Certified Cowboy. Rita Herron

everything had gone wrong.

       When Carter had been arrested, he and Brandon had taken a good hard look at their own lives and decided it was time to grow up. Sure, they’d had bad childhoods. Lived in hellholes. Never had a family who gave a damn.

       But they’d made a pact to show the world they weren’t the white-trash losers the rich rancher kids had dubbed them.

       Yet Carter had still wound up in jail. Not that Johnny believed he was guilty of the murder he’d been locked up for. Well, maybe he’d had a few doubts, but he really didn’t think Carter was a cold-blooded killer….

       Only, Carter had refused to talk and had begged him and Brandon to give him an alibi. A phony alibi.

       If he wasn’t guilty, why had he asked him and Brandon to lie?

       Their refusal to commit perjury, circumstantial evidence, incompetent lawyers and a lowlife judge who might have been paid off had cost his friend his freedom.

       Even worse, Carter claimed he and Brandon were getting revenge for his short fling with Johnny’s sister, Kim. Brandon had dated Kim first, much to Johnny’s consternation, then he’d broken her heart, which had caused tension between him and Brandon. On the rebound, she’d fallen into Carter’s arms, which had ended badly for everyone, causing a rift between Brandon and Carter.

       But Kim had suffered, as well, and Johnny had had to work to contain his own bitterness. His sister had been off-limits and both his friends had crossed the line.

       But that wasn’t the reason he hadn’t lied for Carter.

       Still, Carter had refused his visits and letters over the years.

       Didn’t Carter know that it hurt them to see him locked up? That they wanted justice, too?

       He had to give it one more try.

       But he fought a sense of guilt as he parked his pickup in front of the prison and reread the news article about Carter’s father’s death. How was Carter handling the news?

       Ten minutes later, he’d made it through security, his nerves spiking as memories of being arrested needled him. He’d come so close to being locked in jail himself that he still half expected one of the rangers to snap a pair of handcuffs on him and throw him in a cell.

       His stomach churned as he slid into the vinyl seat in the visiting area. It seemed like hours, but finally the metal door screeched open, and Carter shuffled through the door in handcuffs, his face pale and bruised, his lip busted, fresh scars on his arms. His eyes looked dull, his jaw set firm as he dropped into the seat on the other side of the Plexiglas. For a moment, Johnny didn’t think he was going to look at him, then Carter leveled a sharp stare at him that felt like a knife piercing his gut.

       “What do you want now?” Carter ground out.

       Johnny swallowed and tried to control his anger. If Carter had just talked to him and told him the truth years ago, maybe they could have helped him.

       Instead of rehashing that, though, he gestured to the news article. “I’m sorry about your old man.”

       Fresh pain and fury flickered across Carter’s face, then he released a sarcastic laugh. “You know I didn’t give a damn about that mean old cuss.”

       With good reason. The bastard had put plenty of bruises and scars on Carter. “He’s still your old man.”

       “He was a drunk who hated my guts.” Carter gripped his hands together and leaned closer to the microphone. “But he had a nice piece of ranch land, once.” Carter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is that why you’re here? The rich and famous Johnny Long planning to buy up my old man’s spread to add to his empire.”

       Johnny ground his teeth. “No, Carter. I came as a friend.”

       “I don’t have any friends,” Carter snapped. “I lost them years ago.”

       “That’s not fair, Carter.”

       “What’s not fair is that I’ve been stuck in this pit watching my daddy’s spread go down the toilet while you and Brandon built your fortunes.”

       Johnny understood his need to vent, but he was still Carter’s friend whether Carter liked it or not. “Is the property going into foreclosure?”

       The chair clanked as Carter stood. “So you are here to see about buying it?”

       “No,” Johnny said quickly. “But I do have money, Carter, and if you need me to do something to keep the property from going into foreclosure, I will.”

       “I don’t want your charity.”

       “Then what about a loan? We can come up with some kind of payback plan for when you’re released—”

       “For when I’m released?” Carter hissed. “Don’t you get it, Johnny? I’m never getting out.” Carter’s voice was cold, but Johnny detected fear underlying it.

       “There’s parole,” Johnny argued.

       A look of defeat settled in Carter’s eyes. “Even if I did make parole, I’ve got nothing. No way to keep the land. And no one in Texas is going to hire a convicted murderer.”

       Johnny started to say that he would, but before he could voice the thought, Carter shook his head in warning.

       “Don’t you dare,” Carter snarled. “I don’t want your pity. And I would never work for you.” He turned and strode toward the door, the chains around his ankles rattling.

       “I’ll hire another attorney,” Johnny said. “I’ll find the best, Carter—”

       Carter slowly turned around, his expression bitter. “Go to hell, Johnny.”

       Johnny silently cursed as the metal doors banged shut behind Carter. Damn. What good was having money if he couldn’t use it to help his friend?

       Johnny stood, frustrated, his stomach tied in knots. Maybe he couldn’t do anything for Carter now, but there were kids at the Bucking Bronc Lodge who deserved his help. To hell with worrying about the press putting a negative slant on him.

       Brody and the ranch needed him. He was going to start organizing that rodeo as soon as he got back.

      “WHERE’RE WE GOING, Mommy?” Kenny clutched his stuffed puppy to him, his voice edged with worry. He’d obviously sensed her distress when he’d woken up in yet another strange motel and realized they were on the run again.

       “To a big ranch, bud.” Rachel tried to inject enthusiasm into her voice. “I think you’re going to like it there.”

       And she would like the solitude, the distance from the city, and the miles between her and Rex. Provided he hadn’t already sniffed out their trail.

       Kenny craned his neck to see out the window of the Jeep she’d traded her sedan for. “Are we there?”

       “Almost.” They’d passed San Antonio an hour earlier, and he’d been asking the same question since. Relief swept over her as she turned down a long, winding road, then spotted the welcome sign. “Look, it says BBL—the Bucking Bronc Lodge.”

       “They really got horses and I can ride one?” Kenny asked.

       “Yes, they do. And there’ll be lots of space to play outdoors.”

       “Maybe we can get a puppy here!” He hugged his stuffed toy. “A real one!”

       Rachel shrugged. “Maybe.” Although, having a pet made it harder to travel or pick up and move again if they had to. And she had no doubt they would at some time.

       As they drove down the mile-long drive to the main house and headquarters of the operation, she admired the lush pastures, the stables and riding pens, the cattle grazing lazily around the pond, the horses galloping across the land, and her nerves settled somewhat. If anyone needed another chance, she and Kenny did.