Brett stroked her hair and rubbed slow circles along her back. For the first time in years, Willow felt safe—cared for…

But he was only being nice. When she told him the truth about Sam, there was no telling how he’d act. He might hate her.

“Willow,” Brett said softly. “You’ve got to tell me what’s wrong. What happened?”

She sucked in a sharp breath and wiped at her eyes. Brett produced a handkerchief and slipped it into her hands. She wiped her face, then looked up into his.

He had the darkest, most gorgeous green eyes she’d ever seen.

She wanted to soak in his features, but looking at that handsome, strong face only reminded her of her little boy, who looked so much like him that it hurt.

He rubbed her arms with his hands. “Willow, talk to me.”

“I…don’t know where to begin.”

“You said it was a matter of life and death. I noticed the pickup truck outside and the crunched bike. Is that what this is about?”

“I wish it was that simple.”

McCullen’s Secret Son

Rita Herron

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RITA HERRON, a USA TODAY bestselling author, wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for writing romance, and now she writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. Rita lives in Georgia with her family. She loves to hear from readers, so please write her at PO Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, USA, or visit her website, www.ritaherron.com.

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To Aunt Nelda,

for her love of cowboys!

Love, Rita

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

The last place Brett McCullen wanted to be was back in Pistol Whip, especially on the McCullen ranch.

He pulled down the long drive to his family’s ranch, Horseshoe Creek, his leg throbbing from his most recent fall. Damn, he loved rodeo and riding.

But maybe at thirty, he was getting too old to bust his butt on the circuit. And last week when he’d woken up in bed with one of the groupies, some hot, busty blonde named Brandy or Fifi—hell, after a while, they all sounded and looked the same—he’d realized that not a soul in the damn world really cared about him.

Or knew the Brett underneath.

Maybe because he was good at the show. Play the part of the bad boy. The fearless rider. The charmer who smiled at the camera and got laid every night.

Easier than getting real and chancing getting hurt.

He cut the lights and stared at the farmhouse for a minute, memories suffusing him. He could see him and his brothers, playing horseshoes, practicing roping on the fence posts, riding horses in the pasture, tagging along with their daddy on a cattle drive.

His oldest brother, Maddox, was always the responsible one—and his father’s favorite. Ray, two years younger than Brett, was the hellion, the one who landed in trouble, the one who butted heads with their father.

Brett could never live up to his old man’s expectations, so he figured why try? Life should be fun. Women, horseback riding, rodeos—it was the stuff dreams were made of.

So he’d left home ten years ago to pursue those dreams and hadn’t questioned his decision since.

But Maddox’s phone call had thrown him for a loop. How could he deny his father’s last request?

Hell, it wasn’t like he hadn’t loved his old man. He was probably more like him than Maddox or Ray. He’d always thought his father had a wild streak in him, that maybe he’d regretted settling down.

Brett hadn’t wanted to make the same mistake.

He walked up the porch steps and reached for the doorknob, then stepped inside, back into a well of family memories that reminded him of all the holidays he’d missed.

Last year, he’d seen daddies shopping with their kids for Christmas trees, and mothers and kids at the park, and couples strolling in the moonlight, and he’d felt alone.

Mama Mary, his dad’s housekeeper and cook and the woman who’d taken care of him and his brothers after their mother passed, waddled in and wrapped him into a hug.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Mama Mary said with a hearty laugh.

Brett buried his head in her big arms, emotions churning through him. He’d forgotten how much he loved Mama Mary, how she could make anything feel all right with a hug and her homemade cooking.

She leaned back to examine him, and patted his flat belly.

“Boy, you’ve gotten skinny. My biscuits and gravy will fix that.”

He laughed. Mama Mary thought she could fix any problem with a big meal. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice gruff.

She blinked away tears and ushered him into the kitchen. The room hadn’t changed at all—still the checkered curtains and pine table, the plate of sausage and bacon left from breakfast. And as far back as he could remember, she’d always had a cake or pie waiting.

“Sit down now and eat. Then you can see your daddy.” She waved him to a chair, and he sank into it. Dread over the upcoming reunion with his father tightened his stomach. Grateful to have a few minutes before he had to confront him, he accepted the peach cobbler and coffee with a smile.

Without warning, the back door opened and his little brother, Ray, stood in the threshold of the door. Ray, with that sullen scowl and cutting eyes. Ray, who always seemed to be mad about something.

Ray gave a clipped nod to acknowledge him, then Mama Mary swept him into a hug, as well. “Oh, my goodness, I can’t tell you how much it warms my heart to have you boys back in my kitchen.”

Brett gritted his teeth. It wouldn’t be for long, though. As soon as he heard what his father had to say, he was back on the road.

A tense silence stretched between them as Mama Mary pushed Ray into a chair and handed him some pie and coffee. Just like they did when they were little, Brett and Ray both obeyed and ate.

“Maddox is on his way home now,” Mama Mary said as she refilled their coffee.

Brett and Ray exchanged a furtive look. While the two of them hadn’t always seen eye to eye, Ray and Maddox had clashed big-time.

Brett had always felt the sting of his big brother’s disapproval. According to Maddox, Brett didn’t just leave but ran at the least hint of trouble.

Footsteps echoed from the front, and Brett braced himself as Maddox stepped into the kitchen, his big shoulders squared, that take-charge attitude wafting off him.

“Now, boys,” Mama Mary said before any of them could start tangling. “Your daddy had a rough night. He’s anxious to see you, so you’d best get upstairs.”

An awkwardness filled the air, but Brett and Ray both stood. His brothers were here for one reason, and none of them liked it.

“I’ll go first.” Brett mustered up a smile. Pathetic that he’d rather face his father on his deathbed than his brothers.

Ray and Maddox followed, but they waited in the hall as he entered his father’s bedroom.

The moment he spotted his father lying in the bed, pale, the veins in his forehead bulging, an oxygen tube in his nose, he nearly fell to his knees with sorrow and regret. He should have at least checked in every now and then.

