“Steely Dan’s already on his way. I paid a friend to take him in his trailer. By now he’s probably halfway back to Texas.”
“And what about you? Why are you still here?”
“Why not? As long as I’m in Vegas, I figured I might as well put the funeral off and stay for the big event. Maybe I’ll do some business for the ranch—myranch now. I’m still getting used to that.”
“For heaven’s sake, Hayden!” Cheyenne’s frustration boiled over. “Your father just died—suddenly and tragically. Why aren’t you on your way home? Why aren’t you grieving?”
He gave her a contemptuous look. “Why should I be? Chet Barr wasn’t my father. I’ve got the DNA test results to prove it.”
She stared at him. “I don’t understand.”
“Then maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are. Figure it out.”
“I saw his photo,” she said. “I noticed that he didn’t look like you. Were you adopted?”
“No need. Chet was already married to my mother when I was born. You should have seen her. She was beautiful. Big, dark eyes. She looked a little like you.”
“So, who was your father? Did he know about you?”
“Oh, he knew. But because my mother was married and so was he, they agreed to keep it quiet. My mother told me the truth before she died, but as far as I know, my father took his secret to his grave.”
“And Chet?”
“He raised me to be a good cowboy. But I wasn’t the blood son he wanted. I always wondered why he never showed me much affection. Then I found out. So forgive me if I’m not prostrate with grief. Like I said, Chet Barr wasn’t my father.”
“So who was your father? Was he someone you knew?”
“Only from a distance. That’s his picture, on the wall, right behind you.”
Cheyenne turned around. Her chest contracted, shutting off her breath.
The handsome, silver-haired man in the framed photo was Frank Culhane.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Cheyenne was staring at the framed photo, struggling for words, when her phone rang. She yanked it out of her purse.
The call was from Stetson. The traffic backup had cleared. He and their mother would be arriving in the next ten or fifteen minutes.
“I’ve got to go, Hayden,” she said. “You shouldn’t be here. Go home to Texas, and do what needs to be done.”
“Can I call you?” he asked, ignoring her words.
“Only if you have a good reason. I’ll keep you posted about Fire Dance, if you care to know.”
His indifferent look told her that he’d moved on from any concern about the stallion. Slipping the phone back into her purse, she turned around and raced back to the hotel lobby. Her mind was still processing what she’d just learned. If Hayden’s claim was true—and his resemblance to Frank bore that out—Frank’s affairs had fathered at least one child. If she believed him, the question was what she should do with that information.
Hayden had shown her one symptom of a toxic personality—a lack of concern for anything but himself. Commonsense told her to walk away and forget him. But what if Hayden had played some part in Frank’s death? He could have confronted his biological father that night in the stable. When Frank rejected him, he could have had the hypodermic ready and used it. The story was far-fetched. But Cheyenne’s beloved brother was about to be arrested for Frank’s murder. The smallest scrap of information might be the one that would clear him.
Decision made, she stopped at the entrance to the lobby, fished her phone out of her purse, and scrolled to Agent Sam Rafferty’s number.
Sam took the phone call in his room, where he’d been working on a report for Nick. Not that he had much to report. The discoveries he’d made were like pieces from random jigsaw puzzles tossed into the same box. No two of them fit together. And time was running out.
By the time the call with Cheyenne had ended, Sam was pacing the floor with excitement. What if Hayden Barr turned out to be the key to the whole mystery—not only as Frank’s son, but as his murderer?
Hayden could have done it—shadowed Frank from a distance, arranged a secret meeting in the stable, and confronted his father with the demand that he be recognized and given his share of the Culhane dynasty. Rejected, he could have killed Frank and tossed the syringe away as he was passing the creek. Later, here in Las Vegas, he could have tried the same approach with Darrin. But he hadn’t counted on Simone or a maddened horse.
The pieces were sliding into place, but not all of them fit. Hayden was the sole heir of a wealthy rancher. He didn’t need money. Why would he seek out his natural father and then kill him?