Legally Binding

Bart looked down at the cup and shifted his boots on the floor. Discussing bodily functions had never bothered him before. He was a cowboy born and bred, used to dealing with anything cattle or horses could come up with. But somehow with Lindsey looking on, his bodily functions took on an entirely different meaning. And focus. He forced himself to take the cup from Doc’s hand.

“So you think he got drugged up the night of Jeb’s murder?” Doc smiled stiffly at Lindsey, the old buzzard’s best shot at charm.

Lindsey ignored the doc’s question. “When can you have the results?”

Doc’s smile faded. “We don’t have a lab here. Got to send the sample out.”

Lindsey nodded and fished a card from her briefcase. She scrawled something on the back and handed it to the doc. “Here’s the lab I’d like it sent to. And on the back, I’ve written my home address. Have them send the results there and to my office. I want to make sure I see them as soon as they come in.”

Doc took the card. “Could take a few days, could take a few months, depending on how busy the lab is. Then there’s always the chance the drug won’t show up at all.”

“What do you mean? If it’s in his system, it should show up, right?”

Doc scowled down at Bart. “Boy, what time did you take those drugs last night?”

“I didn’t take drugs, Doc.”

“Well, what the hell is this good-looking lady asking me about then?”

“Someone might have put something in my beer last night when I wasn’t paying attention. A drug to make me black out.”

“More likely you just got a little too friendly with a whiskey bottle.”

Bart expelled a frustrated breath.

“What were you saying about the drugs not showing up in Bart’s system?” Lindsey asked.

The old man turned his attention back to Lindsey. “If too much time has passed since Bart took those drugs, they won’t show up on the screens.”

Lindsey worried her bottom lip between straight white teeth. “I thought it took twenty-four hours for the drug to clear.”

“That’s right. But Bart’s a big boy, so it might take a lot less.”

A weight descended on Bart’s chest. The clock on the wall of Doc’s little examination room read six o’clock. Twenty-one hours had already passed since his last memory of the saloon. If Doc was right about his size making the time shorter, they were cutting it close. Damn close.

He glanced at Lindsey and closed his fingers tighter around the plastic cup. “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded. Judging from the worry creases digging into that pretty forehead, she’d noticed the time as well. If the substance was no longer in his system, he couldn’t prove he was drugged. And if he couldn’t prove his amnesia was real, he wouldn’t have much of a defense, no matter how pretty and smart his lawyer was.

BART HELD THE DOOR of the Hit ’Em Again Saloon for Lindsey and followed her inside. The place was nearly empty except for a couple of regulars at the pool table, the cowboys and working men who filled the place nightly still hard at work this early in the evening. On the jukebox, Dale Watson belted out a real country song, the music echoing off the empty postage-stamp dance floor.

They crossed to the oak bar and bellied up. The smell of stale cigarette smoke warred with the bleach-like smell of bar sanitizer, but it was the soft scent of roses that held Bart’s attention. He leaned closer to Lindsey and took a deep breath.

“You don’t usually drink beer this early, Bart. Need a little hair of the dog that bit you?” Wade Lansing pushed through the swinging door leading back to the kitchen and took his usual spot behind the bar. Despite his flip statement, Bart could see the worry lining his friend’s face. Worry focused on him.

Bart glanced at Lindsey. “Lindsey, this is Wade Lansing, the owner of this fine establishment.”

“You mean beer joint,” Wade said.

“Beer joint with the best food west of the Mississippi,” Bart threw in.

Wade grinned. “Nice to see you again, Lindsey.” Wade cleared a couple of highball glasses from the bar, the gold band on his finger shining in the bar’s dim light.

“I thought you and Kelly were supposed to be on your honeymoon by now,” Bart said.

“I’m training a kid to take over this place while I’m gone. Don’t want to come back to find the till empty and the building burned to the ground.”

Lindsey nodded. “Kelly said the two of you are planning to go to Hawaii. Sounds wonderful.”

“We could go anywhere as far as I’m concerned. As long as Kelly is with me, I’m happy. I’m glad to hear you’re representing Bart here, Lindsey. It’ll keep me from worrying.” He zeroed in on Bart. The grin turning his lips faded. “The whole town is talking about you.”

“I didn’t kill Jeb, Wade.”

“I know that. But Hurley Zeller doesn’t share my opinion. He was in here as soon as I opened, asking questions.”

