Legally Binding Read online

  Just as well. Paul’s sordid love life wasn’t what they were after anyway. But Brandy’s, on the other hand, might yield some answers. “How about Kenny Rawlins? Is there a long, personal story behind your relationship with him?”

  “Not as long and not personal at all, thank God.”

  Lindsey raised a skeptical brow. “The two of you seemed pretty friendly in the alley behind Hit ’Em Again the other night.”

  “Appearances aren’t everything. Listen, I play up to potential clients. That doesn’t mean I sleep with all of them.” Brandy tilted her head, her smile still in place. “Not Kenny Rawlins, at any rate.”

  “So he’s a potential client?” Lindsey said, not missing a beat.

  “I have a buyer who’s interested in obtaining a large piece of land in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. The Bar JR fit the bill.”

  Lindsey nodded. “And Kenny wanted to sell?”

  “He and Jeb wanted to sell. I wanted to accommodate them.”

  A piece fell into place in Bart’s mind. The explanation for the photo in the Mustang Gazette. Brandy schmoozing a sale. “So what did this accommodation include?”

  She frowned like she’d bitten into a sour apple. “Not what you’re thinking.”

  He was thinking murder. But he doubted that was what she was talking about.

  “I wanted to list the ranch before my buyer got it in his head to approach Jeb directly. That’s it.”

  “So you want us to believe you were hanging around Jeb, and later Kenny, just to get a listing?” Lindsey asked.

  “That’s right. If I were a man, you wouldn’t even question it.”

  Lindsey’s elegant eyebrows lowered as if she was considering Brandy’s statement. “So why were you playing up to Bart at Hit ’Em Again the night Jeb was murdered?”

  Brandy turned her white smile on Bart. “That was for pure pleasure.”

  Lindsey stiffened.

  Bart watched Lindsey out of the corner of his eye. After their kiss last night, he’d like to think her reaction to Brandy’s quip meant she was jealous. But try as he might, he couldn’t see a reason why she should be. Lindsey was so far beyond Brandy’s league, it was like comparing Emmitt Smith in his prime to some skinny high school kid who couldn’t make junior varsity.

  “Of course, Kenny assumed the same thing you’re assuming—that I’d sleep with him to get the listing.” She shuddered slightly. “It wasn’t until after he realized I wasn’t going to that he came clean.”

  “Came clean?” Lindsey prodded.

  “He admitted the Bar JR wasn’t his problem.”

  Bart must not have heard her right. “His problem?”

  “That’s right.” A smile of realization spread over those red lips. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?” Lindsey asked.

  “That the Bar JR is mortgaged to the hilt. That the cash you’d get from selling it wouldn’t even come close to paying off the debt old Jeb ran up on the place.”

  The news hit Bart with the force of a mule kick to the head. No wonder Jeb had left the ranch to his dad and him. It made perfect sense. Jeb didn’t want to reunite the original ranch. He wanted to saddle them with the tab for the past twenty years of his miserable life. And he knew Bart and his dad would pay that tab rather than give up the land. Bart shook his head, a grin tweaking his lips despite himself. “That crafty old buzzard.”

  Lindsey focused like a laser on Brandy. “Kenny told you this?”

  Brandy nodded. “He laughed about it. Thought it was a big joke that Jeb planned to shift his debt to his brother when he died.”

  “Why would he tell you this?”

  She shrugged. “Once he realized a roll in the hay didn’t come with the listing, I guess he wanted to show me how stupid I was for hanging around him when he was dead broke.”

  “And when did this happen?”

  “I don’t know. A day or two ago. After Jeb was murdered.” Brandy glanced at Bart.

  Lindsey leaned forward, bringing the woman’s attention back to her. “Was it before yesterday?”

  “Before yesterday? You mean, did he know he wasn’t going to inherit the ranch before the will was read?”

  “Did he?” Bart asked.

  “He told me about it the day after the murder. Right after we ran into the two of you in that alley behind the bar. He said you were as stupid as me.” She gave a dry laugh. “Nice guy, your cousin.”

