The Missing Mccullen

Chapter Four

“Just shut up and get in,” Sheriff McCullen ordered. “I’ll explain later.”

The two men who’d been with the sheriff walked down the steps of the courthouse, waved to the sheriff then climbed in a pick-up truck near the sheriff’s vehicle.

Cash rubbed his wrists where the handcuffs had been, but he still felt the weight of the metal against his skin.

If they didn’t find a way to prove his innocence, he’d go back to jail and stay there the rest of his life. The thought made his lungs squeeze for air.

For a man who liked the open wilderness, country air and the freedom to move around, being confined would kill him.

He tensed as the sheriff veered onto the highway. He had to be prepared in case he drove him into the boonies and tried to get rid of him.

Surely that lawyer lady wouldn’t allow him to do something like that. She might not totally believe him, but he’d sensed that she cared about kids and would push the police to hunt for Tyler.

“Where are you taking me?” Cash asked.

Sheriff McCullen glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “To get some of your stuff.”

“We’re going to the Triple X?”

“Yes. I assumed you’d need clothes.”

He did. The stench of blood and now his own body odor was getting to him.

The sheriff veered onto the road leading to the ranch where he’d been working, and Cash noticed the lawyer was following.

“Why did you bail me out?” Cash asked.

The sheriff released a heavy sigh. “We’ll discuss that at Horseshoe Creek.”

Cash had never been to Horseshoe Creek, but he’d heard about the McCullen spread. Hell, everyone within five states had heard about it. Apparently the patriarch of the family, Joe McCullen, had run a large cattle and horse operation. He’d died a year ago and left it to his three sons. Maddox was the sheriff. Brett, a big rodeo star. And the youngest, Ray, was a private investigator.

A few months ago, Cash had read an article saying that Joe hadn’t died of natural causes as they’d originally thought, but that he’d been murdered.

Joe McCullen and Elmore, Sondra’s father, had been rival ranchers, owning two of the largest spreads in this part of Wyoming. Was that why the McCullens were coming to his rescue now? To get back at an old rival?

A sign for the Triple X dangled from wooden posts. The sheriff turned down the drive. Spring had turned to early summer and everything was green. Cows grazed and horses roamed the pastureland. His boss, Wilson Donovan, owned a hundred acres, but that was small compared to the Wagon Wheel and Horseshoe Creek.

With no money for training and breeding, Donovan focused on his cattle.

Tires churned the gravel, bringing Cash closer to the main house and the man who’d taken a chance on him after Elmore had blackballed him in the ranching community.

The sheriff parked and climbed out, then opened Cash’s door. Donovan strode down the wooden steps of the rickety porch toward them as BJ pulled her car next to them and got out. Somehow the fact that she’d been following them made Cash feel a bit safer.

A frown pulled Donovan’s thick white eyebrows together as he glanced from the sheriff to Cash.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Donovan,” Cash began.

Donovan held up a hand. “I’m sorry, too, Cash, but I think you’d better get your stuff and leave.”

Cash gritted his teeth, but gave the man a clipped nod. Dammit. Donovan had taken a chance on him, and he’d failed him.

How the hell was he going to pay Sheriff McCullen back for his bail if he had no job or income?

* * *

BJ WANTED TO question Donovan without Cash present.

“I’ll accompany Cash to his quarters so he can retrieve his clothes,” Maddox offered.

Cash glared at him. “You think I’m going to run?”

Maddox crossed his arms. “Are you?”

Anger flashed across Cash’s face. “No.”

BJ traded a knowing look with Maddox. “Mr. Donovan and I will join you at his cabin.”

“Bunkhouses are about a mile from the main house,” Donovan said. “Sheriff Jasper already come out and searched Cash’s room.”

Cash heaved a weary breath. “Of course he did.”

BJ made a mental note to ask Jasper about the search.

Maddox motioned for Cash to get back in the car, and he did so. But he looked irritated and worried. Did he have something to hide?

Donovan tipped his hat. “You think Cash killed the woman?”

BJ shrugged slightly “He claims he didn’t, that he and Sondra were only friends.” She paused to see if he reacted, but he didn’t, so she continued. “The woman’s three-year-old son is missing. Cash is afraid someone kidnapped him. What do you think about Cash?”

“I know what Elmore said, but I liked Cash. He was a hard worker and seemed honest.” Donovan worked his mouth from side to side. “Elmore’s cutthroat to us smaller ranchers. He was also protective of his daughter. Hell, I figured he’d kill anyone who touched her.”

