Birdie exchanged a look with the woman. “Let’s call the sheriff?”
Charlotte seemed to think about that. “Or I could pull this trigger and save the sheriff the ride out here.”
“And join your son in prison,” Boyle groused from where he was sprawled on the floor.
“I’ll call for help.” Birdie pulled out her phone and dialed 911.
“You don’t want to do this, Charlotte,” Boyle said. “Who knows what might come out of my mouth once I start talking to the sheriff?”
Charlotte ignored him, seeming unconcerned. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said after Birdie made the call and pocketed her phone again. “I’m assuming you know who I am. Charlotte. Charlotte Stafford.” The shotgun was still pressed to the back of Boyle’s head. She looked like a woman who knew how to use the firearm, and Birdie figured Boyle knew it, too.
“Birdie. Birdie Malone.”
The older woman nodded. “Dixon’s daughter. I believe I did hear that you’ve been seeing my son Brand, and that the two of you saved Holly Jo.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied her. “It looks like I owe you.”
Birdie said nothing, but she knew exactly what she’d ask for if given a choice. Someone owed her the truth about her father’s death. But was it Charlotte Stafford?
From the way the woman was looking at her, she suspected that Charlotte had already guessed what Birdie wanted from her—and that Birdie wouldn’t stop searching for the truth until she found it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
BRAND COULDN’T HAVE been more surprised to hear the wail of the siren and see the sheriff’s patrol SUV go flying past the house, headed in the direction of the ranch manager’s cabin. He and Ryder and some of the ranch hands followed, all concerned.
The moment he reached the cabin, he saw his mother holding a shotgun barrel against the back of Boyle’s head. He sent the ranch hands away. Ryder went with them as if whatever was going on, he wanted no part of it. Brand remembered when he would have felt the same way, especially since the sheriff had gotten out of his rig and was headed this way.
But seeing Birdie standing in Boyle’s cabin with his mother and Boyle on the floor, he couldn’t have walked away even if he’d wanted to. “I hate to ask,” he said, pretty sure that Birdie was neck-deep in it.
“Then don’t,” his mother snapped. “We have this under control.” She softened her words and her expression as she looked at him, then shifted her gaze to Birdie. “Fortunately this young woman came along when she did.”
“Really?” he said, looking to Birdie for an explanation and getting nothing as the sheriff pushed past him into the room.
“Someone tell me what’s going on here,” Stuart demanded as he stepped in and gently removed the shotgun from Brand’s mother’s hands. Boyle started to speak at the same time as he began to rise from the floor. “You just stay down there, Boyle,” the sheriff ordered.
“When I told Boyle that he was fired, he threatened me and then attacked me,” Charlotte said, rubbing her bruised wrists. Brand saw dried blood on her lip and couldn’t help but wonder what Boyle had been thinking. “If Miss Malone hadn’t come to my rescue when she did,” his mother continued, “he would have continued his assault and tried to rape me.”
“Don’t kid yourself. You wouldn’t have put up much of a fight,” Boyle said with a laugh.
“Shut up, Boyle, before you incriminate yourself further,” the sheriff said and turned to Birdie. “Is what Mrs. Stafford said true?”
She nodded. “He was about to punch her when I grabbed him and threw him down. Mrs. Stafford picked up the shotgun before he could get up. He threatened her, was rough with her before that. His intentions were pretty clear.”
“Sounds like it was a good thing you came along when you did,” Stuart said to her. “You seem to be making a habit of showing up where you’re needed. Why are you here this time?”
“I wanted to talk to Mr. Wilson about my father. I understand he might have seen him murdered at the McKenna Ranch.”
Boyle snorted. “Maybe Mrs. Stafford would like to change the story that she and this woman concocted here.” He turned his head to look up at Charlotte. Brand’s gaze went to his mother as well.
“What Miss Malone said is what happened, Sheriff. And yes, I want to press charges along with getting a restraining order against my former ranch manager,” she said.
“Big mistake, bitch,” Boyle said. “You think I’m not going to talk? You better send your fancy lawyer down with a deal before you make the second biggest mistake of your life. Holden McKenna was the first.”
“You have the right to remain silent.” Stuart began to read the former ranch manager his rights as he handcuffed him and pulled him to his feet. “I’m going to need a statement from both of you,” he said to the women before he led Boyle out to his patrol SUV.
“Are you both all right?” Brand asked unnecessarily, looking from Birdie to his mother. He felt a small jolt at the thought that the two women might be quite a bit alike.
“I’m fine,” his mother snapped and stopped rubbing her wrists. “Would you please have someone clean out all of Boyle’s personal things from this cabin? I want nothing of that man left.” She walked past him and out the cabin door.
Brand turned to Birdie. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
He took a step toward her. “Boyle didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Your mother put the shotgun on him before he could. I got the feeling that she knew how to use it.”
Brand chuckled as he pulled her into his arms, thankful that neither of them had been badly hurt. Boyle had always reminded him of a wounded animal; he’d never known what the man might do if cornered. He tried not to worry how much the ranch manager knew about his mother.
“Good thing she didn’t have the whip she carries to kill rattlers when she’s out horseback riding,” he told Birdie. “Boyle was lucky it was just a shotgun to his head.”
“Your mother told me that she owes me.”
He pulled back a little to raise a brow.
“I think she’s going to tell me the truth,” Birdie said. “If Boyle Wilson really does have something on your mother about Dixon’s death, he made it clear that he planned to talk. So why didn’t your mother seem more worried about that—if she was the murderer and Boyle can prove it?”
Brand shook his head. He hated to see her get her hopes up. “For your sake, I hope the truth comes out, but are you sure you want to hear it?”
“My grandmother warned me that I might find out things I won’t like about my father, but yes, I want the truth. Then I can finally put my father to rest.”