Although he had come back once five years ago. And he’d hooked up with Willow James. But that night with her had confused the hell out of him, and then he’d fought with Maddox the next day and left again.

“Brett, God, boy, it’s good to see you.”

Emotions welled in Brett’s chest, but he forced himself to walk over to his father’s bed.

“Sit down a spell,” his father said. “We need to talk.”

Brett claimed the wooden chair by the bed, and braced himself for a good dressing-down.

“I want you to know that I’m proud of you, son.”

Proud was the last thing he’d expected his father to say.

“But I should have come back more,” he blurted.

His father shook his head, what was left of his hair sticking up in white patches. “No, I should have come to some of your rodeos. I kept up with you, though. You’re just as talented as I always thought you’d be.”

Brett looked in his father’s eyes. Joe McCullen looked weak, like he might fade into death any second. But there was no judgment or anger there.

“I’m glad you followed your dreams,” his father said in a hoarse voice. “If you’d stayed here and worked the ranch, you’d have felt smothered and hated me for holding you back.”

Brett’s lungs squeezed for air. His father actually understood him. That was a surprising revelation.

“But there is something you need to take care of while you’re here. You remember Willow?”

Brett went very still. How could he have forgotten her? She was his first love, the only woman he’d ever loved. But his father had discouraged him from getting too involved with her when he was younger.

So he’d left Pistol Whip, chasing a more exciting lifestyle.

Willow had wasted no time in moving on...and getting married.

She even had a child.

Her last name was what, now? Howard?

“Brett?”

“Yes, I remember her,” he said through clenched teeth. “I heard she’s married and has a family.” That was the real reason he hadn’t returned to Pistol Whip more often.

It hurt too damn much to see her with another man.

“That girl’s got troubles.”

Brett stiffened. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I was wrong to encourage you to break up with her,” his father murmured. “I’ve made my mistakes, son. I don’t want you to do the same.”

His father reached out a shaky hand, and Brett took it, chilled by his cold skin.

“Promise me you’ll check on her and her boy,” his father murmured.

“That’s the reason you wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” His father coughed. “Now send Ray in here. I need to talk to him.”

Brett squeezed his father’s hand, then headed to the door. If his father wanted him to check on Willow, something bad must have happened to her.

His heart hammered at the thought of seeing her again. But he couldn’t refuse his father’s wishes.

He’d pay her a visit and make sure she was okay. Then he’d get the hell out of Pistol Whip again.

When his father was gone, there was no reason for him to stick around.

Three days later

BRETT MCCULLEN WAS back in town.

Willow James, Willow Howard technically, although she was no longer using her married name, rubbed her chest as if the gesture could actually soothe the ache in her heart. Brett was the only man she’d ever loved. Ever would love.

But he’d walked away from her years ago and never looked back.

She sat in her car at the edge of the graveyard like a voyeur to the family as they said their final goodbyes to their father, Joe. Part of her wanted to go to Brett and comfort him for his loss.

But a seed of bitterness still niggled at her for the way he’d deserted her. And for the life he’d led since.

He’d always been footloose and fancy-free, a bad-boy charmer who could sweet-talk any girl into doing whatever he wanted.

He’d taken her virginity and her heart with him when he’d left Pistol Whip to chase his dreams of becoming a famous rodeo star.

He’d also chased plenty of other women.

Her heart squeezed with pain again. She’d seen the news footage, the magazine articles and pictures of his awards and conquests.

She’d told herself it didn’t matter. She had the best part of him anyway—his son.

Sam.

A little boy Brett knew nothing about.

If Brett saw Sam in town, would he realize the truth? After all, Sam had Brett’s deep brown eyes. That cleft in his chin.

The same streak of stubbornness and the love of riding.

A shadow fell across the graveyard, storm clouds gathering, and the crowd began to disperse. She spotted Brett shaking hands with several locals, his brothers doing the same. Then he lifted his head and looked across the graveyard, and for a moment, she thought he was looking straight at her. That he saw her car.

But a second later, Mama Mary loped over and put her arm around him, and Brett turned back to the people gathered at the service.

Chastising herself for being foolish enough to still care for him after the way he’d hurt her, she started the engine and drove toward her house. She didn’t have to worry about Brett. He’d bounce back in the saddle in a day or two and be just fine.

But she had problems of her own.

Not just financial worries, but a no-good husband who she was scared to death of.

Dread filled her as she drove through town and ventured down the side street to the tiny house she’d rented. Her biggest mistake in life was marrying Leo Howard, but she’d been pregnant and on the rebound and had wanted a father for her son.

Leo was no father, though.

Well, at first he’d claimed he was. He’d promised her security and love and a home for her and her little boy.

But as time wore on, she realized Leo had secrets and an agenda of his own.

They hadn’t lived together in over three years, but last night he’d come back to town.

Hopefully he had the divorce papers with him, so she could get him out of her life once and for all.

Mentally ticking off her to-do list, she delivered three quilts she’d custom made from orders taken at the antiques store, Vintage Treasures, where she displayed some of her work. When she’d had Sam, she’d known she had to do something to make a living, and sewing was the only skill she had. She’d learned to make clothes, window treatments and quilts from her grandmother, and now she’d turned it into a business.

She did some grocery shopping, then dropped off the rent check. Earlier, she’d left Sam at her neighbor’s house, hoping to meet with Leo alone.

She pulled in the drive, noting that Leo had parked his beat-up pickup halfway on the lawn, and that he’d run over Sam’s bicycle. Poor Sam. He deserved so much better.

Furious at his carelessness, she threw her Jeep into Park, climbed out and let herself in the house, calling Leo’s name as she walked through the kitchen/living room combination, then down the hall to the bedrooms.

When Leo didn’t answer, dread filled. He was probably passed out drunk.

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

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

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

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

And there was blood.

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

Leo was dead.

Chapter Two

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

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

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

She had to get help. Call the police.

Sheriff McCullen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Willow gasped.

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

He could certainly do it today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He buried his head in his hands, sorrow for his father mingling with the fact that coming back here only made him want to see Willow again.

But she was married and had a kid.