Interesting. His opinion backed up Cash’s story.

“Did Sondra visit Cash here at the ranch?”

“She dropped her kid off a few times,” Donovan said. “But I don’t know what happened between them. What the hands do on their time off is their business, long as they don’t bring trouble here.” He hesitated. “You might ask Hanks, Cash’s bunkmate.”

“I will. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to some of your other ranch hands.”

Donovan scratched his chin. “Feel free. I’d like to see Cash catch a break. But unfortunately, I can’t keep him on here. The negative publicity is bad for business, and business is bad enough as it is.”

“Thanks.” Donovan sounded like a fair man. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Cash?”

“I never seen anyone ride like him. He has a knack for herding, too.” He removed his hat and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Cash is ambitious. I think it’s always bugged him that he’s not in charge. Was saving up to buy his own land someday.”

His earlier comment replayed in her head. “You said you figured Elmore would kill any man who touched his daughter. Do you think Elmore was dangerous?”

“I can’t say.” Donovan shrugged. “Elmore was ruthless in business, and he ran some guys off. Two of my hands before Cash used to work there. Said he fired them for flirting with his daughter.”

“What about Elmore’s grandson, Tyler?”

“Cash adored that kid and took him riding. But Elmore didn’t talk about Tyler.” The rancher adjusted his hat on his head. “Thought that was odd. Most grandparents gush over their young ’uns.”

“Did you see Elmore often?”

Donovan shook his head. “Just at the Cattleman’s Club. He kept to business, though.”

“Elmore thought Cash was Tyler’s father, but he claims he’s not. Do you have any idea who the boy’s father is?”

Confusion clouded the man’s eyes. “No. Like I said, Elmore stuck to work.”

Did Elmore have any real friends?

And how about enemies?

If Elmore gave his rivals a difficult time, one of them could have cozied up to Sondra to get back at Elmore. If so, and Sondra found out she’d been used, she wouldn’t have wanted her father to know.

That would explain the reason she’d lied about Tyler’s father being Cash.

* * *

CASH CLIMBED FROM the police car at the bunkhouse, his instincts alert. He should be grateful this sheriff had stopped to let him pack his things.

He wished he could get his truck. But Jasper had had it impounded and searched for forensic evidence.

Maddox grunted as he walked toward the bunkhouse. Dammit, he still had no idea what the man’s agenda was. Strangers in these parts didn’t just up and pay fifty thousand dollars to help murder suspects, much less take one into their home. Did Maddox McCullen want to help him or find the evidence to lock him away for life?

Each bunkhouse held two rooms, with a common bathroom. His bunkmate, Will Hanks, was out working the herd, so the place was empty.

The sheriff entered first. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he glanced at Cash. “Looks like Sheriff Jasper did more than search the room.”

Rage mushroomed inside Cash. The room looked as if it had been tossed. The dresser drawers holding his clothes were open, his clothing spilling out. The few books he had were dumped on the floor, some of the pages bent and torn as if someone had searched between them. His ranching magazines were scattered everywhere, as well.

The sheriff strode through the room, skimming the surfaces. Cash had no idea what he expected to find. He had no personal photographs. No mementos of his past.

Nothing in his past was worth holding on to.

If there had been anything of interest, Jasper had already removed it.

The closet was just as big a mess. The shoebox on the top shelf that held his personal papers had been pilfered through. His checkbook and the envelope with cash in it were there, but his business plan was gone.

Why would the sheriff take that? It had nothing to do with Sondra.

Thankfully, his guitar was standing against the wall in the closet. His heart hammered, though, as he knelt to check beneath his bed for his guns. Both missing.

“What is it?” the sheriff asked.

Cash swallowed hard. “My guns are missing.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “What kind and how many?”

“A rifle and a pistol.”

“I’ll ask Sheriff Jasper if he confiscated them. Have they been used lately?”

Cash rubbed his forehead, grateful he had backups. “I fired the rifle a few days ago at a snake when we were herding.”

A quick nod of his head was the man’s only reaction. “Pack some clothes while I make the call.”

Phone in hand, the sheriff stepped outside.

Cash yanked his duffel bag from the closet, then retrieved the extra pistol he kept in the storage compartment beneath the floor. Thankfully Jasper hadn’t noticed the rug covering the spot. Granted he’d get in trouble for having it since he was out on bail, but he might need it for protection.

