McCullen's Secret Son

Willow. A life with her. A real home. A family.

Someone who’d love him no matter what. Whether he lost an event, or got injured and was too sore to ride, or...too old.

He buried his head in his hands, sorrow for his father mingling with the fact that coming back here only made him want to see Willow again.

But she was married and had a kid.

And even if she had troubles like his father said, she could take care of them herself. She and that husband of hers...

He didn’t belong in her life anymore.

* * *

WILLOW ROUSED FROM unconsciousness, the world tilting as she lifted her head from the floor. For a moment, confusion clouded her brain, and she wondered what had happened.

But the stench of death swirled through the air, and reality surfaced, sending a shot of pure panic through her.

Leo was dead. And a man had been in the house, had attacked her.

Had said Sam was gone...

She choked on a scream, and was so dizzy for a second, she had to hold her head with her hands to keep from passing out. Nausea bubbled in her throat, but she swallowed it back, determined not to get sick.

She had to find her son.

A sliver of moonlight seeped through the curtains, the only light in the room. But it was enough for her to see Leo’s body still planted in her bed, his blood soaking his clothes and the sheets like a red river.

Who was the man in the house? Was he still here? And why would he kidnap Sam?

Shaking all over, she clutched the edge of the dresser and pulled herself up to stand. Her breathing rattled in the quiet, but she angled her head to search the room. It appeared to be empty. She staggered to the kitchen and living room.

Both were empty.

Nerves nearly immobilized her, but she held on to the wall and made herself go to Sam’s room. Tears blurred her eyes, but she swiped at them, visually scanning the room and praying that the man had lied. That her little four-year-old boy was inside, safe and sound. That this was all some kind of sick, twisted dream.

Except the blood on the bed and Leo’s body was very real.

At first glance, her son’s room seemed untouched. His soccer ball lay on the floor by the bed, his toy cars and trucks in a pile near the block set. His bed was still made from this morning, his superhero pillow on top, next to the cowboy hat he’d begged for on his birthday.

But this morning his horse figurines had been arranged by the toy barn and stable where he’d set them up last night when he was playing rodeo. She was afraid he had his father’s blood in him.

The horses were knocked over now, the toy barn broken. Sam was supposed to be at Gina’s...

Her mind racing, she hurried to retrieve her cell phone from her purse and called her neighbor. Please let Sam still be there.

The phone rang three times, then Gina finally answered. “Hello.”

“Gina, it’s Willow. Is Sam there?”

“No, his father picked him up. I hope that was all right.”

Willow pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. So Sam had come home with Leo.

Which meant he’d probably witnessed Leo’s murder.

Fear squeezed the air from her lungs. The man who’d attacked her, warned her not to call the police, that she’d hear from him...

But when?

And what was happening to Sam now?

* * *

BRETT FELT WRENCHED from the inside out. He’d been living on adrenaline, the high of being a star, of having women throwing themselves at him, and everyone wanting a piece of him for so long, that he didn’t know what to do with himself tonight.

He knew one thing, though—he did not want a picture of himself at his father’s graveside all over the papers. He’d told his publicist that, and banned her from making any public announcement about his father’s death.

Grieving for his father and returning to his hometown were private, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Night had fallen, the cows mooing and horses roaming the pastures soothing as he rose from the creek embankment, climbed on his horse and headed back to the farmhouse. The ranch hands would have been fed by now, the days’ work done, until sunrise when the backbreaking work started all over again.

If he had to stay here a couple of days to wait on the reading of the will, maybe he’d get up with the hands and pitch in. Nothing like working up a sweat hauling hay, rounding cattle or mending fences to take his mind off the fact that he’d never see his daddy again.

It made him think about his mother and how he’d felt at eight when she’d died. He’d run home from the school bus that day, anxious for a hug and to tell her about the school rodeo he’d signed up for, but the minute he’d walked in and seen his daddy crying, he’d known something was terribly wrong.

And that his life would never be the same.

Damn drunk driver had turned his world upside down.

Shaking off the desolate feeling the memory triggered, he reminded himself that he had made a success out of himself. He had friends...well, not friends, really. But he was surrounded by people all the time.

He’d thought that the crowd loving him would somehow fill the empty hole inside him. That having folks cheer for him and yell his name meant they loved him.

But they loved the rodeo star. If he didn’t have that, no one would give him a second look.

The breeze invigorated him as he galloped across the pasture. When he reached the ranch, he spotted Maddox outside with a woman. Moonlight played off the front yard, and he yanked on the reins to slow his horse as he realized he was intruding on a private moment. He steered the animal behind a cluster of trees, waiting in the shadows.

Maddox was on his knees, and so was the woman he was with. They were kissing like they couldn’t get enough of each other.

The two of them finally pulled back for a breath, and Brett froze as he saw Maddox slide a ring on the woman’s finger.

His brother had just proposed.

He should be glad for Maddox. His older brother had taken his mother’s death hard, and he and their daddy had been close.

Maddox had obviously found love. Good for him.

He tightened his fingers around the reins, turned the gelding around and rode back to the stables.

Something about seeing Maddox with that woman made him feel even more alone than he had before.

* * *

WILLOW COULDN’T STAND to look at Leo’s dead body.

She needed to call the police. But what if the killer was watching her and the sheriff came, and he saw her and hurt her son?

She paced to the living room, frantic. She needed help. She couldn’t do this alone.

