Rustled Page 13

  “Why? Why did you have to kill him?”

  He shook his head. “If you don’t leave right now—”

  “What are you going to do? Call the sheriff? Maybe you should. Maybe he would like to look at the ranch books. My father must have realized that you were up to something. Is that why you had to get rid of him?”

  Lyndel smiled again, the old meanness coming back into his eyes as he advanced on her. “If the sheriff was to take a look at the ranch books he would find that your father had been stealing from the ranch for years.”

  “That’s a bald-faced lie!”

  He laughed. “Hard to prove otherwise, now, isn’t it?”

  “That’s why you had him killed. He knew what you’d been doing. I remember him saying that your father wasn’t fool enough to leave you the ranch without some kind of protection against you either running it into the ground or selling your legacy. The only way you could have the ranch to do as you pleased was to kill my father.”

  Lyndel swore under his breath. “If you want to blame someone, blame my old man. He gave me no choice.”

  “You would have gotten the ranch free and clear once you were forty.”

  “Forty?” He snorted. “It was my legacy, not your father’s. I had every right to do whatever I wanted with this place. I was sick to death of hearing how I couldn’t spend my own money. I should have killed him the moment I inherited the place, then I wouldn’t have had to listen to his lectures.”

  Jinx let out a gasp. She’d known, and yet hearing Lyndel say it was like a stab through the heart.

  “And you should have left things alone,” he snapped.

  As he took another step toward her, she pulled the gun.

  He froze. His gaze went from the gun to her face. His smile returned. “You can’t pull the trigger.”

  She ran her finger lightly over the trigger. “Try me.”

  He’d killed her father in cold blood and for what? Money, power, freedom from anyone telling him what to do? She had told herself that when she found the man behind the rustling ring, she would kill him. One shot through the heart—just like her father’s death had felt to her.

  But she could still hear the boom of the gunshot that had killed Rafe. She could still remember the feel of his warm blood on her hands and the way he had looked at her before he died.

  She swung the gun to the right and touched off a shot. A large pottery vase exploded, sending shards spraying across the living room as the sound of the shot echoed through the house. She quickly swung the gun back to point at Lyndel’s heart.

  “Are you crazy?” he demanded. “I should have told them to wait to kill your father when you were home visiting him so you would be gone, too. My mistake.”

  Her finger skimmed over the trigger of the gun. Just a little pressure and—

  Strong arms looped around her. The gun was wrenched painfully from her hand. She struggled, but it was useless in this bear of a man’s arms.

  “What kept you, Slim?” Lyndel demanded. “I buzzed the barn ten minutes ago.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Dawson drove south down into the Missouri Breaks, across the dark green river, headed for Wyoming. The drive was long, especially with him worrying about Jinx the whole time. He’d tried calling the Double TT but the line had been disconnected and Lyndel Thompson had an unlisted number.

  Why would the ranch line be disconnected? He tried not to panic, but in his gut he knew something was terribly wrong.

  He’d had a lot of time to think about what had happened up in the mountains, a lot of time to think about Jinx.

  Brittany Bo Clarke. He smiled, thinking how the tomboy he’d bet she’d been would have wanted to be rid of a name like that. No frilly dresses and pretty pink bows, not for that little girl.

  He recalled that she’d told him her mother had died when she was young and the aunt who had helped raise her had instilled the need for Jinx to be her own woman. The lessons she’d learned on the ranch with her father and her aunt had certainly done that.

  Ahead he could see the outline of a huge house on the horizon. He slowed. There was a new Cadillac parked out front and an older model pickup. Both had Wyoming plates.

  He wondered if the pickup belonged to Jinx. He hadn’t asked her how she’d gotten to Montana and he wondered now how she’d made it back to Wyoming unless she’d had a vehicle.

  As he parked and climbed out of the ranch truck he’d gotten Marshall to bring him at the hospital, he knew it wasn’t like Jinx to leave her horse back in Montana. Whatever had sent her hightailing it down here must have been damned important. No way had she run to avoid the law. No, she had something else on her mind and he knew what it was.