  The mule kicked again. Kenny was a nice guy all right. And now they couldn’t prove that nice guy had any reason to kill Jeb.

  Beside him, Lindsey seemed to droop. She held out a hand to Brandy. “Thank you for your time.”

  “No problem. Say hello to Paul for me, would you?” She winked again. “Oh, and Don, too.”

  After Bart shook Brandy’s hand, as well, they left the mansion and started walking back to the truck. Bart’s gut churned with acid. “So much for our notions about Kenny. If he knew the ranch was worthless and he knew he wasn’t going to inherit it anyway, he had no reason to kill Jeb. Other than the fact that Jeb was a miserable old bastard and the world would be better without him, of course. But everyone in town had that motive.”

  “Not so fast.” Lindsey stopped in her tracks and turned wide eyes on Bart.

  Bart’s muscles tensed the way they always did when he sensed the cattle were about to make a break for it. “What?”

  “If you are convicted, what would you do with the Four Aces?”

  “I suppose I’d have to sell. Gary is aching to retire from the ranching business. So without me, there would be no one to run the Four Aces. Besides, I’d need the money to take care of Daddy.”

  “So you’d sell the ranch and put the proceeds in a trust for your father?”

  “That’s how Don set up my will if I died, so I guess that’s how I’d have him handle it if I was convicted, too.”

  She pressed her lips together, deep in thought. “And if something were to happen to your father before you went to trial?”

  His tension ratcheted up a notch. “I suppose I’d still have to sell the Four Aces.”

  “And the Bar JR?”

  “Daddy’s will leaves everything to me.” Maybe her point was as clear as the broad side of a barn, but he couldn’t see it. “Even if I was convicted and something happened to my daddy, both ranches would just go back to me.”

  “The Four Aces would.”

  “But not the Bar JR?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you. If you’re convicted of Jeb’s death, Texas law says you can’t inherit Jeb’s land.”

  That barn was broad, all right, and it was staring him in the face. “Then the Bar JR would go to Kenny. And by the time I came to trial and was convicted, Jeb’s debt would already be settled.”

  She nodded.

  Dread plowed into Bart’s gut. “But he would only get his hands on the Bar JR if I was convicted…and Daddy was dead.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Daddy!” Bart raced into the kitchen with Lindsey on his heels. Lindsey had used her cell phone to call the house and barn numbers repeatedly on the hour drive from Dallas. No one had answered. Still, he’d hoped by the time they’d gotten to the ranch, Beatrice would be back from a simple grocery shopping trip, his father in tow.

  No such luck.

  The house was dead quiet. No sign of his father. No sign of Beatrice. He raced down the hall to his dad’s bedroom, his boots thundering on the wood floor. Maybe he’d find him taking an uncharacteristic afternoon nap. Maybe all his worry was for nothing.

  He threw open the door. In the dim light, he could see the plain, dark spread smoothed over the bed. Untouched since morning. He spun around and started for the bathroom. “Daddy?” He pounded on the door, the wood trembling under his fist. “Daddy? Are you in there?”

  No answer.

  He turned the knob and pushed the door open. Holding his breath, he looked to the floor first.

  White tile gleamed back at him. A quick glan
ce around the empty room yielded nothing. No body, no blood, no Daddy.

  He crossed the hall and knocked on Beatrice’s door. No answer there, either.

  “Maybe Beatrice took him somewhere,” Lindsey said from behind him. “The doctor’s office? The barber? Did she say anything to you or write his schedule on a calendar?”

  Bart forced his mind to slow down. He had to concentrate. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.” Damn him for not keeping better track of what his father was doing.

  “You’ve had a few things on your mind. Like being accused of murder.”

  “That’s no excuse. If anything happens to Daddy…”

  “Can you reach Beatrice? Does she have a cell phone? Someone who would know where she might be?”

  What was wrong with him? Why hadn’t he thought of that before? “She doesn’t carry a cell phone. But she does have a sister.”

  He found a phone and a phone book and punched in the number.

  On the other end of the line, the phone picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” Beatrice’s sister’s cigarette-roughened voice carried over the line.

