Roping Ray Mccullen

He would tell them as soon as Maddox returned.

* * *

SCARLET TRIED TO gauge the distance between the couch and the bedroom where she kept the pistol Joe had given her.

He’d insisted she take self-defense classes and he’d taught her to shoot so she could protect herself. Unarmed, she was no match for a two-hundred-and-forty-pound angry, drunk man.

Knowing Bobby’s triggers, that he liked to bully women and that he had no tolerance for people who crossed him, she forced her tone to remain calm. “What do you want, Bobby?”

“I want what’s mine.” He glared at her, then folded his arms and planted himself in front of her, legs apart on either side of hers, trapping her.

“I understand that and you deserve it.”

Distrust radiated from his every pore. “You went to the old man’s funeral?”

A pang of grief swelled inside Scarlet. “Yes, but I just watched from the sidelines.” She lifted her chin. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Barbara talked me out of it.” He gave a sarcastic chuckle. “I belonged there more than you did. You weren’t family.”

Scarlet bit her tongue but his hate-filled words hit home, resurrecting old hurts. “I figured it wasn’t the time to introduce myself to the McCullen brothers.”

It hadn’t gone very well today, either.

Bobby removed a pack of matches from his pocket, and she barely resisted a flinch. Bobby had always liked setting things on fire.

He struck a match, lit it and held it in front of her, the orange glow flickering and throwing off heat as he moved it nearer to her face. “I should have been a McCullen,” he said, a feral gleam to his eyes. “I should have had everything they did. That big damn ranch house and horses and land and...the privileges that came with it.” The match was burning down, and he dropped it in a coffee cup on her table, then lit another and waved it in front of her eyes.

With one beefy hand, he shoved her into a chair. “Then he brought you home and treated you like you were his own kid.”

Scarlet struggled to keep her breathing steady when she wanted to make a run for it. If she could reach her car, she could escape. And do what?

Call the police. She didn’t want to, but she would if necessary to protect herself. “He felt sorry for me, that was all.”

His intense look made her pulse hammer. “He gave you more love than he did me.”

“That’s because you wouldn’t let him love you,” Scarlet said. “You were always angry, acting out.”

“I had a right to be mad. He cheated me out of his name and that ranch.” The flame flickered low, nearly burning out, and he suddenly dropped the match into her lap. Scarlet shrieked as heat seared her thigh through her skirt, and she raked the match to the floor, then stomped it out with her boot.

Bobby’s maniacal laughter echoed through the room. He grabbed her arm and hauled her to a standing position.

Scarlet sensed the situation was spiraling out of control. She had been a punching bag before and swore she would never be one again.

“Maybe he did when he was alive,” Scarlet said as she yanked her arm away. “But he didn’t forget you, Bobby. He left you something in his will.”

Bobby’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you receive a notice from his lawyer?” Not that she wanted to tell Bobby about it, but she had to do something to defuse the situation.

His bloodshot eyes pierced her. “His lawyer?”

“Yes,” Scarlet said, desperate. “I received a notice to attend the reading.” She extricated herself from Bobby’s grip. “Let me get it and show it to you. He took care of you in his will, too. Maybe Barbara got the notice.”

Bobby cursed, but he allowed her to pass. She heard him in the kitchen digging through her refrigerator, and she rushed to her nightstand. She yanked out her pistol, reminding herself that she couldn’t allow him to turn it around and use it on her.

She loaded it, then held it down by her side as she slowly walked back to the den.

Bobby popped the top on a beer as he stepped into the doorway, and she raised the gun and pointed it at him. “I want you to leave.”

“You bitch.” He started toward her, one fist knotted as if he planned to slug her, but she lifted the gun toward his chest.

Bobby froze, his jaw twitching. “You were lying about the lawyer and the will.”

“No, I wasn’t. Ask Barbara. We’re all supposed to attend the reading.”

Bobby hesitated, still contemplating what she’d said as if he thought she was trying to trick him. “What is this lawyer’s name?”

“Darren Bush.” Scarlet took a step toward him, her hand steady. “I don’t want to use this, Bobby, but I will if I have to. Now, I don’t have anything you want here. No money. Nothing of Joe’s. And if you want to collect on whatever inheritance he left you, then you need to leave me alone or I’ll either shoot you or have you arrested.”

Pure rage flashed in his eyes, but he lifted the beer as if to toast her. “Shoot me and you’ll go to jail.”

“Make one more move, Bobby, and with your record, all I’ll have to do is claim self-defense.”

Bobby stared at her for a long tension-filled minute, his fury a palpable force. Then he downed the beer, crushed the can in his hand and threw the can at the fireplace. His boots pounded the floor as he strode to the door.

Her hand was shaking as he paused and turned back to face her. “You’re going to be sorry for pulling a gun on me.”

His evil laugh rent the air as he opened the door and stormed outside. As soon as the door slammed shut, her adrenaline waned, and she stumbled back to the couch.

Bobby didn’t make empty threats.

He would be back for revenge. It was just a matter of time.

* * *

RAY PLANTED HIMSELF on a barstool at The Silver Bullet and ordered a beer. Tonight the place was packed, the country music was rocking, the dance floor was crowded and the women were on the prowl.

He tipped his hat at a brunette who’d been eyeing him ever since he walked in, then dropped his gaze to his beer. He had too many problems to even think about crawling into bed with a woman tonight.

Besides, another woman’s face haunted him.

Scarlet Lovett’s. He couldn’t shake their conversation. Worse, he couldn’t erase the image of her porcelain face with those damn blue eyes that reminded him of his mother’s dolls.

Had his father seen that similarity? Was that the reason he’d been drawn to help Scarlet?

A brawny man with a beard and cowboy hat straddled the stool beside him, then angled himself toward Ray.

“You’re one of Joe’s sons, aren’t you?”