Ann Voss Peterson: Legally Binding

“We think Bart was drugged,” Lindsey supplied. “Maybe Rohypnol or something similar.”

Wade didn’t look surprised. “There’s something strange going on in Mustang Valley. First Andrew and now this.”

Bart couldn’t agree more. The revelation that Andrew McGovern had been murdered by Mustang Valley’s mayor had been a shock. And now Jeb. Two murders in two months. Not to mention the mayor’s fatal car accident. “The problem is, I don’t know if I can prove I was drugged. Hurley might have kept me tied up in jail too long for the tests to show the drug in my system.”

“What if you could find the bottles you were drinking out of?”

Lindsey leaned toward Wade. “You said the bar was busy last night. There must be hundreds of bottles. Can you really find the ones Bart drank out of?”

“My friend here has an annoying habit of peeling the label off every bottle of beer he drinks.” He glanced at his watch. “This place will be full of cowboys soon, so I don’t have time to look. But if you want to sort through the bottle bins out back, be my guest.”

“It’s worth a shot.” Lindsey looked to Bart. “Do you want to help me search through empty beer bottles?”

“I’ll sort through a thousand bottles if it will help prove I didn’t kill Jeb.”

“Then let’s get started.”

They slid off their bar stools and followed Wade through the prep kitchen and out Hit ’Em Again’s back door. Wade pointed toward a Dumpster in the narrow alley. On one side of it was a row of large trash cans. Wade nodded toward them. “Have at it.” Turning, he ducked back into the bar.

Bart glanced at Lindsey’s sharply pressed suit, gossamer stockings and polished nails. “I’ll do the searching.”

Lindsey set her briefcase on the ground and pushed up her sleeves. “It’ll go a lot faster if we both search.”

He held up a hand. “I insist. A lady like you shouldn’t be rummaging around in garbage.”

Lindsey flashed him a pointed grin. “You forget. I’m no lady, I’m a lawyer.”

Bart couldn’t keep a laugh from bubbling out. “All right, then. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re a lady. A real smart one.”

She looked away from him before he could see if she was blushing again and set to work picking through the brown-glass bottles.

Suddenly footsteps and voices rose above the clank of glass hitting glass. Bart turned just in time to see his cousin Kenny round the building and stride into the alley, his black felt Stetson slung low over his eyes. “I heard you were here. I should have known you’d be hiding in a back alley,” Kenny slurred, his voice rough with cigarettes and soggy with booze.

Bart hadn’t spoken to Uncle Jeb’s son in years. And he sure didn’t want to start tonight. But it looked like he had no choice. “What do you want?”

“I want to know why the hell you aren’t in jail.”

“I don’t want trouble, Kenny.”

“You can take a knife to an old drunk’s throat, but when it comes to fighting an able man, you don’t want trouble?”

A good-looking blonde walked into the alley and stopped a few steps behind Kenny. Frowning, she folded her arms across her ample chest, like she was turned off by the prospect of her boyfriend picking a fight. A smattering of other spectators who’d apparently followed Kenny’s bluster hung back in the shadows, content to watch from a distance.

Bart glanced at Lindsey. She watched Kenny the way a person eyed a car crash, repulsed but unable to look away. Bart shook his head. He didn’t want to get into a family brawl in front of her. Hell, he didn’t want her to know Kenny was family at all.

He pulled his gaze from Lindsey and focused on his cousin. Kenny had been an ornery cuss since the day he was born. But he’d also just lost his father—a father he despised, but his father, nonetheless. It was probably natural he’d want to blame Bart. Especially when the law was blaming Bart, too. “Listen, Kenny. I didn’t kill Jeb.”

“And you expect me to believe you?”

“I’m telling God’s honest truth.”

“The same truth your daddy told when he talked Grandad into leaving him most of the Four Aces Ranch?”

Bart almost groaned. It was still about the ranch. “When Grandad died, Jeb didn’t want any part of working the ranch. He never did. He just didn’t want my daddy to have it. Look what he’s done with the land Grandad gave him. Nothing.”

“He didn’t have it as easy as your daddy.”

“And why was that? Because he liked to drink more than he liked to work?” Bart tried to bite back the words, but it was too late. He’d had it with Kenny’s whining and excuses for his good-for-nothing daddy and himself.

Kenny balled his hands into fists and swaggered closer. “Maybe Jeb was a bastard and a drunk. Maybe he deserved what he got. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get my fair share. Or are you planning to kill me too and take it all?”

Bart held up his hands, palms facing Kenny. “I didn’t kill Jeb, Kenny. And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

Kenny stepped closer. The stench of cheap whiskey wafted on his breath. He jabbed a fist at Bart. The punch missed. “Gonna pull out your knife, Bart? Oh, that’s right. The police confiscated it after you used it to kill your own flesh and blood.”

Lindsey stepped forward. “How do you know about Bart’s knife?”

Kenny didn’t bother to give her a glance, as if she wasn’t important enough to answer.

Bart tried to keep a lid on his simmering temper. Getting into a fistfight with Kenny wouldn’t do anyone any good. “Go home and sleep it off, Kenny.”

“Won’t change anything. When I wake up, my old man will still be dead, and you’ll still be the one to blame.” He threw another punch. His fist plowed into Bart’s arm, connecting solidly this time.

Bart’s arm throbbed with the blow. His own hands clenched into fists. Grieving or not, one more hit and Kenny was history. “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you.”

“Or what? You going to sic your whore on me?” He leered at Lindsey and drew back his arm.

Bart didn’t wait for Kenny’s next punch to fall. His own fist was already flying.

Lindsey stared in horror as Bart’s big fist plowed into Kenny’s middle.

Kenny hunched over and stumbled to the side. He slammed into a bottle bin and fell. The receptacle tipped over. Glass shattered. Bottles scattered along the ground, brown glass everywhere.

The blonde who’d entered the alley with Kenny ran to his side. “Kenny? Are you all right?”

Kenny sputtered, as if trying to catch his breath. “You saw that. He attacked me. He tried to kill me.”

Bart loomed over him. “If I’d tried to kill you, you’d be dead. Now get the hell out of here.”

The blonde grabbed Kenny’s arm, pulling him to his feet and toward the mouth of the alley. “You heard him, Kenny. Let’s go.”

Kenny shrugged off her hold. “I ain’t going nowhere. He tried to kill me. You saw it. I want the sheriff. Somebody call the sheriff. I want to press charges.”

Lindsey almost groaned. The last thing Bart needed was for the sheriff’s department to get involved. The court could decide to revoke his bail over this. He’d be locked in jail awaiting trial. “You threw the first punch, Mr. Rawlins. I think you’ll be hard-pressed to prove Bart tried to kill you.”

Kenny’s mouth flattened into a hard line. His eyes narrowed. “What do you know about it?”

“Plenty.” She fished a card from the pocket of her suit jacket and thrust it at him, hoping her profession would give him pause. “I’m a lawyer.”

He squinted at the card, then looked up at Bart. “So she’s not your whore after all. She’s worse. She’s your goddamn lawyer.”