how they know each other. It might even explain that picture of her and Jeb. She could have been setting him up for murder.”

Bart tilted his head, as if weighing her arguments, then nodded. “I could see that.”

“All we have to do is show a connection between Kenny and the blonde. And dig up evidence showing means and opportunity.”

“A tall order.”

It was. And at this point, it was pure speculation. But if they could find something concrete—

The sound of knuckles rapping on wood cut off her thoughts. “Come in,” she called.

The door swung open and Paul Lambert popped his head inside. “Excuse me, Lindsey. I need a word with Bart.”

“Sure, Paul, come in.” She waved him inside.

Paul Lambert was a year or so shy of sixty. But with the touch of silver at his temples, his casual confidence and his friendly brown eyes, it was no wonder Dot down at the sandwich shop chatted about him incessantly, even though he was married. But more important to Lindsey than his looks or confident air was the aggressive way he’d recruited her right out of law school. As if he truly believed she was capable of becoming the lawyer she wanted to be.

Paul crossed the plush money-green carpet that covered all the floors at Lambert & Church and held out a hand to Bart.

Bart gave it a firm shake. “What’s up, Paul? You aren’t here to ask me if I want to sell the Four Aces again, are you?”

Paul grinned. “Naw. I gave up hope years ago.”

Lindsey glanced at Bart. “You aren’t thinking of selling, are you?”

Bart shook his head. “Not a chance. It’s kind of a joke. When my daddy signed over the ranch to me, not a day passed that Paul or Don didn’t ask me if I wanted to sell.”

“We weren’t that bad. But if you’ve reconsidered, I do have a client who might be interested.” Paul’s grin widened.

“You’d be the first to know. Unless Don beats you to it.”

“Speaking of Don, have you talked to him yet?” Paul’s grin subsided, his business demeanor taking over.

“Don? I can’t say I’ve seen him. Why?”

“Your uncle stipulated that your father be present for the reading of his will.”

Bart took a step backward, his surprise evident. “You sure about that?”

“Quite sure.”

Bart shook his head. His lips flattened into an ironic half smile. “When I was a kid, I used to hope my daddy and Jeb would work through their differences one day and bring the family back together. I should have known one of them would have to be dead for it to happen.”

“Do you think your father will be able to attend?”

“Daddy? Not a chance.”

Sympathy furrowed Paul’s brow. “I suppose his only brother’s death is something of a shock.”

“I’m sure it would be, if I’d told him.”

“You haven’t told your father?” Lindsey sat up in her chair, surprise riffling through her. “Why not?”

Bart looked at her, the sparkle in his green eyes muted by obvious pain. “He hasn’t been well.”

“I know he’s sick, but wouldn’t he want to—”

“He just lost Mama a year ago. He doesn’t need to know.”

Paul cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to him. “If you want to represent your father, I’m sure that would be in keeping with the spirit of the will.”

Bart shook his head. “I won’t be there, either.”

Lindsey bit her lip. Murder was usually committed for one of two reasons—love or money. Finding out to whom Jeb had left his possessions could serve to illuminate both his love life and his finances. “It might be a good idea to attend.”

“Jeb didn’t leave my daddy anything. And Daddy probably wouldn’t want me to accept it if he did.” Bart’s gaze bored into her, as if he was trying to make her understand. Or simply get her to back off.

She returned the eye contact. Despite his discomfort, she couldn’t back off. Not when so much was at stake. “But it might be interesting to see to whom Jeb did leave his possessions.”

Bart glanced at the floor and pushed a stream of air through tight lips as if he saw her point. “I’ll think about it.”

Paul gave Lindsey an approving nod before turning to Bart. “Don has scheduled the will reading for Tuesday, three in the afternoon.”

“That soon?” Lindsey asked.

Paul shrugged. “I know. It’s a little irregular. But it’s what Jeb wanted.” His attention riveted to the newspaper laying on Lindsey’s desk. To the photo of Jeb and the blonde. He looked away, the planes of his face hardening.

“Do you know her?” Lindsey asked.

“Who?”

“The woman in the photo with Jeb Rawlins?” She pointed to the paper.

Paul bent over her desk and studied the woman’s features. He lifted his shoulders in a stiff shrug. “Can’t say I do.” He looked up from the paper, careful not to meet Lindsey’s eyes.

An uneasy feeling skittered over her skin. Paul knew the woman. Lindsey would stake her career on it. But why would he lie? “I think she’s involved with Kenny in some way.”

Paul casually crooked a brow. “Hmm.”

“She was with him last night at Hit ’Em Again. We thought maybe she was involved with Kenny in some of his scams.”

He nodded but still didn’t meet Lindsey’s eyes. “Before I forget, Nancy wanted me to tell you she has the files you wanted.”

Lindsey nodded. The office administrator, Nancy Wilks, had promised to have an intern copy every file that had been subpoenaed by the prosecution to present to the grand jury. No doubt Lindsey had a late night ahead of her. “Thanks, Paul.”

Paul nodded, glanced at his watch and focused on Bart. “I have to run. I have a meeting. I hope you reconsider coming to the will reading. You might find it illuminating.”

As soon as Paul disappeared through the office door, Bart glanced at Lindsey. “That was strange.”

Lindsey nodded. “Paul obviously knew who the blonde was. But why wouldn’t he admit it?”

“Hell if I know. But I think you were right. I think I should probably go hear what Jeb put in his will.” He let out a stream of air. “But I’ll do it on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I want to bring my lawyer with me. I don’t like to make a move without legal advice I can count on.” A grin spread over his lips and a twinkle appeared in his green eyes.

She returned the smile despite herself. “I think that can be arranged.”

He really was an amazing man. He seemed to know just what to say, just how to smile to disarm her. Yet his warm grin and unassuming phrases didn’t seem like merely an attempt to manipulate her. They seemed true and honest and a genuine part of who he was.

“Do you need help toting those files Paul mentioned?”

“That would be great.”

Feeling stronger and more confident than she had in a long time, she walked out the door and down the hall to the main office, Bart by her side. She had a lot of work ahead of her. She just prayed she would find something useful soon. Because if she didn’t, a very good man would pay the price.

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