Roping Ray Mccullen

Chapter Six

Scarlet jerked awake to the sound of the wind whistling through the small house. Startled, she sat up and scanned her bedroom.

Outside a tree branch banged at the window, and she shivered, still shaken by Bobby’s visit. Cool air brushed her skin, causing goose bumps to skate up her arms.

Wondering why the room felt so drafty, she tiptoed to the hall, but she froze at the sight of the open doorway leading to the back deck.

She had locked that door before she’d gone to bed.

Scarlet eased back into the bedroom and retrieved her gun from her nightstand. She checked the safety, then gripped it with clammy palms as she inched to the doorway.

She paused, cocked her head to the side and listened for sounds of an intruder. The wind ruffled the papers from the file on her desk in the corner, scattering them across the floor.

She scanned the small kitchen, but everything looked in place. Everything except the open doorway.

Her house only had the one bedroom and bath, and that bath opened both to the hallway and her bedroom. No one was inside.

The only hiding place would be the coat closet. Nerves on edge, she braced herself with the gun and inched to the closet. Her hand shook as she closed her fingers around the doorknob and twisted it. Holding her breath, she pulled it open, the gun aimed.

Relief flooded her. It was empty.

A noise sounded behind her and she spun around, gun still braced, but the sound was coming from outside.

She hurried to the door and searched the woods behind the house. Dogs barked, and a figure darted through the trees, but it was so dark it was impossible to see who it was.

Had that person been inside?

Shaken, she slammed the door, then knelt to examine the lock, but the lock was intact, not broken.

She locked it again and made a mental note to buy dead bolts, even a second lock for the top of the door.

Still, tension rippled through her. Why had someone broken into her house?

Her confrontation with Bobby taunted her, and she gritted her teeth. Tormenting her with scare tactics fit his sick, twisted style.

How many times when she was a teenager had he hidden in the closet or under the bed to frighten her? Once he’d even snuck into the back of the car and hidden. When she’d gotten in to drive to the store, he’d jumped up and acted as if he was going to choke her.

Shivering at the memory, she clenched the gun to her side, went to the kitchen and made a cup of hot tea. She couldn’t go back to sleep now, not with her heart still racing.

But as she passed through the room, she stooped to pick up the papers scattered on the floor.

It was a work file, one that had landed on her desk just last week. She’d been called to a domestic violence scene and had been forced to pull the two-year-old little girl, Sandy, from her home. The mother was deceased, and the father, Lloyd Pullman, had been entertaining a girlfriend. Both had been drunk and an argument had escalated into a physical altercation.

The neighbors had called to report the screams coming from next door. When she’d arrived after the police, the baby was soiled and crying, the woman bruised with a black eye. The father was in a drunken rage and in cuffs.

When she’d taken custody of the baby, he’d threatened to kill her.

She stacked the papers back in the folder with a frown. Was he out of jail now? If so, had he broken in to frighten her into giving him back his child?

* * *

THE NIGHT DRAGGED on as the firefighters finished work and watched to make sure the wind didn’t reignite the fire. They had started searching the debris for evidence of foul play and had found a gasoline can a few feet from the barn, tossed into a ravine.

“He probably wore gloves, but we’ll still check for prints,” Lieutenant Hawk said. “Hopefully we can pull some DNA from that cigarette butt.”

Ray made a mental note to find out if Bobby Lowman smoked.

“Can you think of anyone who’d want to do this?” Deputy Whitefeather asked Ray and Brett.

Brett raked a hand through his hair. “Not really. Although we might have ticked off the competition. Jebediah Holcutt started up an equine business last year. Breeds quarter horses and trains them.” Brett blew out an exasperated breath. “But this is big ranch country. It can easily support two ranches offering lessons and training.”

Ray considered the possibility. “True, but you’re a celebrity, Brett. Given the choice between lessons from you or Jebediah, who are people going to choose?”

Brett shrugged. His brother might be a celebrity, but he was humble. He’d even talked about setting up a camp for kids with problems, a therapeutic horse camp. His wife, Willow, had actually suggested the idea because her son, Brett’s little boy, had suffered trauma from being kidnapped and had blossomed under Brett’s care and tutelage in the saddle.

“I can check him out for you,” Deputy Whitefeather offered.

Ray and Brett exchanged a questioning look, but Brett gave a clipped nod. “Okay. Maybe we can figure this out before Maddox gets back.”

“Anyone else I should look into?” the deputy asked.

“Not that I know of,” Brett said. “But I haven’t been in town that long. If Holcutt didn’t do this, we’ll talk to Maddox when he returns. He would know best if Dad had any enemies.”

Ray remained silent, still contemplating Scarlet Lovett’s story about their half brother. He would check out Bobby Lowman.

“What about ranch hands?” Deputy Whitefeather asked. “Anyone have a beef with your father?”

“I doubt it,” Brett said. “Dad was always good to his employees.”

The deputy glanced at Ray, but Ray shrugged. “Like Brett said, we haven’t been back in town long.”

“What about that ex-con your father just hired?” the deputy asked. “The one that was in jail for the cattle-rustling operation?”

“Gus wouldn’t do this,” Brett said emphatically. “If anything, he owes the McCullens for clearing his name and getting him released so he could be with his family.”

“All right,” Deputy Whitefeather said. “Let me know when you talk to Maddox or if you think of anyone.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Ray’s forehead and he removed his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe it away. But his fingers connected with the card Arlis Bennett had given him.

“Come to think of it, I ran into a man named Arlis Bennett earlier. He took over Boyle Gates’s ranch and said if we were interested in selling to let him know.”

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