“I hope you find Frank’s killer soon,” she said. “We all need to put this trouble behind us and move on with our lives.”
Sam watched her walk away, her stride lithe and energetic. Young as she was, she was surprisingly self-possessed. But then, she was a celebrity in the rodeo world. She’d faced fans, reporters, and probably her share of unruly cowboys.
But something told him there was more to her relationship with Frank than she’d let on. He’d seen it in her expressive eyes when he’d asked her about Frank’s death. She’d been just eighteen when he’d offered to train her—and eighteen was a highly vulnerable age. Had she loved the man or hated him? Whatever feelings she’d had toward Frank Culhane, Sam would bet that indifference wasn’t one of them.
But did those feelings have any connection to his murder?
Cheyenne hurried through the lobby and passed into the barn. Hayden would be waiting for her at his horse’s stall. He had promised to show her around the facility, introduce her to some cowboys, and watch them exercise their horses in the practice arena. She wouldn’t be allowed to ride one—that would be asking too much. But at least it would guide her thinking about the kind of animal she wanted to own.
She’d started the day in a state of happy anticipation. But the encounter with Sam Rafferty had dampened her spirits. Why had the FBI agent grilled her about her relationshipwith Frank? She certainly hadn’t killed the man—although she might have wanted to. Any number of people could confirm that she and her three brothers had been on the rodeo circuit when the killer struck.
So why had the FBI man been so persistent? Did he suspect someone else close to her? Someone like Roper?
A chill passed through Cheyenne’s body. Roper couldn’t be a killer—he was too kind, too decent. But he’d been close to the ranch. He had access to the stable at all hours. He had won Frank’s place in the Run for a Million—and he seemed to be spending a lot of time with Frank’s glamorous widow.
A leaden lump congealed in her chest. Sam Rafferty would have every reason to suspect that Roper had murdered his boss. So why hadn’t Roper been arrested? Did the agent need more proof? The thought of Roper behind bars triggered a dizzying surge of fear. He could already be in danger. But there was no way Cheyenne would ever believe that her brother was a murderer.
She hadn’t seen Roper since last night. He hadn’t answered her knock on the door to his room this morning, and her call to his cell phone had gone to voicemail. True, sometimes he turned his phone off when he worked with horses. But she needed to talk to him now. Whatever was happening, she needed to hear the truth.
Intent on finding her brother, she made her way up and down the long rows of stalls. The barn was a busy place this morning, with horses being fed, groomed, and led out for exercise or competition. Stalls were being cleaned, the reeking manure hauled away in wheelbarrows. Water was running in the shower racks.
Cheyenne remembered how to find Roper’s stall numbers, but Hayden would be expecting her by now. He might even be out looking for her. She didn’t want to meethim until she’d spoken with Roper. And she certainly didn’t want Hayden to know that Roper could be a murder suspect. Avoiding him, she took a circuitous route, checking each aisle as she passed.
Turning a corner, she slammed hard into the solid figure of a man. Dazed by the impact, she stumbled backward against the corner of a stall. A hand reached out, capturing her fingers in its big, roughened palm. She allowed herself to be pulled upright.
“Are you all right?”
The deep voice, with its gritty undertone, was familiar. So were the words. Cheyenne had heard them last night, in the hall outside her hotel room.
Her cheeks blazed as she looked up into the glacial gray eyes of Buck Tolson.
“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, still unsettled. “I should have been more careful.”
“No damage done.” He released her hand. “Are you looking for your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Annoyance deepened the flush in her face. “Not that it’s any of your business. You don’t know me, and you don’t know him.”
“Then take some advice from a man who’s seen too many other young women get hurt. These cowboys aren’t here for romance. Picking up girls like you—that’s just their way of blowing off steam. That one you were with last night—by the time his wheels hit the freeway, he’ll have already moved on.”
“Girls like me?” Cheyenne bristled. It was obvious that the man didn’t recognize her. “What do you think I am?” she demanded. “A buckle bunny? Maybe even a pro? Whatever you’re assuming about me, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“What I think of you doesn’t matter.” His voice wascalm—maddeningly so. “I’m just trying to do you a favor. If you’re smart, you’ll pack your gear and get out of Vegas before this town ruins your life.”
“Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?” Cheyenne was seething now. “You sound just like my mother!”
Without waiting for his response, she turned and stalked away, down the row of stalls. She was already worried and upset about Roper. The last thing she needed was a stranger telling her how to live her life—a life he knew nothing about.
Buck watched her until she disappeared from sight. He should probably have kept his damned mouth shut. But his sister’s suicide last year had set off something inside him—a compulsion to speak up when he saw a young woman on the edge of trouble. Maybe if someone had said those words to Katy, she’d still be alive.
Blond, pretty, and full of fun at eighteen, Katy had come with him to a cutting event here in Las Vegas. The cowboy she’d met had taken her virginity and left her broken. The morning after his championship run, Buck had found her in her hotel room, her system full of alcohol, barbiturates, and anything else she could lay her hands on. There were signs of rough, consensual sex, but the coroner had ruled out foul play in her death. Katy had done this to herself. Luckily for the cowboy, he was nowhere to be found. If he ever saw the heartless bastard again, Buck would make him pay.
With their parents gone, Buck had been responsible for his sister. He would never forgive himself for her death. He’d been speaking to Katy in his mind when he’d warned that dazzling brunette about her boyfriend. His intentions had been the best. But he’d only succeeded in making her angry.
It was time he faced the truth. Rescuing a hundred girls wouldn’t save Katy or bring her back. He needed to stop before it became an obsession. This week, he was here in Las Vegas to defend his cutting championship, and right now, his horse needed a workout.
Chief, his rangy buckskin gelding, was waiting down the row. The nine-year-old American quarter horse nickered and butted his head against the gate as his owner approached. At fifteen and a half hands, he was tall for a cow horse, but he was as light-footed as a cat, able to turn on a dime, with instincts that could anticipate a cow’s every move. Buck had been offered a quarter of a million dollars for Chief. He’d turned the wealthy buyer down. Some things were worth more than money.
As he reached for the saddle pad, Buck noticed the horse in the next stall—a sharp-looking brown-and-white paint. A memory stirred. That horse and its rider were hard to forget. Buck had bested them in last year’s cutting championship. They’d been leading until his high-scoring run left them in second place.