“Damn.” Bart grimaced. Hurley sure had a leg up on them. Bart still didn’t have a clue what had happened. He hoped Wade could give them some answers.

Lindsey set her briefcase on the bar, opened it and pulled out a pad of paper and pen. “We’d appreciate anything you can tell us about last night, Wade.”

“Like what you told Hurley,” Bart said.

“I didn’t tell that prick anything.”

Bart couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Wade might be happily married, but he still hadn’t shed his distrust for authority.

“What do you remember seeing?” Lindsey asked.

“I set up a few bottles of beer and served Bart up some chili. Then I had to duck out to change some big bills.” Wade grabbed a dirty glass and plunged it up and down on a dishwashing contraption made of spinning brushes located in a sink behind the bar. “When I got back, you were fall-down drunk, Bart. I figured you must have been doing some serious whiskey-drinking while I was gone. Though I’ve never known you to drink more than a few beers.”

Bart and Lindsey exchanged looks. Wade’s description jibed with their theory that Bart was drugged. Unfortunately, it could also be a description of a man who’d simply sucked down too much whiskey.

“Who served drinks while you were gone?” Lindsey asked.

“The kid I’m training to fill in for me.” Wade jotted something on a cocktail napkin and handed it to Lindsey before resuming glass-washing. “That’s his name and number. He has tonight off, but otherwise you can also find him here.”

“Thanks.” Lindsey stowed the napkin in her briefcase. “When did Bart leave and who did he leave with?”

Wade stopped the plunging motion and glanced up at Bart. “Blackout?”

Bart nodded.

Wade looked at Lindsey. “The place was hopping last night, but best I can remember, he left around midnight. I just assumed he rode back to the ranch with his foreman, Gary Tuttle, same way he came. I can ask around tonight, see if anyone saw different.” Wade dipped the glass in the sink full of sanitizer and set in on a mat to drip-dry. “Are you going to tell me what was going on last night, Bart? You aren’t one to drink till you black out.”

“We think Bart was drugged,” Lindsey supplied. “Maybe Rohypnol or something similar.”

Wade didn’t look surprised. “There’s something strange going on in Mustang Valley. First Andrew and now this.”

Bart couldn’t agree more. The revelation that Andrew McGovern had been murdered by Mustang Valley’s mayor had been a shock. And now Jeb. Two murders in two months. Not to mention the mayor’s fatal car accident. “The problem is, I don’t know if I can prove I was drugged. Hurley might have kept me tied up in jail too long for the tests to show the drug in my system.”

“What if you could find the bottles you were drinking out of?”

Lindsey leaned toward Wade. “You said the bar was busy last night. There must be hundreds of bottles. Can you really find the ones Bart drank out of?”

“My friend here has an annoying habit of peeling the label off every bottle of beer he drinks.” He glanced at his watch. “This place will be full of cowboys soon, so I don’t have time to look. But if you want to sort through the bottle bins out back, be my guest.”

“It’s worth a shot.” Lindsey looked to Bart. “Do you want to help me search through empty beer bottles?”

“I’ll sort through a thousand bottles if it will help prove I didn’t kill Jeb.”

“Then let’s get started.”

They slid off their bar stools and followed Wade through the prep kitchen and out Hit ’Em Again’s back door. Wade pointed toward a Dumpster in the narrow alley. On one side of it was a row of large trash cans. Wade nodded toward them. “Have at it.” Turning, he ducked back into the bar.

Bart glanced at Lindsey’s sharply pressed suit, gossamer stockings and polished nails. “I’ll do the searching.”

Lindsey set her briefcase on the ground and pushed up her sleeves. “It’ll go a lot faster if we both search.”

He held up a hand. “I insist. A lady like you shouldn’t be rummaging around in garbage.”

Lindsey flashed him a pointed grin. “You forget. I’m no lady, I’m a lawyer.”

Bart couldn’t keep a laugh from bubbling out. “All right, then. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re a lady. A real smart one.”

She looked away from him before he could see if she was blushing again and set to work picking through the brown-glass bottles.

Suddenly footsteps and voices rose above the clank of glass hitting glass. Bart turned just in time to see his cousin Kenny round the building and stride into the alley, his black felt Stetson slung low over his eyes. “I heard you were here. I should have known you’d be hiding in a back alley,” Kenny slurred, his voice rough with cigarettes and soggy with booze.