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

He didn’t belong in her life anymore.

* * *

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

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

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

Had said Sam was gone...

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

She had to find her son.

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

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

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

Both were empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gina, it’s Willow. Is Sam there?”

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

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

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

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

But when?

And what was happening to Sam now?

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that his life would never be the same.

Damn drunk driver had turned his world upside down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His brother had just proposed.

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

Maddox had obviously found love. Good for him.

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

But calling Sheriff McCullen was out of the question.

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

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

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

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

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

Would he help her now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brett, it’s Willow.”

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

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

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

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

Chapter Three

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

But now she wanted to see him?

It’s a matter of life and death.

What the hell was going on?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Inside, the booze and music was always flowing, the women footloose and fancy-free. Just his type.

Another night maybe...

He turned down the street toward Willow’s, anxiety needling him. He’d never stopped loving her. Wanting her.

But she was taken. And he had a different life now. A life he’d chosen. Another rodeo coming up, another town...

Children’s bikes and toys dotted the yards, suggesting the neighborhood catered to young families. The house at the end of her block, a small rustic log cabin, was Willow’s and was set way back from the road, offering privacy. A beat-up pickup truck that had obviously run over the child’s bike sat crooked, half in the drive, half in the yard.

His father had said Willow had troubles... Did it have to do with the man she’d married? Judging from the sloppy way the truck was parked, and the fact that he’d run over the bike, maybe he’d been drinking...

Not your problem, Brett.

Except that Willow said she needed him.

He scanned the outside to see if her old man was lurking around. Did he know that Brett and his wife had had a romantic relationship years ago?

He braced himself for trouble as he parked and walked up to the front door. Barring a low-burning light in the bedroom, the house looked dark.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he rang the doorbell. Something didn’t feel right...

He waited several seconds, then knocked and called through the door, “Willow, it’s me. Brett.”

The sound of footsteps on the other side echoed, then the lock turned, and the door squeaked open. His breath stalled in his chest as Willow appeared, the door cracking just enough to see her face.

“Brett?” Her face looked ashen, and a streak of blood darkened her hair.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Panicked at the sight of her disheveled state, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. “What the hell’s wrong?”

She slammed the door shut, then locked it and turned to face him, her eyes wide with fear. “Help me,” she whispered as she threw herself into his arms.

Brett’s stomach churned as he pulled her trembling body against him and wrapped his arms around her.

* * *

WILLOW SANK INTO Brett’s arms, the terror she’d felt since she’d arrived home pouring out of her as he held her. She tried to battle the tears, but they overflowed, soaking his shirt.

“Shh, it’s all right,” Brett murmured into her hair. “Whatever’s wrong, we can fix it.”

She shook her head against him. “That’s just it, I don’t know if I can.”

Brett stroked her hair, and rubbed slow circles along her back. For the first time in years, she felt safe. Cared for.

But he was only being nice. He had his own life, and when she confessed the truth about Sam, there was no telling how he’d react. He might hate her.

Or he might leave town and not get involved in her troubles. A murder case could ruin his reputation.

But really—none of that mattered. Not when Sam was in danger.

“Willow,” Brett said softly. “Honey, you’ve got to tell me what’s wrong. What happened?”

Brett slipped a handkerchief into her hands and she wiped her face. Then she looked up into his eyes.

He had the darkest, most gorgeous eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes she’d gotten lost in years ago.

She wanted to soak in his features, but looking at that handsome, strong face only reminded her of her little boy who looked so much like him that it hurt.

He rubbed her arms. “Willow, talk to me.”

“I...don’t know where to begin.” With the body of her dead husband? Or Sam?

“You said it was a matter of life and death. I know you’re married, that you have a little boy.” She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at him for a moment.

“I noticed the pickup truck outside and the crunched bike. Is that what this is about?”

“I wish it was that simple,” she said on a shaky breath.

Brett led her over to the sofa and she sank onto it, her legs giving way. He joined her, but this time he didn’t touch her.

“Your husband? Is he here? Did he hurt you?”

Emotions threatened to overcome her again, and she glanced at the phone, willing it to ring. Willing the caller to tell her how to get her little boy back and end this horror.

“Did he?” Brett asked, his voice harsh with anger.

She shook her head. “Not exactly.”

Brett shot up from the seat, his jaw twitching. “Come on, Willow, tell me what the hell is going on.”

“He’s dead,” Willow blurted. “Leo is...dead.”

Brett went stone still and stared at her. “What do you mean, dead?”

“In there,” Willow said. “When I got home tonight, I found him.”

He glanced around the bedroom, then exhaled noisily. “How did he die?”

“Someone shot him.” Her voice cracked. “There’s blood...everywhere.”

Brett released a curse and strode to the bedroom. Willow jumped up and raced after him, trembling as he flipped on the overhead light. The stark light lit the room, accentuating the grisly scene in her bed. Leo staring at the ceiling with dead eyes. Blood on his clothes and the sheets.

Brett choked back an obscenity. “Who shot him?”

“I don’t know,” Willow whispered. “I...found him and was going to call the police, but then a man jumped me.”

Brett pivoted, his eyes searching her face, mouth pinched with anger as he lifted his hand and touched her forehead. She didn’t realize she’d been bleeding, but he drew his hand back and she saw blood streaking his finger. “He hurt you?”

“I’m all right. He grabbed me from behind, and he said... He told me not to call the police, that he...had Sam.”

“Sam?”

Willow’s lungs strained for air. “My little boy. He has him, Brett. And he said if I called the police, I’d never see him again.”

* * *

BRETT GRITTED HIS TEETH. “You mean he kidnapped your child?”

“Yes,” Willow cried. “I have to get him back.”

Brett stared at the man lying dead in Willow’s bed.

Her husband.

He’d never met the man but had heard he was a businessman, that he’d done well for himself.

So why had someone wanted him dead? And why kidnap Willow’s son?

“I don’t know what to do,” Willow said “I...can’t leave Leo there. But if I call the sheriff, he’ll send police and crime workers, and I might never see Sam again.”

