Chapter Seven
Darrin hadn’t told Simone about the disturbing phone call.
But the memory of that voice haunted him like an unwelcome song replaying in his ears.
Every place he and Simone walked together—the casino, the shops and restaurants in the Excalibur, the teeming sidewalks, the parking lots, and the horse complex at South Point—he had the prickly sense of being watched.
But there was no word, no look or sign, nothing to confirm for him that a long-lost brother was in touch.
Maybe the call had been a prank after all. Maybe the so-called long-lost brother just wanted to rob him, blackmail him, or take advantage in some other way. If the kinship was real and the caller was seeking family, he would surely have shown himself by now.
Forget it, Darrin told himself. He had more important things to think about. At the top of the list was getting Lila out of that house, any way he could—and on this, he and Simone were in complete agreement.
Mariah had texted him that Lila and her daughter would be flying to Las Vegas today and staying in a reserved room at South Point—she’d even known the room number.
But there were complications. Lila was still recovering from snakebite, so she’d be resting in her room most of the time.
And even when she went out, her daughter would be with her.
Getting Lila alone would be a challenge.
Running into Jasmine had been a stroke of luck. She hadn’t been happy to get involved in their plan, but as Simone had predicted, she would do almost anything to save her FBI lover’s reputation and his job.
They’d known better than to tell her too much.
As far as Jasmine was concerned, their plan would be to tell Lila that they’d found ironclad evidence to prove that Roper had murdered Frank.
Signing the quit-claim deed that Darrin carried in an inner vest pocket would get her possession of that evidence and save Roper from prison.
What they hadn’t told Jasmine was that if Lila didn’t sign the deed—or even if she did—anything could happen.
Jasmine stood at the window, lost in thought as she gazed out over the cluttered landscape that was daytime Las Vegas. Darrin and Simone’s threat to expose Sam had backed her into a corner. She’d had little choice except to agree to their plan.
Her part in it sounded simple enough. The only thing Darrin and Simone had asked of her was that she find a way to separate Lila from her daughter, who watched over the woman like a hawk and who would certainly stop her from signing away her inheritance.
But why not? Jasmine asked herself. She’d never liked Lila, who’d broken up her parents’ marriage and ruled the house like a queen for eleven years. Now that Frank was gone, Lila didn’t deserve to keep his property. By rights, shouldn’t it go to his family?
As for Roper, he didn’t strike her as a killer.
Especially since she suspected that Darrin and Simone’s claim of evidence was fake.
But she wouldn’t be hurting him. And she wouldn’t be breaking the law.
All she needed to do was lure Miss Gemma away from her mother long enough for Darrin and Simone to get Lila alone.
In exchange for this, Jasmine would get the telltale photos deleted from Simone’s phone.
The plan sounded simple, even harmless. So why were Jasmine’s gut instincts sensing evil—the same evil that emanated from her own family bloodline?
How could she trust her own judgment when her father had been a notorious philanderer, her mother was a mobster, and her brother was a man without conscience, capable of anything that would get him what he wanted?
Coming from such a family, how could she not have darkness inside her—a darkness that had let her deny what she’d known from the minute Darrin and Simone laid out their plan.
Her brother had been lying to her. They weren’t going to blackmail Lila Culhane into signing away her home—something she would never willingly do. They were going to murder her.
Roper was taking a needed lunch break, eating a cheeseburger and watching the junior reining competition from the sparsely filled stands, when his phone rang. His pulse skipped. The caller was Lila.
“We’re here, in the hotel.” She was trying to sound breezy, but Roper could hear the exhaustion in her voice.
“I was hoping you hadn’t come,” he said.
“Why on earth would you say that?” she demanded. “I told you I was coming, and here I am. Gemma just went down the hall for ice, so I have a few minutes alone. What’s wrong?”
“I was hoping to tell you later,” he said. “You don’t need bad news while you’re healing.”
“Stop babying me, Roper. Your bad news is my bad news. Just tell me.”
He sighed. “Since you asked for it, I’ll start with the worst. Chet Barr’s plane crashed on the way here. He’s in the hospital, not expected to survive. Hayden’s gone to Gallup to be with him.”
There was a pause. Roper could hear her breathing before she spoke. “Oh, Roper, words aren’t enough. I met him a few times when Frank was competing. Such a nice man.”
