“Promise me you’ll check on her and her boy,” his father murmured.
“That’s the reason you wanted to see me?”
“Yes.” His father coughed. “Now send Ray in here. I need to talk to him.”
Brett squeezed his father’s hand, then headed to the door. If his father wanted him to check on Willow, something bad must have happened to her.
His heart hammered at the thought of seeing her again. But he couldn’t refuse his father’s wishes.
He’d pay her a visit and make sure she was okay. Then he’d get the hell out of Pistol Whip again.
When his father was gone, there was no reason for him to stick around.
Three days later
BRETT MCCULLEN WAS back in town.
Willow James, Willow Howard technically, although she was no longer using her married name, rubbed her chest as if the gesture could actually soothe the ache in her heart. Brett was the only man she’d ever loved. Ever would love.
But he’d walked away from her years ago and never looked back.
She sat in her car at the edge of the graveyard like a voyeur to the family as they said their final goodbyes to their father, Joe. Part of her wanted to go to Brett and comfort him for his loss.
But a seed of bitterness still niggled at her for the way he’d deserted her. And for the life he’d led since.
He’d always been footloose and fancy-free, a bad-boy charmer who could sweet-talk any girl into doing whatever he wanted.
He’d taken her virginity and her heart with him when he’d left Pistol Whip to chase his dreams of becoming a famous rodeo star.
He’d also chased plenty of other women.
Her heart squeezed with pain again. She’d seen the news footage, the magazine articles and pictures of his awards and conquests.
She’d told herself it didn’t matter. She had the best part of him anyway—his son.
Sam.
A little boy Brett knew nothing about.
If Brett saw Sam in town, would he realize the truth? After all, Sam had Brett’s deep brown eyes. That cleft in his chin.
The same streak of stubbornness and the love of riding.
A shadow fell across the graveyard, storm clouds gathering, and the crowd began to disperse. She spotted Brett shaking hands with several locals, his brothers doing the same. Then he lifted his head and looked across the graveyard, and for a moment, she thought he was looking straight at her. That he saw her car.
But a second later, Mama Mary loped over and put her arm around him, and Brett turned back to the people gathered at the service.
Chastising herself for being foolish enough to still care for him after the way he’d hurt her, she started the engine and drove toward her house. She didn’t have to worry about Brett. He’d bounce back in the saddle in a day or two and be just fine.
But she had problems of her own.
Not just financial worries, but a no-good husband who she was scared to death of.
Dread filled her as she drove through town and ventured down the side street to the tiny house she’d rented. Her biggest mistake in life was marrying Leo Howard, but she’d been pregnant and on the rebound and had wanted a father for her son.
Leo was no father, though.
Well, at first he’d claimed he was. He’d promised her security and love and a home for her and her little boy.
But as time wore on, she realized Leo had secrets and an agenda of his own.
They hadn’t lived together in over three years, but last night he’d come back to town.
Hopefully he had the divorce papers with him, so she could get him out of her life once and for all.
Mentally ticking off her to-do list, she delivered three quilts she’d custom made from orders taken at the antiques store, Vintage Treasures, where she displayed some of her work. When she’d had Sam, she’d known she had to do something to make a living, and sewing was the only skill she had. She’d learned to make clothes, window treatments and quilts from her grandmother, and now she’d turned it into a business.
She did some grocery shopping, then dropped off the rent check. Earlier, she’d left Sam at her neighbor’s house, hoping to meet with Leo alone.
She pulled in the drive, noting that Leo had parked his beat-up pickup halfway on the lawn, and that he’d run over Sam’s bicycle. Poor Sam. He deserved so much better.
Furious at his carelessness, she threw her Jeep into Park, climbed out and let herself in the house, calling Leo’s name as she walked through the kitchen/living room combination, then down the hall to the bedrooms.
When Leo didn’t answer, dread filled. He was probably passed out drunk.
Fortified by her resolve to tell him to leave the signed divorce papers so she’d be rid of him for good, she strode to the bedroom. The room was dark, the air reeking of the scent of booze.
Just as she’d feared, Leo was in bed, the covers rumpled, a bottle of bourbon on the bedside table.
Anger churned through her, and she crossed the room, disgusted that he’d passed out in her house. She leaned over to shake him and wake him up, but she felt something sticky and wet on her hand.
She jerked the covers off his face, a scream lodging in her throat. Leo’s eyes stared up at her, wide and vacant.
And there was blood.
It was everywhere, soaking his shirt and the sheets...
Leo was dead.
Willow backed away from the bed in horror. The acrid odor of death swirled around her. There was so much blood...all over Leo’s chest. His fingers. Streaking his face where he must have wiped his hand across his cheek.
Nausea rose to her throat, but she swallowed it back, her mind racing.
Leo was...really dead. God...he’d said he was in trouble, but he hadn’t mentioned that someone was after him...
She had to get help. Call the police.
Sheriff McCullen.
Her head swam as she fumbled for the phone, but her hand was sticky with blood where she’d touched the bedding.
She trembled, ran into the bathroom and turned on the water, desperate to cleanse herself of the ugly smell. She scrubbed her hand with soap, reality returning through the fog of shock.
Where was the killer? Was he still in the house?
She froze, straining as she listened for signs of an intruder, but the house seemed eerily silent.
Sam... Lord help me. Her neighbor would probably drop Sam off any minute. She couldn’t let him come home to this.
Panicked, she dried her hands, then ran for the phone again. But a shadow moved across the room, and she suddenly realized she wasn’t alone.
Terrified, she dived for the phone, but the figure lunged at her and grabbed her from behind. Willow screamed and tried to run, but he wrapped big beefy hands around her and immobilized her.
His rough beard scraped her jaw as he leaned close to her ear. “You aren’t going to call the cops.”
Fear shot through her. “No, no police.”
He tightened his grip around