Cold fury seized Brett’s insides. What kind of person threatened a small child?

“How old is Sam?” he asked.

“Four,” Willow said. “He’s just a little guy, Brett. He has to be terrified.” Her voice cracked again, her terror wrenching Brett’s heart. “And if he saw Leo murdered, then he may be traumatized.”

He also might be able to identify the killer.

But Brett bit back that observation because it would only frighten Willow more.

If her son could identify her husband’s shooter, the killer might not let Sam live anyway, no matter what Willow did.

Brett tried to strip the worry from his voice. “What does this man want from you, Willow?”

“I have no idea.” She looked up at him with swollen, tear-stained eyes. “He said to wait for a call.”

Brett turned away from the sight of the bloody, dead man. “I know you’re scared, but think about it—why would this man take Sam? Did your husband have a lot of money?”

Willow shook her head back and forth, sending her hair swaying. It was tangled from where she’d run her hands through it, the long strands even more vibrant with streaks of gold and red than he remembered.

He tried to dismiss memories of running his hands through it, of the way it felt tickling his belly when she’d loved him, but an image teased his mind anyway.

“Are you sure? Maybe he had some investments? Stocks?”

“If he had any money, I didn’t know about it,” Willow said. “He didn’t even have a savings or checking account in town. It’s one of the things we argued about.”

Brett arched a brow. He didn’t have a bank account in town—which meant he was probably hiding one somewhere else? “One of the things?”

Her face paled. “Yes.” She closed her eyes, a pained sound escaping her. “You might as well know. We weren’t getting along. We hadn’t for a while. Leo moved out three years ago.”

Brett tried to assimilate that information. “What has he been doing?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a choked whisper.

“Was he giving you any money to live on? Helping out with the boy?”

Willow worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “No. He...didn’t want to be a father to Sam.”

An odd note crept into her voice.

“What kind of father doesn’t want to be there for his kid?”

Willow didn’t respond, making Brett even more curious about her husband and how he’d treated her.

“Willow, talk to me. What happened between you two? Was he abusing you and Sam?”

Willow cut her eyes away. “When we met, he was kind, charming. But the last year he’d been drinking too much, and his temper erupted.”

“And he took it out on you and Sam?”

Willow shrugged. “At first it was just verbal. But...he hit me once. Then he started in on Sam, and I told him to leave.” A fierce protectiveness strengthened her voice. “I would never let him hurt my son. I asked him for a divorce.”

“How did he take that?”

“He was angry, but he left. Frankly...I think he wanted out.”

“You don’t know what he’s been doing since?”

“No, I have no idea.”

He was obviously in trouble.

Dammit. Even though he and his brother were hardly talking, Brett’s first instinct was to call Maddox.

But that would endanger Willow’s son.

Besides, Maddox had always been by the book. He’d want to call in the authorities, issue an Amber Alert, all the things they should be doing.

But if they did those things, Willow’s little boy could end up dead like his father.

He couldn’t allow that to happen.

So he made a snap decision. He’d bury Leo’s body and protect Willow until they found Sam.

Chapter Four

Willow couldn’t drag her eyes away from Leo’s dead body. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

She’d hated that her marriage had fallen apart, but it hadn’t been right from the beginning. She’d never loved Leo and he knew it.

And truthfully, she didn’t think he’d ever loved her.

But she’d been hurt with Brett, and lonely and a single pregnant woman with nowhere to turn. Leo had offered her security and comfort.

For a little while. Then everything had changed and the charming man who’d swept in like a hero had disappeared and become...someone she was afraid of.

Someone Sam was afraid of.

That was when she’d known she had to get out.

The blood on her hands mocked her. She hadn’t loved Leo but she’d never wished him dead.

And where was her precious little boy? Was he safe? Hurt? Scared?

A tremor rippled through her. Of course he was scared. He’d been taken from his home.

“We’ll bury him on the ranch somewhere,” Brett said. “It’s too dangerous to do it in your neighborhood.”

Willow rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if to warm herself. “But what about Maddox? He’s the sheriff and...your brother.”

Brett’s look darkened. “I know that,” Brett said. “I’ll talk to him and explain once we get your little boy back.”

Willow’s heart constricted. “I’m sorry for putting you in this position, Brett. You could get in trouble with the law. But...I didn’t know who else to call.”

Brett clasped her arms and forced her to look at him. “Don’t worry about me, Willow. I can handle whatever happens. But we can’t go to Maddox yet. We have to play by this bastard’s rules, until we find Sam.”

How could she argue with that? She’d give her life for her son’s.

And if Brett knew that Sam was his, he’d do the same.

He probably would anyway, just because he was a McCullen. Joe McCullen had taught his boys old-fashioned values, that men were supposed to protect women and children.

Brett moved over by the bed. “I need to get him in the back of my pickup.”

“Why? Aren’t we going to bury him in the backyard?”

“No,” Brett said. “You live in a neighborhood. And if anyone comes asking about Leo and is suspicious, this is the first place they’d look.” He glanced down at the floor and indicated the braided rug. “Let’s wrap him in the sheet and I can use the rug to slide him outside.”

“But what if a neighbor sees us?”

Brett’s jaw tightened. “Your house is set far enough back from the road, so unless someone is in the drive, we should be all right. But I’ll move my truck up to the garage and we can go through there just to be safe.”

Willow agreed, although she knew what they were doing was wrong. Illegal. That they could both be charged.

But nothing mattered now except saving Sam.

* * *

BRETT HATED THE FEAR in Willow’s eyes. If he had hold of the bastard who had hurt her and taken her little boy, he’d pound his head in.

He started to roll Leo in the sheet, but doubts hit him. He’d seen enough crime shows to know that as soon as he touched the man or the bedding, he was contaminating evidence. Evidence that could lead to the killer and the person who had abducted Sam.

Besides, he’d gotten in a sticky situation once. Had been accosted by the jealous lover of a rodeo groupie he’d dated, a man who’d tried to make it look as if he was the guilty party. He’d seen how the police handled the situation. If it hadn’t been for a savvy detective who paid attention to detail, Brett might have gone to jail.

