Rita Herron - McCullen's Secret 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.