Rita Herron - McCullen's Secret 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.