Maybe he should call Maddox.

But the kidnapper’s warning taunted him. Willow’s little boy was in danger.

He couldn’t take the chance on that child getting hurt. Pain tugged at his chest. He’d once thought he and Willow would have a family together.

But he’d left and she’d met Leo, and their lives had gone down another path.

Still, her little boy shouldn’t suffer.

He removed his phone and snapped some pictures of the man, the wounds to his chest, the blood on the sheets, and the room.

“What are you doing?” Willow asked.

“We’ll be destroying evidence here,” Brett said. “I should document how we found Leo to show Maddox when we tell him.”

Willow’s face paled. “I can’t believe this is happening, Brett. I...don’t know why anyone would want to kill Leo.”

Brett clenched his jaw. “We’ll talk about that once we take care of him.” He studied the scene again, then snapped a picture of the bullet hole in Leo’s chest. “Do you have plastic gloves?”

She nodded and hurried to the kitchen. Seconds later, she returned with two pairs of latex gloves and they both pulled them on. “Let’s roll him in the sheet onto the floor. Then I’ll wrap him in the rug and drag him outside.”

Tears glittered in Willow’s eyes, but she jumped into motion to help him. The man’s shirt was soaked in blood, his eyes wide with shock, his mouth slack, one hand curled into a fist as if he might have been holding something.

If he had, the killer had taken it.

“Did Leo own a gun?”

“What man in Wyoming doesn’t?” Willow asked.

“What kind?”

“A pistol and a shotgun,” Willow said. “But he took them when he moved out.”

“Look around for bullet casings. Maddox will want them to help with the case.” Willow walked around, searching the floor and the bathroom, but shook her head. “I don’t see any.”

“How about you? Do you have a gun?”

Willow shook her head. “No, I didn’t want weapons in the house with Sam.”

Good point.

“When did you learn about crime scenes?” Willow asked.

Brett shrugged. He didn’t intend to share the story about that debacle with the rodeo groupie. “Television.”

She frowned as if that surprised her, but he wrapped the sheet around Leo, gritting his teeth as Willow’s husband stared up at him in death.

Blood had dried onto the sheet and soaked through to the mattress. Rigor had set in and Leo was a deadweight. Willow gasped as he eased the man to the rug.

“Strip the rest of the bedding,” Brett said. “And bag it. We’ll keep it to give to Maddox later.”

Willow looked ill, but she rushed back to the kitchen and returned a moment later with a big garbage bag.

While he wrapped the top sheet tighter around Leo, she stripped the fitted sheet and comforter and jammed it in the plastic bag. Her ragged breathing rasped between them as she added the pillowcases, then she stood and stared at the bed for a moment as if she’d never be able to sleep in it again.

Brett wanted to comfort her, but he needed to get rid of Leo’s corpse before anyone discovered what they’d done.

* * *

THE SCENT OF the blood on her sheets and the image of Leo lying dead in her bed made Willow feel ill.

She didn’t know how she’d ever sleep in this room again.

“What should I do with these?”

“We’ll bury them with Leo.”

The thought of digging a hole for her husband sent bile to her throat. But as Brett dragged Leo’s body on that rug into the hall, she glanced in Sam’s room again, and determination rifled through her.

That empty room nearly brought her to her knees.

Determined to bring her son home no matter what, she followed Brett with the garbage bag. He pulled Leo through the hallway to the kitchen. She opened the garage door, and he left Leo in the garage, then backed his pickup around to the exterior garage door, which faced the side of the drive.

Anger at Leo mushroomed inside her.

Leo had a temper, was manipulative and secretive and...he had gotten rough with her more than once. But the day he’d put his hand on Sam, she’d ordered him to leave and told him she wanted a divorce.

Nobody would hurt her baby.

Except Sam might be hurt now... All because of the man she’d exchanged vows with. She leaned over Leo and stared at him, a mother’s temper boiling over. “What did you do to get my son kidnapped?”

Of course he didn’t answer. He simply laid there with his mouth slack and his eyes bulging. If possible, his face looked even paler beneath the kitchen lights.

Brett appeared a second later, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. He planted his hands on his hips and looked down at Leo, then up at her.

“Are you okay, Willow?”

A sob caught in her throat, and she shook her head. “How can I be all right when Sam is missing? When he might be crying for me right now?”

Silence stretched full of tension for a minute. “Then let’s get this done.”

Brett sounded resigned, and Willow questioned again whether she should have called him. But what else could she do?

Brett knelt and grabbed the end of the rug, and Willow decided she couldn’t allow him to do this alone. She set the garbage bag down, flipped off the garage light so they couldn’t be seen through the front window, then grabbed the opposite side of the rug and helped Brett drag Leo through the garage.

She was heaving for breath by the time they reached the threshold of the exterior door. Leo’s body was so heavy that she didn’t know how Brett would lift him.

The garage door was situated on the side of the house and wasn’t visible from the street, but in silent agreement they paused to check and make sure there weren’t any cars passing or anyone walking by.

“It’s clear.” Brett stooped down, scooped Leo up—still wrapped in the rug—and threw him over his shoulder. She bit down on her lip to stifle a gasp as Leo’s arm swung over Brett’s back. The dried blood on his hand and face looked macabre in the moonlight.

Brett struggled for a minute with the weight, then maneuvered Leo’s body into the truck bed. He climbed in and threw an old blanket over the body, and she tossed the bag of linens in the back with him.

“I’d tell you to stay here,” Brett said, “but it’s not safe, Willow. Come with me and I’ll bring you back later.”

The last thing Willow wanted to do tonight was bury Leo, but she had started this and she had to see it through. At least until she got Sam back.

“Let me get my phone in case the kidnapper calls tonight.”

* * *

BRETT SAID A SILENT prayer that the kidnapper would call, but as Willow went to retrieve her phone and purse, he had a bad feeling. What did the kidnapper want?

Money? Or something else?

All questions to pursue once they got rid of Leo’s body.

Damn, he couldn’t believe he was doing this. Actively covering up a crime. If his agent and his fans found out, his career would be over.