He couldn’t rely on anyone else.

He piled his clothes on top. Jeans, work shirts, a couple dressy Western shirts, an extra pair of work boots. Even though it was summer and he didn’t need it, he grabbed his long duster. Basically, it was everything he owned.

Because he wouldn’t be coming back.

His toiletries went into a toiletry bag and he was ready to go.

He took one last look at the bunkhouse room and wondered what the sheriff had thought he would find under the mattress.

Jasper had probably been disappointed that Cash didn’t have incriminating pictures of himself and Sondra or a damn journal describing how he planned to kill her. Instead, he’d found Cash’s business plan, not a blueprint for murder or kidnapping.

Still, he had that damn video of Cash entering the motel where Sondra had died. And his knife with his bloody fingerprints on it.

Frustration blended with fear.

That might be enough to put him away for life.

* * *

BJ STUDIED DONOVAN. “We think the little boy’s birth father might have something to do with his mother’s murder. Finding him could be key to proving Cash’s innocence.”

Donovan leaned heavily on his left leg as if his other was hurting. “I told you, I got no idea.”

“Did something happen between you and Elmore?” BJ asked. “Did he try to sabotage your business?”

Donovan shook his head. “I’m small potatoes. He offered to buy me out once, but I turned him down.” He gazed across the ranch. “I love this place. It’s home.”

“Did he pressure you?”

“No. No need to. I certainly wasn’t any competition for him.” He gestured toward his truck. “The hands should be at the dining hall for lunch. I’ll drive you over so you can talk to ’em.”

BJ studied his face. He seemed genuine, as if he held no grudge against Elmore.

BJ climbed in the passenger side. The truck was old but clean, the motor humming as he drove the half mile to the dining hall. The rustic building boasted a big cowbell in front. The ranch hands were lining up on the porch and trickling inside.

The scent of barbecue drifted to her as soon as she climbed from the truck.

As they entered, she counted ten men in line, and a cook and two helpers were setting out trays of buns, barbecue, coleslaw and baked beans. Another station held water, milk, coffee, tea and lemonade.

“There’s Will Hanks,” Donovan said. “He shares the bunkhouse with Cash.”

BJ scrutinized the tall, lean cowboy. Probably in his twenties. Good-looking with an air of confidence. A flirtatious gleam lit his eyes as his gaze met hers.

“This is BJ Alexander. She’s Cash’s attorney,” Donovan said.

Hanks’s smile wilted slightly. “They think he killed Sondra Elmore, right?”

“Those are the charges,” BJ said. “Why? Do you have information regarding the case?”

He shifted from foot to foot, then looked away. “I don’t think Cash is a killer. But he liked that woman and her kid.”

“Was Cash violent?” BJ asked.

He grabbed a tray. “I don’t know. He had a rough childhood,” Hanks said. “One of his foster fathers beat him a lot. That’d make a man angry.”

BJ’s heart squeezed. She’d heard horror stories of foster care. “Did he talk about Elmore?”

The man added extra barbecue sauce to his bun. “He said Elmore reminded him of that foster father.”

Hmm, that comment could work against Cash in court.

“Do you know who fathered Sondra Elmore’s child?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

They talked for another minute as he filled his tray, but he had nothing bad to say about Cash. Just as she was about to join Donovan again, another cowboy approached her.

This man was shorter and introduced himself as Hyatt Spillman. “You asking about Cash Koker?”

She nodded. “What can you tell me?” she said as they stepped onto the porch.

He shuffled a toothpick in the corner of his mouth. “I heard a phone conversation between Koker and that woman Sondra the morning of the day she died. They were arguing.”

BJ’s pulse jumped. “What did they argue about?”

He made a clicking sound with his teeth. “I couldn’t hear what she said, but he told her he loved her and promised to take care of her and her kid.”

BJ crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Go on.”

“She must have turned him down, ’cause he got mad. Told her he’d never let her go.”

Anger seeped through BJ.

Cash had lied about being in love with Sondra. And they’d argued the day she died.

What if he’d flown into a rage because she wanted him out of her and Tyler’s life, and he killed her in a fit of passion?

Spillman’s story brought up all sorts of doubts. She couldn’t automatically rely on the man, because it was clear someone could be trying to frame Cash.

But if not...

She was going to have to be extra thorough on this one to get to the truth. And not let Cash’s attachment to Tyler cause her to free another guilty murderer.

