Chapter Eleven
Cheyenne was staring at the framed photo, struggling for words, when her phone rang. She yanked it out of her purse.
The call was from Stetson. The traffic backup had cleared. He and their mother would be arriving in the next ten or fifteen minutes.
“I’ve got to go, Hayden,” she said. “You shouldn’t be here. Go home to Texas, and do what needs to be done.”
“Can I call you?” he asked, ignoring her words.
“Only if you have a good reason. I’ll keep you posted about Fire Dance, if you care to know.”
His indifferent look told her that he’d moved on from any concern about the stallion.
Slipping the phone back into her purse, she turned around and raced back to the hotel lobby.
Her mind was still processing what she’d just learned.
If Hayden’s claim was true—and his resemblance to Frank bore that out—Frank’s affairs had fathered at least one child.
If she believed him, the question was what she should do with that information.
Hayden had shown her one symptom of a toxic personality—a lack of concern for anything but himself.
Common sense told her to walk away and forget him.
But what if Hayden had played some part in Frank’s death?
He could have confronted his biological father that night in the stable.
When Frank rejected him, he could have had the hypodermic ready and used it.
The story was far-fetched. But Cheyenne’s beloved brother was about to be arrested for Frank’s murder.
The smallest scrap of information might be the one that would clear him.
Decision made, she stopped at the entrance to the lobby, fished her phone out of her purse, and scrolled to Agent Sam Rafferty’s number.
Sam took the phone call in his room, where he’d been working on a report for Nick. Not that he had much to report. The discoveries he’d made were like pieces from random jigsaw puzzles tossed into the same box. No two of them fit together. And time was running out.
By the time the call with Cheyenne had ended, Sam was pacing the floor with excitement. What if Hayden Barr turned out to be the key to the whole mystery—not only as Frank’s son, but as his murderer?
Hayden could have done it—shadowed Frank from a distance, arranged a secret meeting in the stable, and confronted his father with the demand that he be recognized and given his share of the Culhane dynasty.
Rejected, he could have killed Frank and tossed the syringe away as he was passing the creek.
Later, here in Las Vegas, he could have tried the same approach with Darrin.
But he hadn’t counted on Simone or a maddened horse.
The pieces were sliding into place, but not all of them fit. Hayden was the sole heir of a wealthy rancher. He didn’t need money. Why would he seek out his natural father and then kill him?
Cheyenne had mentioned a newspaper article. Sam had picked up a paper earlier, after breakfast. The paper lay folded on the bed. Opening it, he read the news item about Chet Barr’s fatal crash.
The pregnant fiancée. That could be another piece of the puzzle. Did Hayden feel that he was about to be replaced by a child of Chet’s own blood? Did he feel threatened enough to kill?
The puzzle was coming together, but every piece of it was conjecture.
Before he took any action, he would need something solid.
At least, before questioning Hayden, he should try to find out more about where he might have been on the night of the murder.
If he had an ironclad alibi, everything else would be out the window.
The Barr ranch was near Wichita Falls, a couple of hours from the Culhane spread. A call to the sheriff there might be a good place to start.
Roper had promised not to see Lila until after the Run for a Million. He’d broken that promise once to sit with her at the hospital when her daughter was drugged with chloroform. Now he was about to break it again.
He knocked on the door of her hotel room, giving his name before Gemma would open it. The young woman was nothing if not protective. At least, by now, she was getting to know him.
“How’s your mother, Gemma?” he asked. “Is she awake?”
“I’m in here,” Lila called from the bedroom. “Just resting. With my good nurse to do everything for me, I’ve become a lazybones. Hang on, I’ll get up.”
“No, stay where you are. I’ll come in,” Roper said. “I’m just here to give you some news. Then I’ll be on my way.”
He walked into the bedroom. Lila, dressed in blue sweats, reclined on one of the two queen-sized beds.
She was propped against a heap of pillows with her e-reader in her hand.
Fresh from her shower, with no makeup and her hair twisted up in a scrunchie, she looked like a young girl.
Roper’s pulse skipped at the sight of her.
But he wasn’t sure how she would react to what he was about to tell her.
“I’ll give you some privacy.” Gemma backed away from the doorway.
“No, come on in, Gemma,” Roper said. “This news concerns you, too?”