Bart hadn’t spoken to Uncle Jeb’s son in years. And he sure didn’t want to start tonight. But it looked like he had no choice. “What do you want?”

“I want to know why the hell you aren’t in jail.”

“I don’t want trouble, Kenny.”

“You can take a knife to an old drunk’s throat, but when it comes to fighting an able man, you don’t want trouble?”

A good-looking blonde walked into the alley and stopped a few steps behind Kenny. Frowning, she folded her arms across her ample chest, like she was turned off by the prospect of her boyfriend picking a fight. A smattering of other spectators who’d apparently followed Kenny’s bluster hung back in the shadows, content to watch from a distance.

Bart glanced at Lindsey. She watched Kenny the way a person eyed a car crash, repulsed but unable to look away. Bart shook his head. He didn’t want to get into a family brawl in front of her. Hell, he didn’t want her to know Kenny was family at all.

He pulled his gaze from Lindsey and focused on his cousin. Kenny had been an ornery cuss since the day he was born. But he’d also just lost his father—a father he despised, but his father, nonetheless. It was probably natural he’d want to blame Bart. Especially when the law was blaming Bart, too. “Listen, Kenny. I didn’t kill Jeb.”

“And you expect me to believe you?”

“I’m telling God’s honest truth.”

“The same truth your daddy told when he talked Grandad into leaving him most of the Four Aces Ranch?”

Bart almost groaned. It was still about the ranch. “When Grandad died, Jeb didn’t want any part of working the ranch. He never did. He just didn’t want my daddy to have it. Look what he’s done with the land Grandad gave him. Nothing.”

“He didn’t have it as easy as your daddy.”

“And why was that? Because he liked to drink more than he liked to work?” Bart tried to bite back the words, but it was too late. He’d had it with Kenny’s whining and excuses for his good-for-nothing daddy and himself.

Kenny balled his hands into fists and swaggered closer. “Maybe Jeb was a bastard and a drunk. Maybe he deserved what he got. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get my fair share. Or are you planning to kill me too and take it all?”

Bart held up his hands, palms facing Kenny. “I didn’t kill Jeb, Kenny. And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

Kenny stepped closer. The stench of cheap whiskey wafted on his breath. He jabbed a fist at Bart. The punch missed. “Gonna pull out your knife, Bart? Oh, that’s right. The police confiscated it after you used it to kill your own flesh and blood.”

Lindsey stepped forward. “How do you know about Bart’s knife?”

Kenny didn’t bother to give her a glance, as if she wasn’t important enough to answer.

Bart tried to keep a lid on his simmering temper. Getting into a fistfight with Kenny wouldn’t do anyone any good. “Go home and sleep it off, Kenny.”

“Won’t change anything. When I wake up, my old man will still be dead, and you’ll still be the one to blame.” He threw another punch. His fist plowed into Bart’s arm, connecting solidly this time.

Bart’s arm throbbed with the blow. His own hands clenched into fists. Grieving or not, one more hit and Kenny was history. “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you.”

“Or what? You going to sic your whore on me?” He leered at Lindsey and drew back his arm.

Bart didn’t wait for Kenny’s next punch to fall. His own fist was already flying.

Chapter Three

Lindsey stared in horror as Bart’s big fist plowed into Kenny’s middle.

Kenny hunched over and stumbled to the side. He slammed into a bottle bin and fell. The receptacle tipped over. Glass shattered. Bottles scattered along the ground, brown glass everywhere.

The blonde who’d entered the alley with Kenny ran to his side. “Kenny? Are you all right?”

Kenny sputtered, as if trying to catch his breath. “You saw that. He attacked me. He tried to kill me.”

Bart loomed over him. “If I’d tried to kill you, you’d be dead. Now get the hell out of here.”

The blonde grabbed Kenny’s arm, pulling him to his feet and toward the mouth of the alley. “You heard him, Kenny. Let’s go.”

Kenny shrugged off her hold. “I ain’t going nowhere. He tried to kill me. You saw it. I want the sheriff. Somebody call the sheriff. I want to press charges.”

Lindsey almost groaned. The last thing Bart needed was for the sheriff’s department to get involved. The court could decide to revoke his bail over this. He’d be locked in jail awaiting trial. “You threw the first punch, Mr. Rawlins. I think you’ll be hard-pressed to prove Bart tried to kill you.”

Kenny’s mouth flattened into a hard line. His eyes narrowed. “What do you know about it?”