Hell, if Maddox didn’t help him out when he finally explained things, his life as a free man would be over.

But he couldn’t let Willow down.

His phone buzzed, and he checked the caller ID. Kitty. Another pesky immature groupie.

Dammit, he’d slept with her twice, then broken it off, but she’d become obsessed with him. He’d warned her that he’d take out a restraining order if she didn’t leave him alone.

He’d hoped coming home for a while might give her the time and distance she needed to move on.

Willow locked the house and closed the garage door and he let the call roll to voice mail, then covered Leo’s body in the bed of the truck. If he got stopped...no, that was not going to happen.

He removed the latex gloves and Willow did the same. He stuffed both pairs in his pocket, then opened the passenger side for Willow, and she climbed onto the seat, her hand shaking as she gripped the seat edge. The wind kicked up, stirring leaves and rattling the windows as he hurried to the driver’s side, jumped in and started the engine.

The moon disappeared behind storm clouds as he eased onto the street. Senses on alert, Brett searched right and left, then in the rearview mirror, looking for someone who might be watching.

For all he knew, the killer/kidnapper might have hung around to see if Willow called the law.

Willow leaned against the doorframe, looking lost and shaken, and so terrified that Brett’s heart broke. In spite of the fact that he was digging a hole for himself with the law and his own brother, he pulled her hand in his.

“We’ll get Sam back, Willow. I promise.”

“But what if—”

“Shh.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “Everything will be all right. I swear.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she broke into another sob. Brett pulled her over beside him and wrapped his arm around her as he drove. She collapsed against him, her head against his chest, her arm slipped around his waist.

The two of them had ridden just this way in high school, hugging and kissing as they’d driven up to Make-Out Point. But tonight, they wouldn’t be making out or...making love.

Tonight they were hiding her husband’s body, and she was almost despondent over her missing son.

Still checking over his shoulder as he turned onto the highway, a siren wailed from the right, and he tensed. A fire engine, ambulance, police?

Suddenly blue lights swirled against the night sky as a police car careened around the corner and flew toward them.

Brett’s chest constricted. He was about to get caught with a dead body in his truck.

* * *

SAM CURLED INTO a little ball, hugged his knees to his chest and leaned against the wall. He was shaking so badly, he thought he might pee his pants. He hadn’t done that since he was two.

Where was he? And why had that man with the bandana over his face grabbed him and thrown him in the trunk of his car?

Sam hated that trunk. He hated the dark.

Swiping at tears, he clutched the ratty teddy bear the man had tossed into the room with him. He didn’t want the old dusty thing. He wanted his dinosaur and his mommy and his room with all his toys.

But he clutched the bear anyway because it made him feel like he wasn’t all alone.

Outside the dark room, footsteps pounded and two men’s voices sounded. Loud. Mad. They were barking at each other like dogs.

They had been mad at Daddy. Then one of them had pulled that gun and shot him.

Sam closed his eyes, trying to forget the red blood that had flown across the bed like a paintball exploding. Except it wasn’t paint.

He couldn’t forget it.

Or that choked gurgling sound Daddy had made.

He started shaking and had to hug his legs with his arms to keep his knees from knocking. He had to be quiet. Make them think he was asleep or they’d come back and get him.

Daddy was dead.

And if he didn’t do what they told him, he’d be dead, too.

Chapter Five

Willow clenched her clammy hands together as the sirens wailed closer. Dear Lord, had someone seen them leave with Leo’s body?

Brett laid a hand over hers. “It’ll be all right.”

But they both knew it wouldn’t be all right. They’d lose precious time explaining themselves to the police, and even then, they would go to jail and the kidnapper might hurt Sam.

Brett slowed and pulled off the road, but they were both shocked when the police car raced on by.

His relieved breath punctuated the air. “Whew, I thought they had us.”

“Me, too.” She wiped at the perspiration trickling down the side of her face, but she was trembling so badly a pained sound rumbled from her throat.

Brett pulled her to him for a moment and soothed her. “Hang in there, Willow. I’m here.”

She nodded, those words giving her more comfort than he could imagine. She didn’t think she could hold it together tonight if she was alone.

They sat there for several seconds, but finally Brett pulled away and inched back onto the road. By the time they reached the ranch, her breathing had finally steadied.

She had always loved Horseshoe Creek, but tonight she found no peace in the barren stretch of land where Brett parked.

Brett kept looking in the rearview mirror and across the property as if he thought they might have been followed. The land seemed eerily quiet, the wind whistling off the ridges, whipping twigs and tumbleweed across the dirt as if a windstorm was brewing.

This rocky area was miles away from the big farmhouse where Brett had grown up, the pasture where the McCullen cattle grazed, from the stables housing their working horses and the bungalows where the ranch hands lived.

The truck rumbled to a stop, and Brett cut the engine. He turned to her for a moment, the tension thick between them. “His body should be safe out here until we get your son back.”

Willow bit down on her lip as the full implications of what they were doing hit her. Not only was she compromising evidence and disposing of a body, but when the truth was revealed, she would look like a bitter ex-wife—one who might have killed Leo and then called an old boyfriend to help her dispose of his body.

She could go to jail and so could Brett.

It would also drive a bigger wedge between him and his brother Maddox.

But what other choice did she have?

She touched the knot on the back of her head where the intruder had hit her, then looked down at her cell phone, willing it to ring.

Poor little Sam must be terrified. Wondering where she was. Wanting to be home in his own bed.

Resigned, she reached for the door handle. “Let’s get this done and pray the kidnapper calls tonight, then we can explain everything to Maddox.”

Brett’s eyes flashed with turmoil at the mention of his brother, compounding her guilt. The men had just buried their beloved father and now she was asking this of him.

She hated herself for that.

But Sam’s face flashed in her mind, and she couldn’t turn back.

* * *

“WAIT IN THE TRUCK,” Brett told Willow.

Brett jumped out of the pickup, walked to the truck bed and retrieved a shovel. Yanking on work gloves, he strode to a flat stretch between two boulders, a piece of land hidden from view and safe from animals scavenging for food.

