by Rita Herron
“How about a gym locker somewhere? Or an office where he could have had a safe?”
“No. But apparently, I was totally in the dark about what he was doing.”
Brett hated the self-derision in her voice. “Willow, it sounds like he was a professional liar. You saw what he wanted you to see.”
“So that makes me a big fool.” Willow rubbed her forehead again. “What’s worse is that I allowed him in Sam’s life. I trusted him with my little boy, and now Sam’s in danger because of my stupidity.”
“It’s not your fault,” Brett said, as he made the turn onto the road leading to the prison.
“Yes it is. I’m his mother. It’s my job to protect him and I failed.”
“It was his father’s job, as well, Willow. He’s the one to blame.”
Willow looked down at her hands, the wilderness stretching between them as desolate as the silence. Wind whistled through the car windows, signs of winter evident in the dry brush and brittle grass. Trees swayed in the gusty breeze, the wind tossing tumbleweed and debris across the road.
“Sam is afraid of storms,” Willow said, her voice cracking.
“Just hang on,” Brett said. “We’ll find that money. And if we don’t, I’ll tap into my own resources.”
Willow’s eyes widened. “I know you’ve done well, Brett, but you don’t have that kind of money, do you?”
Brett gulped. “Not half a million,” he said. “But I can put together a hundred thousand. And if push comes to shove, I could sell Maddox my share of the ranch.”
Willow’s lip quivered, and he wanted to drag her into his arms. But he’d reached the drive to the prison and the security gate, so he squared his shoulders and pulled up to the guard’s station, then reached for his ID.
* * *
EMOTIONS NEARLY OVERWHELMED WILLOW. Brett had offered to give her the money to save Sam, when he had no idea he was his own son.
Guilt choked her.
She should have told him about Sam. She should tell him now.
But...there was so much to discuss. And at the moment, they had to focus on finding Sam. Then she’d tell Brett everything.
And pray that he’d forgive her.
But would he want to stay around and be part of Sam’s life? Or would he head back to his rodeo life with the groupies, late-night parties and the fame?
The guard requested their ID and asked who they’d come to visit, then recognized Brett and practically dove from his booth to shake his hand.
Willow tamped down her insecurities. Brett was a celebrity. She was a small-town mom who sold quilts for a living. They lived different lives now, lives that were too far apart for them to even consider a relationship.
The guard waved Brett through and must have radioed ahead, because when they reached the prison entrance, another guard greeted them with enthusiasm and the warden rushed to shake his hand. It took a few seconds to clear security, then the warden escorted them to his office.
“You want to see Gus Garcia?” The warden’s tone was questioning. “May I ask why?”
She and Brett hadn’t strategized, so she used the most logical story that came to mind. “I think he might have information about my husband,” Willow said. “He left me and my son, and I’m trying to get child support.”
“Ahh, I see.” He motioned for the guard to take them to a visitor’s room, and Willow and Brett followed the guard down the hall.
Barring a bare table and two straight chairs, the room was empty. A guard escorted Garcia inside, the inmate’s handcuffs and shackles clanging as he walked. Willow’s stomach quivered with nerves at the beady set to his eyes.
He was short and robust with a shaved head, a tattoo of a cobra on one arm, and scars on his arms and face. “Keep your hands where I can see them and no touching,” the guard ordered.
The beefy man shoved Garcia into a chair, and Brett gestured for Willow to sit while he remained standing, his arms crossed, feet spread. His stance defied Garcia to start something.
“What do you want with me?” Garcia asked.
“My husband was Leo Howard,” Willow began.
Garcia looked genuinely shocked. “Howard got married?”
“Yes,” Willow said. “Five years ago.”
Garcia chuckled. “That’s a surprise.”
Brett cleared his throat. “We need to know what happened between you and Howard and those other men the police suspected were working with you on that cattle-rustling ring.” Brett hesitated, obviously studying Garcia’s reaction. “You took the fall for them. Why?”
“Who the hell told you to come and talk to me?” Garcia’s eyes darted sideways as if he thought he was being lured into a trap.
“Look, we don’t care what you did,” Brett said. “But we suspect that you were working with a group, and that Howard was involved. We also believe that Howard took the money you all made, and tried to cut your partners out of their share.
Anger slashed on Garcia’s face, and he stood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, leave.”
“Please,” Willow said.
“I don’t know where any money is.” Garcia waved his handcuffs in the air. “How could I? I’ve been locked up in this hellhole.”
“But Leo worked with you, didn’t he?” Willow cried. “Did he promise you he’d keep your share if you took the fall?”
Garcia turned to leave, but Willow caught his arm. He froze, his body teeming with anger. The guard stepped forward, but Willow gave him a pleading look and the guard stepped back.
Willow lowered her voice. “Please, Mr. Garcia. I think Leo swindled or betrayed your partners. Now they’ve kidnapped my son. If I don’t give them that money, there’s no telling what they’ll do to him.”
Garcia’s eyes glittered with a warning that made Willow shiver and sink back into the chair. If he didn’t have the answers they needed or refused to help her, how could she save Sam?