“Plenty.” She fished a card from the pocket of her suit jacket and thrust it at him, hoping her profession would give him pause. “I’m a lawyer.”

He squinted at the card, then looked up at Bart. “So she’s not your whore after all. She’s worse. She’s your goddamn lawyer.”

Bart charged Kenny.

Spinning on his heel, Kenny scampered from the alley. Once he was a safe distance away, he looked over his shoulder. “I’ll get you, Bart. You won’t get away with what you’ve done.”

The door of the tavern flew open and Wade Lansing stepped out. Assessing the situation through narrowed gray eyes, he walked over to Bart. “What the hell is going on out here?”

While Bart explained what had happened, Lindsey watched the small crowd that had followed Kenny to the alley disperse. A single woman stayed and stepped out from the shadows, the light from the setting sun turning her curls to fire. She scribbled notes on a pad of paper.

Cara.

Under normal circumstances, Lindsey would be happy to see one of the few good friends she’d made since moving to Mustang Valley. But these circumstances were anything but normal. Cara Hamilton was a reporter for the Mustang Gazette. And next to the sheriff or one of his deputies, a reporter was the last person Lindsey wanted to see right now. Even if it was Cara.

She darted around Wade and Bart. She couldn’t do anything to change what had happened between Bart and Kenny, but maybe she could appeal to Cara not to splash the news all over Mustang Valley. “Hey, Cara.”

Cara brushed a curl from her forehead and looked up from her notebook. “Hi, Lindsey. How are you mixed up in this? Are you representing Bart Rawlins?” Cara’s eyes flashed with inquisitiveness, her pen poised over paper.

Great. Lindsey hadn’t taken into account that she might be part of Cara’s story. “Are you covering Jeb Rawlins’s murder?”

“Of course not.” Cara rolled her eyes. “Beau is keeping the good stories to himself as usual.”

Lindsey nodded. Cara’s editor, and owner of the Mustang Gazette, Beau Jennings, had covered every major story in Mustang Valley for the past forty-some years. “He knows once he gives you a major story, the Dallas papers will snatch you up in a heartbeat.”

Cara tilted her head. “Of course, having a friend representing Bart Rawlins might just give me the break I need. So are you Bart’s lawyer, Lindsey?” she asked again.

Lindsey should have known changing the subject wouldn’t throw Cara off. Once her friend smelled a story, she didn’t give up until she rooted out the truth. Lindsey sighed. “Yes.”

“Why the heavy sigh? Is his case that bad?”

“No.”

“He has a strong case then?”

She gave her friend a warning smile. “Quit fishing, Cara.”

“Then talk to me.”

“Off the record?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t print anything about this ridiculous fight.”

“You’re kidding, right? This is news, Lindsey. I can’t just pretend I didn’t see what happened.”

She let out another sigh. “No, I suppose you can’t. I’m just worried about poisoning the jury pool.”

“I don’t know what it’s like in a big city like Boston, but gossip travels like dust in a strong wind around here. Even if I don’t write about what happened, people will hear about it. And there’s no telling what kind of twisted version they’ll get.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Damn straight.” Cara’s hazel eyes twinkled with humor.

Lindsey tried to return her smile, but her attempt fell flat.

“But you don’t have to worry. I’ll tell the whole story.”

She gave Cara a questioning look.

“Meaning, I’ll be writing that Kenny came looking for Bart and threw the first punch. I’ll also include a bit of background, like Kenny’s conviction for fraud.”

“He’s been convicted?”

“Kenny Rawlins is a master of the get-rich-quick scam. He’s cheated a lot of people in Mustang Valley, a fact my readers won’t easily forget.”

Lindsey pressed her lips into a line. It wasn’t a great situation, but she could live with it. “Thanks, Cara.”

“For what? Telling the truth?” Cara smiled. “If you really want to thank me, give me a few quotes about Bart’s case.”

Lindsey took a deep breath of evening air. She supposed it was only fair she give her friend a quote. “He’s an innocent man. You can print that. And I’ll give you the scoop on who’s guilty as soon as I find out.”

BART WATCHED a single set of approaching headlights play across Lindsey’s flawless skin. His attention trailed to her long, elegant fingers wrapped around the steering wheel of her little white sports car. On her right hand, a platinum ring with some kind of red stone glowed in the dashboard light. Her left ring finger was free of jewelry.

