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