  “Mary. It’s Bart. Is Beatrice there?”

  “Bart? Why would Beatrice be here?”

  “Because she’s not here. And neither is my dad.”

  “You’re at the Four Aces?”

  “Yes.”

  “Odd. Beatrice said she was going to be home all day. In case I wanted to call and chat.”

  Bart’s heart froze. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. What’s going on, Bart? You’re scaring me.”

  He was scaring himself, too. His dad was confused, weak, helpless. He couldn’t fight for himself. Hell, he didn’t even know who he was half the time. And Beatrice. She was missing, too. Pressure bore down on his head until he thought his skull would split. He managed to mumble a few reassurances to Mary and dropped the phone into its cradle.

  Lindsey touched his arm. “We’ll find them.”

  “If anything has happened to my daddy and Beatrice, I’ll kill Kenny with my bare hands.”

  “Do you want me to call the sheriff?”

  “Would you?” As if it would do a damn bit of good. Hurley Zeller was more concerned about convicting Bart than finding the truth or protecting the public. And Sheriff Ben was too busy starting his campaign to replace the mayor to do his current job. He handed her the phone and headed for the door. He couldn’t rely on the sheriff. He had to do everything he could to find his dad and Beatrice. And he had to do it now.

  Bart reached the barn just as Gary and a new hand rode up. He flagged the foreman down. “Daddy’s gone. Did you see anything the last hour or two? Anyone creeping around the house that shouldn’t be?”

  A stricken look spread over Gary’s face. “Kenny.”

  Bart’s pulse raced. “You saw Kenny?”

  “I ran him off. About the time you left for town. I can’t believe he’d do something to your daddy.”

  “Your daddy? Older man, a little shorter than me?” Tall, thin and strong as a steel fence post, the new hand riding with Gary wasn’t old enough to grow a mustache. Though from the look of it, he was giving it a damn noble attempt.

  “Did you see my daddy?”

  The kid used his tongue to tuck his chaw into a cheek and spat into the dirt. “I seen an old man east of here when I was out looking for strays. Down by Shotgun Creek.”

  Bart lunged forward. “Wearing jeans and a—” He paused and tried to picture what his dad had been wearing this morning. “Blue button-down shirt?”

  The kid nodded. “And a Dallas Cowboys cap.”

  That was him. It had to be. “Was anyone with him?”

  The kid shook his head.

  “He was alone?”

  “Far as I could tell. He acted kind of strange. Said he didn’t need or want my help. Called me Jeb.”

  “That’s him.” Wandering by himself. Maybe someone hadn’t kidnapped him. Maybe whoever was behind this just let him out of the house and let his dad’s confused mind do the rest. But if that was the case, what had happened to Beatrice? “What time did you see him?”

  “’Round noon, I guess.”

  Just after Gary saw Kenny at the ranch. Damn. His daddy could have wandered miles by now. Bart focused on Gary. “How many hands are here right now?”

  “Three, counting me and Billy. The rest are vaccinating calves in the south pasture.”

  Only three. Not enough to do a sweep of thirty thousand acres, that was for damn sure. “Take the horses down to the creek and look around the spot where Billy here saw him last.” Bart glanced at the helicopter setting out on the ranch’s makeshift helipad.

  “You taking the Engstrom?” Gary asked.

  “Damn straight. Is it topped off?” Bart had used the helicopter in the south pasture this morning to round up cows and their new calves for vaccinations.

  Gary nodded. “It’s ready to go. But there’s supposed to be a storm west of here, moving in slow.”

  Bart checked the horizon. Sure enough, the dark shadow of rain clouds topped the gently rolling hills. “Then we’d better get a move on. I sure as hell don’t want Daddy wandering out there in a thunderstorm.”

  Gary nodded again. “I’ll get the other hand.” Gary set a spur into his mare’s side and sent her loping for the corral. Billy followed on his big gelding. They’d be out on the range before Bart got the helicopter’s engine idling.