  The door was gigantic. He rang the bell and waited, feeling his anxiety growing with each passing moment. The ranch was for sale, so why had the main phone line been disconnected? Or was that the reason? Maybe it had already sold.

  Dawson thought about Jinx’s father. He’d been ranch manager. Had he known that Lyndel was selling the ranch? Or did Lyndel make that decision after his ranch manager was killed by the rustlers?

  A large burly man opened the door. From the looks of him, he was one of the hired hands. Or Lyndel’s muscle.

  “I’m looking for Jinx.”

  “You have the wrong house,” the man said in a gravelly voice. He started to close the door.

  Dawson stuck his boot in it. “Then I’d like to see Lyndel Thompson.”

  The ranch hand scowled, a warning look in his gaze. Muscle, Dawson thought, but he was ready to go through this man if that was what it was going to take—even injured.

  “Mr. Thompson isn’t—”

  “I know he’s home, unless that’s your Caddy out front, which I’m betting not,” Dawson interrupted. “Tell him Dawson Chisholm is here to see him and I’m not leaving until I do.”

  The ranch hand started to make a threatening move when Lyndel Thompson stepped into view and said, “That’s all right, Slim, I’ll take care of this.”

  Dawson had met Hank Thompson on several occasions over the years when he’d attended cattleman meetings for the regional northwest. Lyndel was tall like his father, but that was about the only trait he seemed to have gotten from him. There was a softness to the younger Thompson, a weakness about the mouth and chin and definitely a lack of kindness in the eyes.

  While Hank Thompson had been a working rancher, his son was a drugstore cowboy who Dawson would bet had never had manure on his boots. He was decked out in a fancy Western shirt, expensive jeans and boots and a brand-new Stetson as if he’d just come into some money.

  “Mr. Chisholm,” Lyndel said, sounding amused to find him standing at his door. Dawson was a little surprised that Lyndel knew who he was and it made him all the more convinced that Jinx was here and Lyndel had been expecting him. “What brings you all the way down from Montana? I heard there was trouble at your ranch. Seems you were in the middle of it,” Lyndel said, motioning to the bandage on Dawson’s forehead.

  “I want to see Jinx.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think she’s here?” Slim was standing just a few feet away, his big arms crossed over his expansive chest, waiting as if expecting trouble.

  Dawson thought about the Chisholm ranch. His father, while wealthy by most people’s standards, had never had the need for a bodyguard. Why did Lyndel?

  “I know Jinx came to see you,” Dawson said as he pushed past the man into the opulent living room.

  “Do you want me to throw him out?” Slim asked, hustling after him.

  The main house at the Chisholm ranch was elegant but nothing like this. Lyndel had gone all out. Dawson said as much.

  “Thank you,” Lyndel said, not realizing it hadn’t necessarily been a compliment. He motioned to Slim to back off. Slim pulled up his jeans and puffed out his chest to look as menacing as possible but stayed where he was. Until that moment, Dawson hadn’t noticed the pistol the man had strapped to his leg.


  “Don’t you mean Brittany Bo Clarke?” Lyndel smiled. “I’m sorry, you just missed her.”

  Dawson returned his smile. “Mind telling me what she wanted with you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. It’s personal. You may not be aware of this, but Brittany Bo and I go way back from the time we were kids here on the ranch.”

  “Then you probably know how she got the nick name.”

  Lyndel chuckled. “My father gave it to her. It was actually High Jinks because of all the trouble she got into around the ranch. She really was quite the rascal, that girl.” He smiled as if remembering her fondly.

  “You also must know then how badly she wants the person behind the rustling ring who is responsible for her father’s death.”

  “Yes, a horrible accident,” Lyndel said.

  “She seems to think it wasn’t an accident. That someone wanted him dead and gave the rustlers the order to kill him.”

