“I panicked and called Charlotte and begged her to help me.”
Her friend groaned. “Why didn’t you just leave it alone?”
“Because I’m not letting you take the fall for something I did,” Elaine said.
“You made the call from outside and went down the road to meet Charlotte,” the sheriff said. “You didn’t go back inside to check to make sure he was actually dead.”
“He was dead,” Elaine said. “There was blood on the floor under his head. He wasn’t moving. He looked...dead.”
The sheriff nodded. “So, which one of you had the gun?”
“We didn’t have a gun,” Charlotte snapped. “Why would you even ask that?”
“Because the coroner believes one of two bullets fired from a .22 to the brain is what killed Dixon Malone,” Stuart said and saw their shocked expressions. “One of the slugs was lodged in the man’s skull.”
“I didn’t kill him?” Elaine said in a whisper and began to cry. “He was alive when I called Charlotte?”
The sheriff looked to Charlotte. “Did you bring a gun to finish the job Elaine started?”
“No, I did check for a pulse. He was dead,” Charlotte said.
“I was with her the entire time,” Elaine said. “Neither of us shot him.”
“He must have regained consciousness after his fall,” the sheriff said. “Elaine, you’re sure no one else was in the house that night?”
She shook her head, looking as mystified by all this as he was.
He turned to Charlotte. “You didn’t see anyone on the way into the ranch?”
“No. We didn’t see anyone,” she said.
Studying the two women, he would have bet his career that they were telling the truth—which was what he was doing. “But you did get rid of his body,” he said. He pulled out their confessions, tore them up and dropped them into the trash.
Then he got out two new sheets of paper. He shoved one toward each of the women and tossed them each a pen. “Let’s start over, but this time write down the truth, because you could both be facing prison time if the judge doesn’t believe your story.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE DAY HOLDEN’S lawyer called to say that Elaine was being released after Holden had posted bond, his ranch manager, Deacon Yates, asked if he could pick her up.
“I’d appreciate if you’d let me do it,” Deacon said, turning the brim of what appeared to be a new Stetson in his fingers and staring at the floor.
Holden looked at the man in surprise. Deacon, who was close to Elaine’s age, was dressed in his Sunday-best jeans, sporting a corduroy jacket and an agate bolo tie. His sandy-blond hair had been reined in, and his boots were freshly polished.
For a moment, Holden was at a loss for words. He studied him, seeing himself in the man. He’d been that bashful young man around Charlotte when they were teens, so smitten that he couldn’t rope two words together.
“Sure,” Holden managed to say. “Doctor told me to take it easy.” It wasn’t true, and he figured Deacon knew it, because he nodded as he raised his gaze.
“Thought she might be hungry. Might want to go to the café. But after that, I’ll bring her straightaway.”
“No hurry. Let her enjoy being free for a while,” Holden said. His lawyer had told him that Elaine probably wouldn’t do any time. Charlotte either. With luck, they would get a hefty fine and community service since this was their first brush with the law.
“Dixon said he knew things about Charlotte and was going to talk unless he was paid off,” Holden’s attorney told him. “When Elaine had tried to throw him out of the house, he’d decided he wasn’t going without something for his troubles.”
That Elaine had fought the man off didn’t surprise Holden. What hurt was that, like the kidnapping, this was something else he’d brought on the people he loved. It all came back to him.
He’d sworn then that he’d do everything he could to make sure Elaine didn’t get any jail time. Same with Charlotte, if she would let him. He would use his money and his power—just as he always had. But this time for good, he told himself. From now on, only for good.
Apparently, Birdie Malone, the deceased man’s daughter, had asked for leniency for both women.
“Thanks,” his ranch manager said with a grin and left, a hop in his step, leaving Holden smiling and at the same time a little sad. He missed that old sensation that Deacon was feeling and wasn’t sure he could ever get it back again.
ELAINE EMERGED FROM the back of the sheriff’s department, stopping to squint in the bright sunlight. She’d expected to see one of the McKenna Ranch vehicles, probably Holden’s SUV. Instead, there was one of the ranch pickups, and it wasn’t Holden leaning against it.
She glanced around for a moment, wondering why Holden had sent his ranch manager. Her gaze returned to the ranch pickup and the cowboy standing next to it. She saw something cross Deacon Yates’s face. Disappointment, embarrassment? Some of both. Her heart clenched. She would never want this man to feel either of those.
Smiling, she headed toward him. As she did, the ranch manager removed his hat and slowly raised his eyes to hers. Surprised to see him, she didn’t even have a moment to consider what he was doing here or what he might say when she reached him.
“I came to see if I could be of help,” he said in his soft-spoken way. She’d known the man since the day he was hired back when they were both in their teens. He’d always been respectful but shy. A man who would have walked on hot coals for Holden. Like her, he loved the McKenna Ranch.
She couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in his expression. “Deacon, that is very nice of you, but I’m not sure there is anything that can be done.”
She was touched the ranch manager wanted to help, but at a loss to see how.
“If it’s money you need—”
“No,” she said quickly. “Holden...” She didn’t continue. You didn’t tell one man that another man had already taken care of it. “You came to pick me up. Thank you.”
“I thought after being in jail that you might be hungry. The café special today is a barbecued pork sandwich. Didn’t know how you felt about that.”
