The Missing Mccullen. Rita Herron

THREW THE prison clothes into the trash and strode naked to the shower, anxious to rid himself of the scent of Sondra’s blood.

      How in the hell could he have gotten her blood on his clothes and hands and not remember it?

      He closed his eyes as he scrubbed his body and hair, trying to force the memory to return, but his mind was a big black hole.

      So was his heart. Sondra had been his friend, Innocent. Young. Vibrant. In love with life. She had a bright future ahead of her.

      And she’d loved Tyler so much.

      He would miss her smile and chatter.

      An image of little Tyler laughing as he pushed him in the tire swing Cash had made for him taunted him.

      Emotions churned through him. He’d kill anyone who hurt that kid.

      Heart hammering, he dried off and dressed in clean jeans and a denim shirt.

      Anxious to hear the sheriff’s explanation, he snatched his wallet and stepped outside.

      The fresh air and scents of summer hit him, then the door to the cabin where the lawyer was staying opened. Sun slanted off her pale skin, giving her a radiant glow.

      She was still wearing that tight-assed suit, but even though it was modest, it didn’t disguise her curves. Nice sized breasts, a thin waist, hips a man could hold on to.

      Dammit, his body twitched with desire.

      Not a good thing.

      She held the key to his freedom. He couldn’t screw it up by screwing her.

      Squaring his shoulders, he strode toward her.

      Her eyes flickered with wariness as she met him on the path between their cabins. “Ready?”

      He nodded, willing his libido under control. If he made a wrong move toward her, she might drop his case.

      At the moment, he needed her brains more than he needed her body.

      But could he trust that she wasn’t working for the enemy?

      “We can take my car,” she offered.

      “I’d just as soon walk.” He needed the fresh air.

      “Sure.”

      She fell into step beside him although she was wearing heels, which slowed her pace, so he slowed his own so she could keep up.

      He’d like to see her in a pair of tight jeans, but he refrained from comment.

      An awkward silence stretched between them as they followed the drive to the main house. By the time they reached it, she was wobbly on those heels. She stumbled, and he caught her arm. She felt small and delicate next to him, and she smelled so damn feminine, like jasmine, that it stirred images of making love to her in a bed of wildflowers.

      Her gaze met his, a warning in those eyes, and he dropped his hand.

      Idiot. A woman like her wouldn’t be caught dead in his bed, much less naked in a field of wildflowers with him.

      The thought made his anger rise again. “Sorry, Miss Alexander. I was just trying to help.”

      She paused, lips forming a thin line as she stared him down. “It’s BJ.”

      “BJ?”

      “Yes, that’s my name,” she said, with a bite to her voice. “If we’re going to work together, you can’t keep calling me Miss Alexander like it’s a dirty word.”

      A smile tugged at his lips. “All right, BJ.” He liked the way it rolled off his tongue. “So why the initials? What does BJ stand for?”

      “None of your business.” She tossed him a withering smile, dispelling any semblance that she planned to get friendly, then walked ahead and climbed the porch steps. He followed like a damn dog in heat.

      A chubby lady with a warm smile greeted them, and introduced herself as Mama Mary, the housekeeper and cook. She studied Cash for a moment as if she was dissecting him, then her eyes twinkled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Cash. Y’all come on in and make yourselves at home.” She shook the lawyer’s hand, then Cash’s, her gaze lingering on him, welcoming. Friendly.

      An odd reaction, since she must be aware he’d been arrested for murder.

      Remembering his manners, he tipped his Stetson. He’d felt naked without it in jail.

      She directed them toward a closed door. “I’ll get some coffee for everyone and sandwiches, and I just made a cobbler.”

      Cash didn’t think his arrest warranted cobbler, but he was starving so he kept his mouth shut.

      Voices from inside the room echoed through the wall. “You think he’s innocent?”

      “I don’t know, but we’ll find out.” That voice belonged to the sheriff.

      “I don’t think we should tell him who we are, not yet,” a third man said.

      Anger gripped Cash, and he stormed through the door. He didn’t intend to be in the dark another minute.

Chapter Six

      Tension vibrated through the room as Cash faced the McCullen men. If these men were his enemies, he had a right to know.

      Sheriff McCullen and his brothers exchanged odd looks, an awkwardness heating the air.

      “Why did you bail me out and bring me here?” Cash demanded. “What do you want from me?”

      The sheriff cleared his throat. “I’m Maddox, and this is Brett and Ray.”

      “I know who you are,” Cash said between gritted teeth.

      “You do?” Ray said, brows raised.

      “Of course.” Cash frowned. “Everyone in this part of Wyoming knows the McCullens own Horseshoe Creek.”

      The men traded looks again.

      “What else do you know about us?” Maddox asked.

      Another inquisition? “The story about your father’s murder was all over the news.” He folded his arms. “Now, answer my question. Why did you bring me here? Are you in cahoots with Elmore?”

      Surprise flared on the men’s faces. “Why would you ask that?” Ray said.

      “Because you don’t know me and I don’t know you,” Cash said. “Yet you posted my bail. Maybe you’re working with him or whoever’s framing me.”

      “Good God,” Ray said. “You can’t be serious.”

      “I work for the people of Pistol Whip and this county,” Maddox said stiffly. “My job is to uphold the law. I can’t be bought.”

      The lawyer touched Cash’s arm. “Cash, trust me, they aren’t here to hurt you. They want the truth, the same as you and I do.”

      He whirled around, his pent-up rage exploding. “Look, lady, in my experience, no one comes out of the woodwork to help someone, especially not someone like me. Not without his or her own agenda.”

      A heartbeat of silence passed. A knock sounded, and Mama Mary appeared with a tray. Her bubbly smile seemed at odds with the tension in the air.

      “Hey, boys. I have food and coffee.”

      Cash crossed the room to the window and stared out at the horses galloping on a hill in the distance, while Mama Mary set the food on a bar by the wall.

      “Thanks, Mama Mary.” Brett gave her a hug. “You’re the best.”

      Heat flushed Cash’s neck. Everything he’d read about the McCullens indicated they were honest folks. So why all the secrecy?

      Mama