As they waited for Gemma, he saw the slight change in Lila—the narrowing of her eyes, the tightening of her lips—as if she were preparing herself for a blow. Gemma sank onto the foot of the bed. Roper remained on his feet.
“Darrin Culhane died last night,” he said. “He was killed by a horse when he went into its stall.”
Lila stifled a gasp, her face paling as the news sank in. “What about Simone? What about the baby? Are they all right?”
“Simone was there. Once she gets over the shock, she and the baby should be fine. The important thing is, with Darrin gone, the danger to both of you should be over.”
Lila shook her head. “Darrin was my stepson. The baby will be my grandchild—in a way. I know how they hated me and what they tried to do, but I wouldn’t wish this tragedy on anyone.”
Roper held out his hand. She reached up and clasped it. Her fingers were cold. “You know that without Darrin, the legal battle for the ranch goes away,” he said.
“Simone could still contest the will for her baby. Jasmine, too, although I know she’s never wanted the property.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Roper said. “For now, you’ve got the upper hand. When you get home, you can take legal steps to protect your ownership.”
Roper knew better than to mention Darrin’s mysterious caller. Lila didn’t need that kind of stress. Hopefully, with Darrin gone, the man would give up on his scheme and disappear.
“I’ll be going,” he said. “Get some rest, both of you.”
“Don’t worry,” Lila said. “We’ll be front and center to watch you show One in a Million tomorrow night.”
He gave her a light kiss and headed for the elevator. It was time to focus entirely on getting the big bay roan ready for the performance of his life. But on the way down to the lobby, he couldn’t stop wondering about the caller who’d claimed to be Frank’s illegitimate son.
What if his claim was true?
What if he’d meant to kill Darrin and take over the fight for Lila’s ranch?
What if he was the one who’d murdered Frank?
Who was he?
Cheyenne checked her phone again as she waited in the lobby. There was a text message from Buck. His friend had agreed to load Fire Dance and take him to Ten Sleep.
The sheriff came by with a deputy, ready to put Fire Dance down. It took some fast talking to convince him that the horse would be gone within the hour. I hear Fergus’s truck outside now. I’ll keep you posted if I don’t see you later.
Cheyenne tapped out a quick reply.
Thank you, thank you, thank you. Let me know how much I will owe your friend, and I will double it. As for you, I will owe you forever. I love you for this, Buck.
She reread the message. No, the love part was too much.
That might make him uncomfortable. She deleted the final sentence before sending the reply.
It was done. She’d saved herself from looking like a fool.
But a stab at her heart told her that if ever there was a man she could love, it was Buck Tolson.
As she tucked the phone into her purse, she could see her brother coming through the revolving door into the crowded lobby. Stetson was tall for a bull rider and beanpole skinny, but everywhere he went, his lanky charm was a magnet for girls.
Rachel, their mother, walked a half step ahead of him, ramrod straight in a white blouse and gray slacks, with the light blue blazer she wore to church. Her head, crowned with graying hair pulled into a neat bun, came even with her tall son’s ear.
She wore no makeup and no jewelry except for a practical Timex watch and her thin gold wedding band.
But even in her mid-fifties, she was striking, with classic features she’d passed on to her four handsome sons and a daughter who’d turned down movie offers.
Her work-worn hands testified to decades of hard toil, scrubbing, gardening, childbearing, tending cows, chickens, and children, making nutritious meals out of whatever was at hand, and nursing a bitter, disabled husband night and day.
Rachel was the embodiment of a favorite piece of Scripture—Who can find a virtuous woman, for her price is above rubies.
As their gazes met across the crowded lobby, Cheyenne stifled a groan. Her mother possessed the attitude of a saint walking through the gates of hell, ready to overturn the gaming tables and drive out the money changers.
“Hang in there, Little Sis. It’s only for a couple of days.”
Roper stood behind her. Cheyenne’s heart warmed as she turned to meet his understanding smile. What would she do without him? Her other brothers were self-absorbed louts. Her father ignored her, and her mother controlled her with an iron hand. Only Roper gave her unconditional love and support.
It was too bad they didn’t have time to talk. She wanted to tell him what she’d learned about Hayden. But at least she’d told Sam.