A coyote howled in the distance and more night sounds broke the quiet. His breath puffed out as he jammed the shovel in the hard dirt and began to dig. Pebbles and dry dirt crunched, and he looked up to see Willow approaching with a second shovel.

“I told you to stay in the truck.”

“This is my mess,” Willow said. “I...have to help.”

Brett wanted to spare her whatever pain he could. “Let me do it for you, Willow, please.”

Her gaze met his in the dim light of the moon, and she shook her head, then joined him and together they dug the grave.

It took them over an hour to make a hole deep enough to cover Leo so the animals wouldn’t scavenge for him. Willow leaned back against a boulder, her breath ragged. She looked exhausted, dirty and sweaty from exertion, and shell-shocked from the events of the night.

He returned to the truck, dragged Leo’s body inside the rug from the bed, then hauled him over his shoulder and carried him to the grave. Before he dumped him inside, he retrieved a large piece of plastic from his trunk and placed it in the hole to protect the body even more.

Willow watched in silence as he tossed Leo into the grave, then he shoveled the loose dirt back on top of him, covering him with the mound until he was hidden from sight.

But he had a bad feeling that even though Leo was covered, Willow would still continue seeing his face in her mind.

He smoothed down the dirt, then stroked her arm. “It’s done. Now we wait on the ransom call.”

She nodded, obviously too numb and wrung out to talk, and he led her back to the truck. He tossed the shovels in the truck bed, grabbed a rag and handed it to Willow to wipe her hands.

She looked so shaken that he decided not to take her back to that house. There were a couple of small cabins on the north side of the ranch that weren’t in use because they’d reserved that quadrant to build more stables. Even though he was a bull rider, he also did trick riding, so his father had wanted Brett to handle the horse side of the business. But when Brett left town, Maddox and his father had put the idea on hold. “I’m going to take you to one of the cabins to get some rest.”

Willow didn’t argue. Her hand trembled as she fastened her seat belt, then she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. He drove across the property to the north, where he hoped to find an empty cabin.

Five minutes later, he found the one he was looking for just a few feet from the creek. He parked and walked around to help Willow out. The door to the place was unlocked—so like the McCullens. Trustworthy to a fault.

The electricity was on, thank goodness, and the place was furnished, although it was nothing fancy, but the den held a comfortable-looking sofa and chair and a double bed sat in the bedroom, complete with linens. He and Willow had sneaked out to this cabin years ago to make love in the afternoon.

Her eyes flickered with recognition for a moment before despair returned.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Willow said in a raw whisper.

He gestured toward the bedroom. “Get some rest. I’ll hang around for a while.”

She looked down at her hands, still muddy from the dirt and blood. “I have to wash up first.”

He ducked into the bathroom and found towels and soap. The place was also fairly clean as if someone had used it recently. His father was always taking someone in to help them out so he wasn’t surprised.He still felt like he’d walk into the main house and find him sitting in his chair. But he was gone.

Willow flipped on the shower, then reached for the button on her shirt to undress.

It was too tempting to be this close to her and not touch her, so he stepped into the hall and shut the door to give her some privacy. Self-doubts over his actions tonight assailed him, and he went to his truck, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and brought it inside.

As much as he wanted to comfort Willow and hold her tonight, he couldn’t touch her. She’d only called him to help her find her son.

And he would do that.

But tonight the stench of her husband’s dead body permeated his skin, and the lies he would have to tell his brother haunted him.

* * *

IMAGES OF DIGGING her husband’s grave tormented Willow as she showered. No matter how hard she scrubbed, she couldn’t erase them.

Leo was dead. Shot. Murdered.

And Sam was missing.

Her little boy’s face materialized, and her chest tightened. Sam liked soccer and climbing trees and chocolate chip cookies. And he had just learned to pedal on his bike with training wheels. Only Leo had run over his bike.

Where was Sam now? Was he cold or hungry?

She rinsed, dried off and looked at the clock. It was after four. Was Sam asleep somewhere, or was he too terrified to sleep? His favorite stuffed dinosaur was still in his room...

She found a robe in the closet and tugged it on, then checked her phone in case she’d missed the kidnapper. But no one had called.

Tears burned the backs of her eyelids. Why hadn’t they phoned?

Nerves on edge, she walked into the kitchen and spotted a bottle of whiskey on the counter. Brett had always liked brown whiskey. In fact, in high school, he’d sneaked some of his father’s to this very cabin and they’d imbibed before they’d made love.

She couldn’t allow herself to think about falling in bed with Brett again.

This was an expensive brand of whiskey, though, much more so than the brand Joe McCullen drank. Of course, Brett had done well on the rodeo circuit.

Both financially and with the women.

An empty glass sat beside the bottle, and she poured herself a finger full, then found Brett sitting in the porch swing with a tumbler of his own.

He looked up at her when she stepped onto the porch, his handsome face strained with the night’s events.

“I should go home,” Willow said from the doorway.

Brett shook his head. “Not tonight. We’ll pick up some of your things tomorrow, but you aren’t staying in that house until this is over and Leo’s killer is dead or in jail.”

“But—”

“No buts, Willow.” He sipped his whiskey. “It’s not safe. Besides, we shouldn’t disturb anything in the house, so when we do call Maddox in, he can process the place for evidence.”

He was right. “I realize this is putting you in a difficult position with Maddox.”

Brett shrugged. “That’s nothing new.”

Willow sank onto the swing beside him. She’d never had siblings although she’d always wanted a sister or a brother, especially when she was growing up. Her mother had died when she was five, and she’d been left with her father who’d turned to drinking to drown his problems. That alcohol had finally killed him two weeks before she’d graduated from high school.

Another reason she’d gravitated toward Brett and it had hurt so much when he’d left town. She had literally been alone.

“I know you’ve had issues, Brett, but your father just died, and you and your brothers should be patching things up.” She took a swallow of her own liquor, grateful for the warmth of the alcohol as it eased her nerves. “Family means everything, Brett. When you don’t have one anymore, you realize how important it is.”