  He strode for the helipad. He always kept the copter in working order, fueled up and ready to go, whether they were using it to gather cattle to pasture or not. Even after spring roundup, he had to search for breaks in fence and monitor the streams and rivers running through the pastures during summer droughts. And you never knew when an emergency might crop up.

  Like now.

  Lindsey raced out of the house and joined him at the helipad. “A deputy’s on his way.”

  “One of the hands saw Daddy wandering toward Shotgun Creek a few hours ago. No one was with him.”

  “So he wasn’t kidnapped?”

  “Doesn’t appear so. Someone just let him out of the house and watched him disappear.” Anger and dread mixed with the nausea swirling in his gut. “He’ll never remember how to get back to the house.”

  “What about Beatrice?”

  “No sign of her.”

  “I told the sheriff she was missing, too.”

  “Good.” Bart tried to push away his worry. He sure as hell hoped the sheriff could find her, because he didn’t have the first idea where to look. He directed his thoughts to his daddy out on the range. Helpless. Probably afraid. Bart had to find him.

  He climbed into the helicopter and started the engine. It roared to life, the sound bouncing off nearby barns. Overhead, the rotor was still, the engine only idling at the moment.

  Eyeing the craft, Lindsey set her chin, circled to the opposite side and opened the door.

  What she intended suddenly came clear to Bart. “Where do you think you’re going?” he yelled above the roar.

  “With you.”

  He shook his head. “Stay here. The hands went with Gary to look for my daddy. You need to wait for the sheriff.”

  She held up her little phone. “I’ll call and fill him in about the cowboy seeing your father by the creek.” She punched in the number and did just that as Bart performed a hurried series of safety checks. After turning off the phone, she climbed into the chopper.

  Bart glanced at the storm on the horizon before turning a frown in her direction. “You can’t go with me, Lindsey. It’s not safe. Flying a helicopter is dangerous in the kind of weather that’s blowing in.”

  “You need help.”

  “No.”

  Her eyes sharpened. “You don’t want me staying here by myself, do you? Kenny or whoever let your father out on the range might still be around.”

  He pressed his lips into a line. Damn. He knew she was playing him, but the hell of it was, she was right. He couldn’t
leave her at the ranch alone. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Not when I know I’m right.”

  He looked out at the dark horizon. Sucking in a breath, he forced himself to nod. “Strap yourself in.”

  She fastened her safety harness. Glancing at her, he slipped on his headphones and motioned for her to do the same. Then he started the rotors.

  He increased power, set the antitorque pedals and centered the cyclic. As he increased power further, the helicopter began to lift off the skids. He made more adjustments and brought the craft up about eighty feet into a hover. Scanning the horizon, he moved the cyclic forward and headed in a different direction from where Gary and the hands rode out. It was just a guess, but if Daddy had called the kid Jeb, there was a chance his mind had gone back to his childhood. That might mean he was doing something he and Jeb loved to do as kids. And exploring the banks of the Brazos River topped the list. It was worth a shot anyway. Bart was damn short on other ideas.

  And on time.

  He tapped Lindsey on the shoulder and pointed to a set of binoculars he kept in the craft to spot stray cattle or broken fence. She grabbed them and raised them to her eyes. Bart trained his own eyes on the land ahead of them. Swells of grassland stretched to the horizon. In the middle of the land, the Brazos River slithered between hills like a silver snake.

  His dad was down there. Lost. Confused. They had to find him. Before the storm rolled in. Before he hurt himself.

  Before it was too late.

  A flash along the dark horizon caught his eye. He studied an ominous storm cloud. Another bolt of lightning followed the first. Judging from the way the cloud blotted out the afternoon sun, it wasn’t a gentle storm. Not a storm he should be flying a helicopter into, that was for damn sure.

  And not a storm a confused old man should be wandering around in alone.

  They flew low, skimming over the ground at about a hundred feet. Over prairie and creek, woodland and river. Bart pointed out groves of mesquite, so Lindsey could study them more closely. In some spots, the scrub trees grew so thick it would be easy for a cowboy to lose half-a-dozen steers behind a thicket of gnarled branches, let alone one man.