  Lyndel shook his head. “That sounds like our Jinx. She was always imaginative. Why would anyone want to kill my ranch manager?”

  “I was hoping you might have some idea,” Dawson said as he took a look around the living room. It opened into the kitchen. “I’m sure that’s why Jinx came to see you.” A wide, long hallway apparently led to the bedrooms, since the house was all on one sprawling level.

  “She came to see me partly because of the good news, if you must know,” Lyndel said. “The local sheriff called me earlier to tell me that the leader of the rustling ring was found dead up in Montana on your ranch. He was found shot to death after a botched attempt to rustle your cattle. I doubt I’m telling you anything you don’t already know. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch his name.”

  Had Jinx told him about riding with the rustlers and running into one of the Chisholms up in the high country? Or did Lyndel have other sources?

  “You’re mistaken. Rafe Tillman wasn’t the leader. He had nothing to gain by killing Jinx’s father,” Dawson said as he stepped toward Lyndel. Slim moved in their direction, but Lyndel waved him off.

  “Too bad we can’t ask Rafe, isn’t it?” Lyndel said as he stepped away, moving to the bar to pour himself a drink. “I’d offer you a drink, but I have an important appointment I need to get to. You can probably catch Jinx if you hurry. I would imagine she’s headed into town to one of the motels. Either that or headed out of town. I understand the local sheriff is anxious to talk to her.”

  “As close as you say the two of you are, I’m surprised you didn’t ask her to stay here,” Dawson said. “The place looks like it might be large enough for a guest or two.”

  Lyndel downed his drink and put down his glass a little too hard on the bar. “Now, it wouldn’t be smart of me to harbor a fugitive, even one I consider a friend.”

  “You’re so law-abiding,” Dawson said sarcastically.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Lyndel said, no longer pretending to be cordial.

  Dawson saw that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Lyndel, and Slim was just itching to prove how tough he was. He moved toward the open front door, Slim shadowing him. “I see that your ranch is for sale.”

  “Not that it is any of your business, but it has already sold. I need a change of pace. I’ve picked up a little place in the Caribbean. Who needs the winters up here?”

  Lyndel had managed to get rid of his ranch manager and his cattle to rustlers for both a profit and probably a good insurance settlement. Now he’d sold his ranch and was skipping the country. Things seem to be working out perfectly, he thought, and said as much.

  “Good luck finding Jinx,” Lyndel snapped from behind him.

  Slim slammed the door behind him and, for a moment, Dawson stood on the front step trying to still his pounding heart.

  He had spotted Jinx’s battered straw hat hanging on a hook in the hallway off the living room. He’d recognized the distinctive horsehair hatband. Next to the hat had been a jean jacket that he would swear was Jinx’s.

  He’d also seen scuff marks on the polished floor where there had been a recent scuffle. Of course Jinx would have put up a fight.

  But where was she now?

  Somewhere in the house, Dawson was betting as he walked to his pickup, climbed in and drove just far enough away that Lyndel wouldn’t send Slim after him.

  He found a place in a creek bottom to hide the truck, then, taking his shotgun, he headed to the house on foot. He just hoped Jinx didn’t do anything crazier than she already had before he could get to her.

  JINX SQUIRMED. She hated cramped, confined places. That was one reason she liked the wide open spaces of Wyoming. She thought of Chisholm’s Montana. The rolling prairie, the Little Rockies. She thought of the man she’d fallen in love with.

  He would think she’d abandoned him, taken off to save her own neck. He would think she’d been impulsive, going off half-cocked without a plan.

  She squirmed again, trying to get her hands untied. Slim had done a bang-up job binding them behind her. Her wrists ached and she couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers. He’d slapped a piece of duct tape over her mouth and shoved her into some broom closet at the back of the house.

  Did he really think she was going to start screaming? She knew how far the house was from anything. Who would hear her?

  Unless someone had come to the house that he worried might hear her?

  That was a comforting thought, but this far at the back of the house she really doubted anyone could hear her.

