Ann Voss Peterson - Legally Binding

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.