Legally Binding Read online

  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—”

  “H
e 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.”