  Only a little light bled through around the door. She’d tried throwing herself against it, but the lock had held. All she’d managed to do was hurt her shoulder. As she felt around to see if there was anything she could use to get out, she thought again of Dawson and wished she hadn’t. It made her heart ache and took her mind off the problem at hand—getting out of here before Lyndel and his thug returned.

  Jinx knew that Lyndel would feel he had to get rid of her. As far as he knew, she didn’t have any proof he was behind the rustling ring. True, he’d admitted that he’d killed her father. But even though he could argue that it would be her word against his, she doubted he wanted to take the chance. He appeared set on selling out and getting out of Dodge.

  Dawson had been right. There was a reason the rustlers had changed their pattern on the Double TT.

  But his being right gave her little satisfaction. Lyndel was going to get away with murder and a lot more if she didn’t get out of there.

  She found some kind of cleaner on a shelf at the back, sprayed it on the rope she was bound with and tried sliding her hands out, without any luck. Feeling the clock ticking, she discovered a broom in the back corner of the closet. Using it like a lever, she pried it between the doorjamb and the knob. It took all her weight.

  Just when she thought the broom handle was going to break and the splinter would probably fly off and kill her, the knob snapped off and she tumbled to the floor.

  For a moment she just lay there. She’d smacked her head when she fell and hit her elbow and she’d made one devil of a racket doing it. She listened, didn’t hear anything and got to her feet.

  A shaft of light spilled out of the hole where the doorknob had been. Turning her back to the door, she reached her fingers inside it and jiggled the piece of metal, at the same time pushing on the door. It swung open and she stumbled out into the hallway, wondering what she was going to do now, since her wrists were still bound.

  DAWSON SLIPPED ALONG the back edge of the house, keeping to the dark shadows. He’d checked the barn first and had been surprised to find a black pickup parked inside it. He’d thought the old pickup out front was Jinx’s, but it must belong to one of the ranch hands. A quick check in the glove box verified it. It was Jinx’s. The registration read Brittany Bo Clarke.

  The keys were in the ignition and her purse was on the seat. He checked the bag, not surprised to find the gun missing that Jinx had had on her when they’d come out of the mountains.

  He’d done a quick
search of the barn, but no Jinx. He’d hoped that meant she was still somewhere in the house. He hadn’t heard a sound coming from the house, but he’d managed to distract Slim for a while by opening a couple of the corral gates and shooing the horses toward the front of the house.

  A few minutes ago he’d heard the big ranch hand swearing, then Slim and Lyndel arguing. As he neared the windows, he was glad to see one partially open. Hoping there wasn’t a security alarm on the window, Dawson popped off the screen and shoved the window up enough to step inside. He didn’t hear a sound, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t a silent alarm.

  Moving quickly through what appeared to be a guest bedroom, he opened the door to the hall and peered out. No sign of anyone. He knew Jinx was here somewhere, but he had no idea how to find her.

  As he hurried as quietly as possible down the carpeted hall, he checked each room as he went. He had to assume that Slim or Lyndel had taken the gun from Jinx. He couldn’t wait to see her and ask her what the hell she’d been thinking coming here alone—and, worse, armed.

  He opened the last door at the end of the hallway, afraid now that he’d been wrong about Jinx being in the house. The room beyond the doorway was huge. So was the massive bed against one wall. He realized he’d found the master suite, Lyndel’s lair.

  Dawson was about to ease the door closed again when he heard a sound coming from what he guessed was the master bath. He listened for a moment. Was it possible Lyndel had hurried down here after his argument with Slim about the horses?

  Doubtful. But possible.

  He shifted the shotgun to his other hand and eased inside the room, closing the door behind him. The sound in the bathroom stopped. He didn’t move a hair as he waited. The sound resumed and he tried for the life of him to figure out what it was. Cautiously he stepped toward the open doorway to the bathroom.

  With shotgun ready, he peered in.