He tried to concentrate on the ribbon of highway stretching from Mustang Valley to the Four Aces Ranch. He shouldn’t be noticing Lindsey’s skin and fingers and whether she was wearing a wedding ring. She was his lawyer, not a pretty young thing he’d met at some honky-tonk.

Besides, he had more pressing things to deal with than a crush he couldn’t do anything about. Like being accused of murdering his uncle. Like the real possibility he would be spending the rest of his life behind bars. Even if Lindsey wasn’t his lawyer and far out of his league, he couldn’t do a damn thing about his attraction to her. Not with the prospect of spending the rest of his life in Huntsville hanging over his head.

After Kenny had left the alley, he and Lindsey had resumed their search for beer bottles with missing labels. All they’d come up with were two bottles and a few shards of glass from the bin Kenny had tipped over. Tomorrow morning Lindsey planned to drive to Fort Worth to drop off the bottles and shards at the same lab where Doc had sent the other samples. A long shot, but better than nothing.

Of course, if it hadn’t been for Lindsey’s theory about the drug, he wouldn’t have a shot at all.

His focus drifted back to her face. Her eyebrows knit together. She gnawed on her lower lip. All in all, she looked as worried as he felt. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

She started at his voice, then glanced at him briefly before bringing her attention back to the road ahead. “Your cousin, Kenny. Cara Hamilton said he’s been convicted for fraud.”

“I suppose Cara’s going to write an article about what a hothead I was tonight.”

“She promised to be fair and accurate. Under the circumstances, it’s the best we can hope for.”

“Fair and accurate is still going to make me look like a hothead. I doubt that will help my case with the good people of Mustang County.”

“The article probably won’t help, but something she brought up to me tonight might. What can you tell me about the scams your cousin pulled?”

Bart searched his memory. He’d tried not to pay too much attention to Kenny’s dealings. Just thinking about them made his cheeks burn with shame that he and his cousin shared the same blood. “He was into everything from selling lame horses to spreading stories that local legend Shotgun Sally was born and raised on Jeb’s ranch, the Bar JR.”

“My friends Cara and Kelly like to talk about Shotgun Sally. Kelly is one of Sally’s descendants.” Her elegant eyebrows dipped low over those intense blue eyes. “How could Kenny profit from saying Sally was born on the Bar JR?”

“If there was a way, he found it. He sold worthless tin plates claiming they were from Sally’s homestead. Tried to promote tours of Jeb’s property. He even sold jars of dirt saying it came from Sally’s grave.”

“But that’s all pretty harmless. Why was he charged?”

“After he gave up on cashing in on Shotgun Sally, he sold cemetery plots to old folks. A lot of cemetery plots. Only the plots weren’t his to sell. He did three years in Huntsville. That was the end of his scams, far as I know. Though I’m sure he’s still finding some way to make a quick buck.”

“How far would he go to make money?”

He cocked his head at her question. “What are you thinking?”

“From the way he talked about his father, I assume they didn’t get along.”

“You assume right. Kenny had no use for Jeb. The only people Kenny blamed more than Jeb for his failures were me and my daddy.”

“Because your father inherited more land?”

“Yes. And because my father was a success with the land he inherited. Jeb started with a nice cattle operation. It only took him about two years to drink it away.” He could see where she was going. Her mind was heading down the same path his had since his run-in with his cousin. “You’re thinking Kenny might have killed Jeb.”

“I keep wondering how he knew your knife was the murder weapon.”

“Unless he used it himself?”

“Is it possible? Would Kenny kill his own father if it meant a big inheritance?”

“I wish I could say no. But I wouldn’t put it past him. If he inherits.”

“He might not?”

“Like I said, there wasn’t much love lost between them. Jeb might have written Kenny out of his will, for all I know.”

“I’ll find out. Our firm is handling the estate.”

“And defending me. Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“I’m not handling Jeb’s estate. Don Church is.”

Bart nodded. Donald Church was a specialist in wills and trusts and a full partner of Lambert & Church. Back before Bart’s dad had gotten sick, he’d always sworn Don was the most honest lawyer in Texas. Bart gestured ahead to the next turn off the highway. “You’ll want to take a right up here.”

Lindsey swung the car onto the road. Juniper groves flanking both sides, the drive twisted up a gentle hill overlooking the most beautiful country this close to Dallas/Fort Worth. Too bad it was way past nightfall. He would have loved to show her the view.