praying she could outrun him this time.
If he caught her again, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d kill her.
JOHNNY LONG HAD TO MAKE one more attempt to help his old friend Carter Flagstone clear his name.
He just hoped to hell Carter didn’t refuse to see him as he had the last time he’d tried to visit the jail.
The sprawling ranch faded in his vision as he headed toward the state prison, and his thoughts turned back to the meeting with Brody Bloodworth, the founder of the Bucking Bronc Lodge. The ranch was designed to give troubled boys a second chance through working with animals, ranch hands and cowboys, and reminded him of how he, Carter and Brandon Woodstock had all grown up.
He admired Brody and his plans and appreciated the fact he’d given his sister, Kim, a job, yet Johnny had sworn never to put himself in the limelight again. And spearheading the rodeo Brody wanted to raise money for the summer camps would do exactly that. Worse, using his name could backfire in all their faces.
Still, the idea of a rodeo for a bunch of needy, troubled kids, kids like he had once been, sent an adrenaline rush through him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. If it hadn’t been for the rodeo, he might never have pulled himself out of the gutter. But fame and fortune came at a price.
And the events of that last year, the way the media had turned on him, had almost destroyed him. Still, as a kid, channeling his anger and energy into penning, roping cows and riding had saved his life.
That and his friendship with Brandon and Carter. They had been like the Three Musketeers, growing up.
All from poor, dysfunctional homes. All roughhousing boys who liked to ride and cause trouble and skirt with the law. All had sorry daddies who’d beaten them. Mothers who’d done just as much damage by walking away, finding home in a bottle or just plain ignoring the abuse.
So they’d found each other, had watched each other’s backs for years, even taken beatings for one another.
Until five years ago when 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.
