good-sized building that appeared to be more living quarters perched on top of a gentle swell of land. And if she turned around, she knew she’d see the roofline of the main house. “This place is like a mini city. How many people live here?”
“Me, my daddy, my daddy’s nurse, Beatrice, my foreman, Gary and eight full-time hands, more during roundup. Daddy and Beatrice live in the house with me. The others live in the apartment building if they have families, and in the bunkhouse if they’re single or just here for roundup.”
She looked at the low stretch of apartments. All the windows of the long building were dark. Except for the bark of a dog, the place was quiet as a tomb. “Is everyone gone?”
“Don’t let the quiet fool you. After working from can’t see to can’t see, there’s not much a body wants to do most days but eat and fall into bed. Come sunrise, this place will be hopping.” He strode to the first apartment and rapped on the door. “Gary? You awake? I need a word with you.”
No answer.
Bart knocked again. Still nothing. Finally he turned away from the door and shrugged. “Old boy’s probably worn-out after doing my work today along with his own. And probably being raked over the coals by Hurley Zeller to boot. Guess we’ll have to wait for tomorrow. I’ll walk you back to your car.”
They’d just circled the barn when Lindsey spotted her car. It lurched at a strange angle. As if the tires on one side were flat. “My car.”
Bart picked up his pace, long legs striding straight for the vehicle.
Lindsey half ran alongside to keep up. As they approached, her breath caught in her throat. Red spray paint slashed across the windshield and white hood, and dripped down like blood. Stay away from the murderer or die.
Chapter Four
Deputy Hurley Zeller leaned on the hood of Gary Tuttle’s dually and picked his teeth with a dirty fingernail. “I still can’t believe you called me all the way out here to report a prank.”
Bart had been trying to reach Deputy Mitchell Steele all night. Finally, he’d given up and asked the dispatcher to send whoever was available. He wasn’t surprised when Hurley showed up. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if the little bastard had conspired to keep Bart from reaching Mitch—the only fair-minded deputy in the county.
Bart narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t liked Hurley Zeller since high school. But after taking the brunt of the deputy’s sarcasm and bad attitude since his arrest, he was damn close to hating the man. “Seems more like a threat than a prank, Hurley. The car won’t start, either. Whoever did this took the distributor cap.”
Hurley shrugged. “Committing murder will win a few enemies. For you and your lawyer.”
Exactly what Bart was afraid of. He glanced at Lindsey. Despite her brave front, he could tell by the rigidity of her spine she was upset. “I want protection for Lindsey.”
Lindsey stiffened. “I don’t need protection. You’re the one in danger.”
Hurley scoffed. “You’re both kidding, right? We ain’t got enough deputies in Mustang County to haul all the drunks off the highways on Saturday night. We don’t have the manpower for baby-sitting.”
Bart forced himself to take a calming breath. Hurley might be right. It might be nothing. Whoever vandalized Lindsey’s car had the opportunity to hurt them, after all, and hadn’t taken it. But whatever the vandal’s intentions, Bart wasn’t taking chances. “Lindsey is a lawyer with Lambert & Church. I doubt Paul Lambert and Don Church would be happy if something happened to her. And last I knew, they were big political supporters of Sheriff Ben.”
The grin fell from Hurley’s lips. If there was anything the deputy believed in, it was keeping his boss happy. “Fine. I’ll arrange for a car to drive by her place every hour or so.”
Lindsey shook her head, her eyes shooting bullets at Bart. “I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself.”
“That may be, darlin’, but I want to make sure.” Bart glanced back at Hurley and nodded. “I’ll let Paul and Don know you’re handling the situation. Also, you might want to stop at my cousin Kenny’s house and ask him where he’s been tonight. And while you’re there, keep your eye out for red paint.”
Hurley looked like he wanted to spit. He turned and walked to his car.
“And another thing,” Bart added.
Hurley stopped in his tracks. “Don’t push your luck, Rawlins. I’m warning you.”
“You wouldn’t know what happened to my shotgun and hunting rifles, would you?” While waiting for the deputy to arrive, he’d gone into the house for his shotgun. He wanted to be able to protect himself and Lindsey in case the vandal decided to turn to more serious crime. But all he’d found was an empty gun case, its door gaping.
“We confiscated them when we searched the property this morning.”
Lindsey’s glower moved off Bart and onto Hurley.
The deputy nodded in her direction. “The warrant included all weapons. I’ll get you a copy.”
“You do that.”
“When can I get them back?” Bart asked.
“After you’ve served your time in Huntsville. I guess that would be twenty-five years to life.” Grinning, Hurley climbed into his car, slammed the door and hung an arm out his open window. “If you’d like, Ms. Wellington, I’ll drive you back to town, make sure you’re safe.” He glanced at Bart with that damn grin, as if he expected points for the offer.
BY THE TIME Bart fell out of bed the next morning, it was almost five o’clock. If he wanted to talk to Gary before the foreman left for the south pasture, he’d have to hurry.
He showered, shaved, downed a cup of coffee and made it to the barn just as Gary was saddling his little bay mare. “Hey, Gary. Can I have a word?”
Face deeply creased by sun, wind and hard living, Gary Tuttle looked and moved like a man twenty years older than his forty-five. He tossed his prized saddle, which he’d won on the rodeo circuit when he was young, on the mare’s back and squinted at Bart with tired gray eyes. “You’re the boss.”
Bart frowned. Gary had been like a big brother when he was growing up on the ranch. He’d taught Bart how to rope a steer from horseback, how cattle break when they’re on the move and how to fly the ranch’s Enstrom F-28F piston helicopter. He’d put so much work into the Four Aces, Bart’s dad had given him a chunk of the place as a reward. But ever since Bart’s dad had gotten sick, Gary was like a different man. Tired. Distant. And he’d talked more than once about retiring from the ranching business.
Bart had hoped a night together shooting bull at the Hit ’Em Again would bring back some of the brotherly camaraderie they’d lost. Unfortunately he didn’t remember how his plan had turned out. “I suppose you heard about the goings-on yesterday.”
Gary settled the saddle on the mare’s back and flipped the near stirrup up. “Hurley Zeller told me you were arrested for killing Jeb. He asked me a bunch of questions.”
“What