“It’s a given that Hayden won’t be in the Cutting Horse Challenge tonight. He’ll send somebody to pick up his horse and Fire Dance at the end of the week.”
“How is Fire Dance? Will you be able to show him?”
“There’s no way. Something snapped in that horse when the trailer almost rolled, and it hasn’t gotten any better.
If anything, it’s gotten worse. Nobody can get near him.
I don’t know how they’re going to get him back into a trailer and home without sedation.
For that length of time on the road, any drug would be dangerous.
But that decision will be up to Hayden.”
“So you’re going with One in a Million?”
“I’ll have to. I was planning to use him in the Shootout and save Fire Dance for the final event. But now, I’ll be skipping the Shootout altogether. I can’t risk him twice. At his age, he’s got to be in prime condition for a chance at that million-dollar prize—or even a respectable showing.”
“You keep focusing on his age,” Lila said. “Maybe it’s time you stopped. I was reading the roster of horses that will be competing. One horse is almost fourteen. Another horse is eleven. He won’t be the only older horse in that arena.”
Passion strengthened her voice. “One in a Million can do this, Roper, but you’ve got to believe in him. I know that stallion. Give him your trust, and he’ll give you his heart.”
“I love you, Boss,” Roper said.
“And I love you. If I didn’t have a chaperone, I’d invite you up and show you how much. But that’ll have to wait. Got to go. I hear Gemma at the door.”
The call ended abruptly. Roper finished his lunch, tossed the wrappers in the trash, and walked back into the barn. Lila was right. One in a Million had never failed him. He owed the great stallion his complete confidence.
The news about Chet Barr’s crash was still sinking in.
What rotten luck, going down in his plane on a clear, calm day, with his son in the cutting finals and his pregnant bride-to-be at his side.
The tragedy was senseless. But whatever the cause, Chet was a good man, generous and well-respected. He would be missed.
Assuming Chet didn’t survive, his ranch—the house and land, the pedigreed horses, the registered Angus cattle, the airplanes, vehicles, and probably a hefty stock portfolio—would go to Hayden as the only heir.
The handsome young rancher would make a fine catch for some lucky woman.
Right now, Cheyenne appeared to have the inside track.
But he was getting ahead of himself. His sister’s happiness meant the world to Roper.
But Cheyenne was only twenty, with a mind of her own. Anything could happen.
A tall stranger in jeans, well-worn boots, and a sweat-streaked denim shirt was standing outside Fire Dance’s stall.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said “A cowboy at the practice arena told me you had Chet Barr’s stallion.
I was there when Hayden heard about his father.
Awful news. I just came by to see if there was anything I could do. We haven’t met. I’m Buck Tolson.”
Roper accepted the proffered handshake and introduced himself. The man’s name was familiar, but moments passed before it dawned on Roper that he was talking with a national champion.
“A friend of Hayden’s is taking care of his cutting horse,” Tolson said. “I offered my help, but she seemed to have the situation well in hand.”
“I imagine she does,” Roper said. “That would be my baby sister, Cheyenne.”
“Oh.” Tolson’s gray eyes brightened with interest. “I should’ve guessed she was your sister.
She got away before I could learn much about her.
But that’s not why I’m here. One of the riders mentioned that this horse had been traumatized.
I’ve worked with troubled horses as a trainer, so I was curious.
” He shook his head. “I’ve been watching this one.
He’s as bad off as any I’ve seen. What does the vet have to say? ”
“The vet can’t get near him. Nobody can.”
“He reminds me of a stallion I worked with a few years ago,” Tolson said.
“Like this one, he’d been traumatized in an accident.
I recommended putting him down, something I rarely do.
But he was valuable, and the owner insisted we keep working with him.
Then one day …” Tolson exhaled, as if feeling the pain of a memory.
“One day that horse killed one of the stable hands—a woman with young children, as if it could’ve been any worse. ”
“So you had to euthanize him?”
“Not me. He wasn’t my horse. But yes, it had to be done. A hundred-thousand-dollar stallion. But not worth the life of a young mother. I’ll never forgive myself for not having insisted on it sooner.”
“And this horse? Fire Dance?” Roper waited for an answer, but Tolson’s silence told him enough. The decision wouldn’t be his to make.