* * *
BRETT TRIED TO get into Gus Garcia’s head, but he didn’t know what made the man tick. The only reason he could fathom that the man had confessed and covered for his partners was money.
But if he thought his partners had betrayed him, why wouldn’t he want to help them now?
“Listen, Mr. Garcia, I don’t understand why you’d cover for Howard or anyone else, but if you tell us where Leo hid the money or who’s holding it, I’ll write you a check myself. How does a hundred thousand sound?”
Garcia heaved a breath, sat down, looked down at his scarred hands and studied them as if he was wrestling with the decision.
When he lifted his head, his eyes were flat. “I told you I don’t know where any money is. Maybe he hid it in that house he lived in at the time.”
“What house?”
Garcia shrugged. “Some place in Cheyenne.”
Anger shot through Brett. He would find this house, but he wanted more. “Listen to me, a little boy’s life may depend on us finding that cash.”
A gambit of dark emotions splintered Garcia’s face. “Leo was a liar and a thief. I ain’t heard from him since I was incarcerated.”
Brett stood with a curse, then tossed his card at the man. “If you think of anything that can help us, call me.”
Willow looked pale as the guard led Garcia out.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“Find that damned house where Leo lived. Maybe he did hide it somewhere inside.”
Frustration knotted Brett’s insides, though. Finding the money there was a long shot. And they were running out of leads.
If they didn’t turn up something soon, he’d contact his financial advisor to liquidate some funds. It wouldn’t be the full ransom, but it might be enough to fool the men into releasing Sam.
* * *
GUS’S GUT CHURNED as the guard led him down the hall and shoved him back into his cell.
He wanted to punch something, but that guard was watching him with eagle eyes, and if he misbehaved they’d throw him in the hole. Wor
se, it would go on his record, and so far he’d managed to stay clean this past year.
If he messed up, he wouldn’t make parole. And making parole meant everything to him.
But dammit, nothing was right.
Leo and those other two sons of bitches that he took the fall for were supposed to lay low and give him his cut when he was released.
But it sounded as if Leo had betrayed them and run off with the money.
He gritted his teeth as the cell door slammed shut. He hated that sound.
Why had he let them coerce him into lying for them?
His wife’s and little girl’s faces flashed in his mind and his heart felt heavy. He knew why. He’d had no choice.
They’d threatened Valeria and his kid. That was the only reason he’d helped them with the rustling operation in the first damn place.
And the woman claimed they might hurt her little boy if they didn’t get what they wanted.
Indecision tormented him. McCullen had offered him enough money that he could take his family far away and live the good life, if he talked.
But if he talked, they would go after his family.
All he had to do was wait out one more year of his sentence, and he’d be a free man, then he’d be released and he’d protect them.
They were the only thing in the world that he had to live for.
Chapter Ten
Willow fought a sense of despair as they drove away from the prison. “Do you think Mr. Garcia is lying? Holding out for his share of that half million?”
Brett started the engine and drove through security. “I don’t know. I think there’s more to the story. If he thinks his partners, or Leo, are trying to cut him out, he probably would have taken the hundred thousand I offered him. That’s a lot of money for an ex-con.”
He was right. Which worried her even more. If Garcia didn’t know where the money was, how could they find it?
“Do you know the address of the house where Leo lived after you separated?” Brett asked.
Willow racked her brain. “I think I can find it. A few bills came after Leo left and I forwarded them to him.” She searched her phone, but she hadn’t entered it in the contact information.
Frantic, she accessed her notes section and scrolled through them. “Here it is. 389 Indian Trail Drive. It’s outside Cheyenne.”
“It’ll take us a while to get there,” Brett said. “I know you didn’t sleep last night, Willow. Close your eyes and rest while I drive.”
Willow looked out at the desolate countryside with the mountain ridges in the distance and the rocky barren land, and fresh tears threatened.
Where was her little boy? Was he cold or hungry? Were the men holding him taking care of him?
The storm clouds were thickening, growing darker. Sam would be getting anxious about the weather, about not coming home. He needed her.
* * *
BRETT WAITED UNTIL Willow’s breathing grew steady, and she’d fallen into a sound sleep. His phone buzzed again. Kitty. Dammit, she was persistent.
He ignored it and phoned his financial planner and manager, Frank Cotton.
“What’s up, Brett? Do you have some new investments you need handling?”
“Not exactly. I want you to see how much cash I can liquidate and how quickly.”
A tense silent moment passed. “You want cash? May I ask the reason? Are you planning a big trip somewhere? Are you purchasing property?”
No, but he might need to sell to Maddox. Only if he asked Maddox, his brother would want an explanation. He could approach Ray, but he doubted Ray had the money to buy him out.
“I’m not ready to discuss my plans yet,” Brett said. “But it’s important. And Frank, keep this matter confidential.”
“Brett, don’t tell me you knocked up some young girl.”
Brett ground his molars. Was that what Frank thought of him? What others thought about him? “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Frank, but it’s nothing like that. Just do what I ask and keep your mouth shut.” Furious, he hung up.