Brett’s gaze latched with hers, but the flirtatious gleam she’d seen years ago and in the tabloids was gone. Instead, a dark intensity made his eyes look almost black.

“I’m sorry you lost yours. I know that last year with your dad was rough.”

It was Willow’s turn to shrug, although it was Brett leaving a second time that had sent her into Leo’s arms. Made her vulnerable to his false charm.

“My family is Sam now. I can’t go on if something happens to him.”

Brett reached out and covered her hand with his. “We will find him, I promise. And I’ll make sure whoever abducted him pays.”

She desperately wanted to believe him.

“There’s something I have to ask you, Willow.”

A knot seized her stomach at his tone. “What?”

“Where were you earlier today?”

Willow tensed. “Why? You don’t think I shot Leo, do you?”

He hesitated, long enough to make her think that he had considered the possibility. That hurt.

“No,” he finally said. “But I have to ask, because the police will.”

Willow sucked in a sharp breath. “I did errands, had to drop off some of my orders. Sam was staying with my neighbor Gina, but apparently Leo picked him up.” That sick feeling hit her again.

“This other woman can corroborate your story?”

Willow pinched her lips together, angry. “Yes, Brett.”

Would she need a more solid alibi to prove that she hadn’t killed her husband?

* * *

THE PAIN IN Willow’s eyes made Brett strengthen his resolve to help her. “Do you have any idea who abducted Sam?”

She shook her head, her hair falling like a curtain around her face. “I didn’t recognize the man’s voice. And he wore a ski mask.”

“You said that Leo didn’t have a bank account? Where did he keep his money?”

Willow traced her finger along the rim of her glass. “He kept cash in a safe when he lived with me. But he cleaned that out when he left.”

“It seems odd that a businessman wouldn’t have had bank accounts, maybe even a financial advisor.”

“I thought so, too, but he just got defensive every time I mentioned it.”

Brett rocked the swing back and forth with his feet. “Where did he go when he moved out?”

“I don’t know.”

“He didn’t send child support?”

“No. And I was okay with that. When he left, I was so glad to have him out of my life, out of Sam’s life, that I didn’t want anything from him.”

Brett willed his temper in check. The McCullen men had been raised to protect women, and to honor them. No man ever laid a hand on a woman or child.

“How bad was it?” he asked gruffly.

Willow sighed wearily. “At first it was just arguments. He wanted to control everything, from the money I spent, to how I took care of the house. I stood my ground, and he didn’t like it.”

“Good for you.”

A small smile tilted her mouth. “He was nice in the beginning, Brett, but he changed once we married. Nothing I did was right. And he was always traveling and refused to tell me where he was going.”

“You think he was having an affair?”

Willow shrugged. “It wouldn’t have surprised me.”

Brett contemplated that idea. What if Leo had been seeing another woman and she had killed him?

Still, why would that woman abduct Sam?

Unless she thought Willow had Leo’s money.

“Tell me about his business,” Brett said. “What did Leo do for a living?”

“When we first met, he said he’d made it big with some investment, something about mining uranium.”

Made sense. Wyoming was rich in rare earth elements and mining.

“Did he say how much money he made? Thousands? A million?”

Willow bit down on her lip. “No. He just said he’d—we’d—be taken care of for life.”

Brett considered the small house where Willow lived. “If he had so much money, why were you living in that little place?”

Willow frowned. “I moved there after Leo left. I wanted a fresh start.”

“Where was your other house?”

“Cheyenne,” Willow said. “But it was a rental, too. He said he was holding out to buy a big spread and build his dream house. But he never started anything.”

“Did he have a business card? Or was there a business associate he mentioned?”

“No.” Willow’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I’m not being much help.”

She obviously hadn’t known much about her husband, which seemed odd to him. Willow had always been honest, trusting, and she valued family but she was also cautious because her father had had problems.

So why had she been charmed by Leo? Had his money appealed to her?

That also didn’t fit with the Willow he’d known.

“Did Leo have any family? A sister? Brother? Parents?”

“No,” Willow said. “He lost both his parents.” Willow leaned against the back of the porch swing, her face ashen. “Looking back, Brett, I feel like I didn’t know Leo at all.”

Brett tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “You’re exhausted now, but maybe tomorrow you’ll remember more.”

If he was lucky, he’d find something in the house to add insight into Willow’s dead husband.

Knowing more about him might clue them in to the reason for his death.

He patted Willow’s hand. “Go inside and try to get some sleep.”

“How can I sleep when I don’t know where Sam is? He must be scared...and what if he’s hurt? What if that man did something to him?”

Brett cupped her face with his hands. “Listen to me, Willow. If this man wanted something from Leo, and he didn’t get it, he’s going to use Sam as leverage. So if we figure out what kind of trouble Leo was in, we can figure out how to save your son.”

He coaxed her to stand. “Try to rest until he calls with his demands.”

Willow glanced down at his hand. “Are you staying here?”

He wanted to. But that would be too tempting.

“No. I’ll run back to the farmhouse to shower. I’ll bring you some breakfast in a little while, then we can stop by your house for some of your things.”

He opened the door and ushered her inside. “Now lock up. You’ll be safe here. And when the kidnapper calls, phone me and I’ll come right over.”

Her golden eyes flickered with fear, but she nodded and slipped inside. He waited until he heard the door lock, then hurried to his truck before he went inside and crawled in bed with her.

Tension thrummed through him as he drove back to the farmhouse and parked.

Just as he let himself inside the house, Maddox was jogging down the steps. His gaze roved over Brett’s dirt-stained clothes, a disapproving scowl stretching his mouth into a thin line.

“We just buried our father, and you went out partying, huh?” Maddox muttered. “Some things never change, do they?”

Brett bit his tongue to keep from a retort.

Unable to tell him the truth, he let his brother believe the lesser of the evils, pasted on a cocky grin like he would after an all-night drunk and climbed the steps to his old room.

If his brother knew that he’d buried a murdered man on McCullen land, he’d lock him up and never talk to him again.

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