McCullen's Secret Son. Rita Herron

she reached for the door handle. “Let’s get this done and pray the kidnapper calls tonight, then we can explain everything to Maddox.”

      Brett’s eyes flashed with turmoil at the mention of his brother, compounding her guilt. The men had just buried their beloved father and now she was asking this of him.

      She hated herself for that.

      But Sam’s face flashed in her mind, and she couldn’t turn back.

      * * *

      “WAIT IN THE TRUCK,” Brett told Willow.

      Brett jumped out of the pickup, walked to the truck bed and retrieved a shovel. Yanking on work gloves, he strode to a flat stretch between two boulders, a piece of land hidden from view and safe from animals scavenging for food.

      A coyote howled in the distance and more night sounds broke the quiet. His breath puffed out as he jammed the shovel in the hard dirt and began to dig. Pebbles and dry dirt crunched, and he looked up to see Willow approaching with a second shovel.

      “I told you to stay in the truck.”

      “This is my mess,” Willow said. “I...have to help.”

      Brett wanted to spare her whatever pain he could. “Let me do it for you, Willow, please.”

      Her gaze met his in the dim light of the moon, and she shook her head, then joined him and together they dug the grave.

      It took them over an hour to make a hole deep enough to cover Leo so the animals wouldn’t scavenge for him. Willow leaned back against a boulder, her breath ragged. She looked exhausted, dirty and sweaty from exertion, and shell-shocked from the events of the night.

      He returned to the truck, dragged Leo’s body inside the rug from the bed, then hauled him over his shoulder and carried him to the grave. Before he dumped him inside, he retrieved a large piece of plastic from his trunk and placed it in the hole to protect the body even more.

      Willow watched in silence as he tossed Leo into the grave, then he shoveled the loose dirt back on top of him, covering him with the mound until he was hidden from sight.

      But he had a bad feeling that even though Leo was covered, Willow would still continue seeing his face in her mind.

      He smoothed down the dirt, then stroked her arm. “It’s done. Now we wait on the ransom call.”

      She nodded, obviously too numb and wrung out to talk, and he led her back to the truck. He tossed the shovels in the truck bed, grabbed a rag and handed it to Willow to wipe her hands.

      She looked so shaken that he decided not to take her back to that house. There were a couple of small cabins on the north side of the ranch that weren’t in use because they’d reserved that quadrant to build more stables. Even though he was a bull rider, he also did trick riding, so his father had wanted Brett to handle the horse side of the business. But when Brett left town, Maddox and his father had put the idea on hold. “I’m going to take you to one of the cabins to get some rest.”

      Willow didn’t argue. Her hand trembled as she fastened her seat belt, then she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. He drove across the property to the north, where he hoped to find an empty cabin.

      Five minutes later, he found the one he was looking for just a few feet from the creek. He parked and walked around to help Willow out. The door to the place was unlocked—so like the McCullens. Trustworthy to a fault.

      The electricity was on, thank goodness, and the place was furnished, although it was nothing fancy, but the den held a comfortable-looking sofa and chair and a double bed sat in the bedroom, complete with linens. He and Willow had sneaked out to this cabin years ago to make love in the afternoon.

      Her eyes flickered with recognition for a moment before despair returned.

      “Thank you for coming tonight,” Willow said in a raw whisper.

      He gestured toward the bedroom. “Get some rest. I’ll hang around for a while.”

      She looked down at her hands, still muddy from the dirt and blood. “I have to wash up first.”

      He ducked into the bathroom and found towels and soap. The place was also fairly clean as if someone had used it recently. His father was always taking someone in to help them out so he wasn’t surprised.He still felt like he’d walk into the main house and find him sitting in his chair. But he was gone.

      Willow flipped on the shower, then reached for the button on her shirt to undress.

      It was too tempting to be this close to her and not touch her, so he stepped into the hall and shut the door to give her some privacy. Self-doubts over his actions tonight assailed him, and he went to his truck, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and brought it inside.

      As much as he wanted to comfort Willow and hold her tonight, he couldn’t touch her. She’d only called him to help her find her son.

      And he would do that.

      But tonight the stench of her husband’s dead body permeated his skin, and the lies he would have to tell his brother haunted him.

      * * *

      IMAGES OF DIGGING her husband’s grave tormented Willow as she showered. No matter how hard she scrubbed, she couldn’t erase them.

      Leo was dead. Shot. Murdered.

      And Sam was missing.

      Her little boy’s face materialized, and her chest tightened. Sam liked soccer and climbing trees and chocolate chip cookies. And he had just learned to pedal on his bike with training wheels. Only Leo had run over his bike.

      Where was Sam now? Was he cold or hungry?

      She rinsed, dried off and looked at the clock. It was after four. Was Sam asleep somewhere, or was he too terrified to sleep? His favorite stuffed dinosaur was still in his room...

      She found a robe in the closet and tugged it on, then checked her phone in case she’d missed the kidnapper. But no one had called.

      Tears burned the backs of her eyelids. Why hadn’t they phoned?

      Nerves on edge, she walked into the kitchen and spotted a bottle of whiskey on the counter. Brett had always liked brown whiskey. In fact, in high school, he’d sneaked some of his father’s to this very cabin and they’d imbibed before they’d made love.

      She couldn’t allow herself to think about falling in bed with Brett again.

      This was an expensive brand of whiskey, though, much more so than the brand Joe McCullen drank. Of course, Brett had done well on the rodeo circuit.

      Both financially and with the women.

      An empty glass sat beside the bottle, and she poured herself a finger full, then found Brett sitting in the porch swing with a tumbler of his own.

      He looked up at her when she stepped onto the porch, his handsome face strained with the night’s events.

      “I should go home,” Willow said from the doorway.

      Brett shook his head. “Not tonight. We’ll pick up some of your things tomorrow, but you aren’t staying in that house until this is over and Leo’s killer is dead or in jail.”

      “But—”

      “No buts, Willow.” He sipped his whiskey. “It’s not safe. Besides, we shouldn’t disturb anything in the house, so when we do call Maddox in, he can process the place for evidence.”

      He was right. “I realize this is putting you in a difficult position with Maddox.”

      Brett shrugged. “That’s nothing new.”

      Willow sank onto the swing beside him. She’d never had siblings although she’d always wanted a sister or a brother, especially when she was growing up. Her mother had died when she was five, and she’d been left with her father who’d turned to