Chapter Five

BJ texted Maddox and asked him to meet her at the dining hall.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Spillman.” She handed him a business card. “If you think of anything that can shed light on Sondra Elmore’s death, please call me.”

He tapped the card against his hand. “You be careful, Miss Alexander. I’d hate to see the same thing that happened to Sondra happen to you.”

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Was that a threat? Or a warning about Cash?

Maddox pulled up with a grim-looking Cash in the back.

“Did you find anything?” she asked when he rolled down his window.

“Jasper already thoroughly searched the place. If there was anything there, he confiscated it.”

“If he says he found something, he planted it,” Cash said in a voice laced with anger. “I told you I didn’t kill Sondra.”

“I’ll call Jasper.” BJ entered the sheriff’s number into her phone, her own temper close to the surface. “This is BJ Alexander. I need to know everything you found when you searched Cash Koker’s bunkhouse.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Sheriff Jasper barked.

“Yes, you do. Before the trial, you’re required to disclose all evidence to the defense attorney. That’s me. So why don’t you make both our lives easier and do it now?”

Jasper cursed. “All right, lady. We found pictures of Mr. Koker and Sondra. Looks like they were all lovey-dovey.”

She twisted to look at Cash, her pulse clamoring. “Explain.”

“They were wrapped up in each other’s arms.”

Cash had denied being romantically involved with Sondra. “Text me a copy. I need to see them myself. What else?”

“Ask him about my business plan,” Cash said from the backseat. “And my guns.”

BJ gripped the phone tighter. “Did you find a business plan?”

“Sure did,” Jasper said. “Koker needed finances to make that happen. My guess is he hated Elmore for firing him and decided to use that kid for blackmail money to buy his own spread.”

BJ bit her bottom lip. She and Cash had discussed a blackmail accusation back at the jail, but he hadn’t disclosed his plans to start his own business. Unfortunately, jurors might see that as a motive.

“What about Koker’s guns?”

“Took them for analysis,” Jasper said. “Besides, a dangerous man like him doesn’t need firearms in his possession.”

BJ gritted her teeth. “What about other suspects?”

“Listen, Ms. Alexander, we have motive and physical evidence. We got the right man.”

“We’ll see.” BJ ended the call, irritated.

Jasper did have a case. No doubt he’d twist the fact that Cash claimed he had amnesia to suggest he was lying. The ranch hand’s testimony about that phone call between Cash and Sondra would also be incriminating.

Damn. With motive and physical evidence, Jasper might get a conviction.

* * *

CASH WAS SHOCKED that Sheriff McCullen went by the impound lot and allowed him to retrieve his pickup truck.

“Just follow me to the ranch,” Sheriff McCullen said. “You can stay at Horseshoe Creek until the case is over. Miss Alexander is already staying in a cabin on the ranch.”

Suspicion once again flared inside Cash. Nobody helped a stranger for nothing. He’d just have to bide his time until he figured out what the sheriff wanted.

Questions nagged at him as he followed the police SUV. Farm and ranch lands spread for miles and miles, the open space beckoning.

He could not give up his freedom. He’d rather die than be locked away for the rest of his life.

All the more reason he find out who’d framed him and killed Sondra. Poor little Tyler—he must be scared out of his mind.

Sweat beaded on Cash’s neck. The cards were stacked against him, though. How hard would BJ Alexander fight to get him acquitted?

And what the hell did any of this have to do with the McCullens?

A sign for Horseshoe Creek Ranch mocked him as the sheriff veered down a long drive. The lawyer lady followed in her fancy car.

Cattle grazed in a pasture to the north and barns and horses were scattered throughout the beautiful farmland. An article a few months ago had featured Brett McCullen, former rodeo star, and his awards. He’d also expanded the ranch to include horse training and breeding. His popularity and skills definitely drew customers, and his contacts across the states aided in him securing the best horses.

Elmore had an impressive spread, but he’d talked about Joe McCullen with both admiration and resentment. McCullen had built a legacy for his sons—a fact Elmore envied. Sondra hadn’t cared about the ranch business, and Elmore had never had a son.

The sheriff drove toward the main ranch house, an impressive farmhouse with wraparound porches that sat on a hill overlooking the massive acreage. He bypassed the house, though, and veered onto a lane that weaved through the property. A half mile from the house, several smaller cabins had been built for employees or guests. Sheriff McCullen pulled in front of one and parked. Cash swung his truck in beside him, then the lawyer parked on the other side.