Snippets of his past flashed back. The rodeo groupies clamoring after him after his rides. Throwing themselves at him in hotels and bars. All wanting a piece of the celebrity.
Girls with no real clear dreams of their own, except to bag a man and live off his money.
Unlike Willow, who’d built her own life and was devoted to her little boy. Shy Willow who’d stolen his heart, but hadn’t made demands on him when the itch to leave Pistol Whip had called his name.
No wonder Frank thought he might have knocked up some young thing. He had left a trail of women across the states. But he didn’t remember their names or faces.
Only they’d filled that empty void in his bed, when he’d craved loving from a woman, and Willow wasn’t there.
His father’s praise for following his dreams echoed in his ears. He’d always thought he and his daddy were alike, that his father had regretted marrying and settling down so young. Had regretted being saddled with three boys to raise.
Brett had been determined not to make the same mistake.
But now he’d achieved success and fame, and plenty of money, but this past year he’d been restless as hell.
Lonely.
How could he have been lonely, when all he had to do was walk into a bar and he’d have a pretty woman in his bed for the night?
He glanced over at Willow, and the answer hit him swift and hard. He was lonely because none of those women were Willow.
His phone buzzed. Maddox.
He took a deep breath and connected the call. “Yeah?”
“What the hell were you looking for on my computer?”
Brett gripped the steering wheel as he veered onto the highway toward Cheyenne. “I just needed to do some research. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that you used my password to access police files. Why were you looking at arrest records?”
Brett’s temper flared. “You checked up on me?”
“I knew you were lying earlier, so I checked the browser history.” Maddox released an angry sigh. “Now tell me what you were doing? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
First Frank, now his brother. And here, he’d considered confiding in Maddox.
“Can’t you just trust me for once?” Brett snapped.
A heartbeat passed. Brett didn’t know if Maddox planned to answer.
“Listen, Brett, if you are in trouble, tell me. I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but I’ll see what I can do to help.”
Emotions twisted Brett’s chest. Would Maddox put himself on the line to help him?
Maybe, but he couldn’t take the chance. Not with Sam’s life.
“Actually I might need you to buy me out of the ranch.”
A longer silence this time, one that reeked of disappointment. “So that’s it? You made a fortune out there on the circuit, but you’ve blown it all. What are you into, Brett? Gambling? Women?”
His words cut Brett to the bone. “I’m not into anything.”
Maddox didn’t seem to hear him, though. “I knew you didn’t care about Dad or me or Ray, but I thought you might have some allegiance to Horseshoe Creek.”
His brother’s disgusted voice tore at Brett. He did care about all of them. And he wanted part of that land more than he’d realized. Horseshoe Creek was his home. His roots.
Where he’d always thought he’d return once his wild days ended. Of course, like a fool, he’d thought Willow would be waiting...
Maddox heaved a breath. “How soon would you need to be bought out?”
Brett’s gut churned. “As soon as possible.”
Maddox cursed. “All right. I’ll see what I can do. If I see Ray, I’ll mention it to him, in case he wants part of your share.”
Brett hated the thought of selling out to his brothers. Even more, he hated that Maddox thought he didn’t give a damn about Horseshoe Creek.
But if they didn’t locate the money Leo had stolen, h
e would sell his share in a heartbeat to save Willow’s son.
* * *
WILLOW STIRRED FROM a restless sleep as Brett rolled to a stop in front of a small brick ranch house set off the road with a garage to the left and a barn out back. The house looked fairly well kept, although the barn was rotting and obviously wasn’t being used for farming.
“Was Leo living here with someone else?” Brett asked.
“I don’t know. It’s possible.”
Brett turned to her. “Were you the one who asked to get out of the marriage, Willow?”
“Yes.” She reached for the doorknob. “But he didn’t argue. He wanted out. That much was obvious.” Doris’s words echoed in her head. Leo needed a respectable wife so nobody in town would ask questions.
But respectable to whom? He hadn’t told his father about her or Sam.
“He was the fool for not wanting to be with you,” Brett murmured.
Willow swallowed hard. “You left me, too, Brett.” She regretted the words the moment she said them.
Brett’s eyes flickered with pain and truth of her statement.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Willow said. “All that matters is getting Sam back.”
Brett’s gaze latched with hers, and he started to say something, but she opened the door and hurried up the sidewalk. This was not the time for a personal discussion of the past.
That would come. But first she had to bring Sam home.
Brett caught up to her just as she punched the doorbell. He surveyed the property as if looking for signs of trouble. The door squeaked open, and a middle-aged woman in a nurse’s uniform appeared at the door. Behind her, Willow noticed a white-haired woman in a wheelchair.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
“My name is Willow James, and this is Brett McCullen.” Brett tipped his Stetson in greeting, and Willow forged ahead. “We’d like to talk to you, Miss...?”
“Eleanor Patterson,” the woman said. “What’s this about?”
Willow offered her a tentative smile. “I was married to a man named Leo Howard who lived in this house. How long have you lived here?”
“Just a few months. We needed a one-story, so we found this place.”
“Did you know Mr. Howard?” Brett asked.