But calling Sheriff McCullen was out of the question.

Brett’s face flashed behind her eyes. She hadn’t talked to him since he’d left five years ago. When they’d made love that night, she’d thought that Brett might be rethinking his career, that he might have missed her. That he might have contemplated returning to her.

But the next day he’d left town without a word.

Still, he was Sam’s father. Even if he didn’t know it.

Heaven help her...he’d be furious with her for not telling him. Although years ago, he’d made it plain and clear that he didn’t intend to settle down or stay in Pistol Whip. A wife and a child would have cramped his style and kept him from chasing his dreams.

And Willow refused to trap him. He would only have resented her and Sam.

Would he help her now?

She picked up Sam’s photo and studied her precious little boy’s face, and she decided it didn’t matter. It might be a bad time for Brett, but her son was in danger, and she’d do anything to save him.

Her hand trembled as she phoned the McCullen house. Mama Mary answered, and she asked to speak to Brett.

“He’s out riding, can I take a message or tell him who called?”

“It’s Willow James. And it’s important,” she said. “Can you give me his cell phone number?”

“Why sure thing, Ms. Willow.” Mama Mary repeated it and Willow ended the call abruptly, then called Brett’s mobile. Nerves gripped her as she waited on him to answer. What if he didn’t pick up? He might not want to talk to her at all.

The phone clicked, then his deep voice echoed back. “Hello.”

“Brett, it’s Willow.”

Dead silence, then his sharp intake of breath. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry about your father,” she said quickly. “But I...need to see you tonight.”

“What?” His voice sounded gruff, a note of surprise roughening it.

“Please,” Willow cried. “I...can’t explain, but it’s a matter of life and death.”

Chapter Three

Brett clenched his phone in a white-knuckled grip as he paced the barn. He hadn’t seen or talked to Willow in years, and she hadn’t attended his father’s funeral today. Even as he’d told himself he didn’t care if she came, he’d looked for her.

But now she wanted to see him?

It’s a matter of life and death.

What the hell was going on?

He cleared his throat. Once upon a time, he’d have jumped and run at a moment’s notice if Willow had called. But she was a married woman now. “What’s wrong, Willow?”

“I can’t explain on the phone,” she said, her voice strained. “Please, Brett... I don’t know what else to do. Who to call.”

His gut tightened at the desperation in her voice. “Willow—”

“Please, I’m begging you. I need your help.”

“All right, I’ll be right there.” He didn’t bother to ask for her address. He knew where she lived. Mama Mary had managed to drop it in the conversation once when he’d had a weak moment and had called home.

He’d already unsaddled his horse, so he jogged back to the house and climbed in his pickup truck.

Thankfully, Maddox and his lady friend had gone inside, and he had no idea where Ray was, so he didn’t have to explain to anyone. Not that he had to tell them where he was going.

He hadn’t answered to anyone in a long time.

Well, except for his publicist and fans and the damn press.

He drove from the ranch, winding down the drive to the road leading into town, the quiet of the wilderness a reprieve from the cities he’d traveled to. A few miles, and he drove through the small town, noting that not much had changed.

At this late hour, the park was empty, the general store closed, yet country music blared from The Silver Bullet, and several vehicles were parked in the lot. He wasn’t surprised to see Ray’s. He was probably drowning his sorrows.

Inside, the booze and music was always flowing, the women footloose and fancy-free. Just his type.

Another night maybe...

He turned down the street toward Willow’s, anxiety needling him. He’d never stopped loving her. Wanting her.

But she was taken. And he had a different life now. A life he’d chosen. Another rodeo coming up, another town...

Children’s bikes and toys dotted the yards, suggesting the neighborhood catered to young families. The house at the end of her block, a small rustic log cabin, was Willow’s and was set way back from the road, offering privacy. A beat-up pickup truck that had obviously run over the child’s bike sat crooked, half in the drive, half in the yard.

His father had said Willow had troubles... Did it have to do with the man she’d married? Judging from the sloppy way the truck was parked, and the fact that he’d run over the bike, maybe he’d been drinking...

Not your problem, Brett.

Except that Willow said she needed him.

He scanned the outside to see if her old man was lurking around. Did he know that Brett and his wife had had a romantic relationship years ago?

He braced himself for trouble as he parked and walked up to the front door. Barring a low-burning light in the bedroom, the house looked dark.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he rang the doorbell. Something didn’t feel right...

He waited several seconds, then knocked and called through the door, “Willow, it’s me. Brett.”

The sound of footsteps on the other side echoed, then the lock turned, and the door squeaked open. His breath stalled in his chest as Willow appeared, the door cracking just enough to see her face.

“Brett?” Her face looked ashen, and a streak of blood darkened her hair.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Panicked at the sight of her disheveled state, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. “What the hell’s wrong?”

She slammed the door shut, then locked it and turned to face him, her eyes wide with fear. “Help me,” she whispered as she threw herself into his arms.

Brett’s stomach churned as he pulled her trembling body against him and wrapped his arms around her.

* * *

WILLOW SANK INTO Brett’s arms, the terror she’d felt since she’d arrived home pouring out of her as he held her. She tried to battle the tears, but they overflowed, soaking his shirt.

“Shh, it’s all right,” Brett murmured into her hair. “Whatever’s wrong, we can fix it.”

She shook her head against him. “That’s just it, I don’t know if I can.”

Brett stroked her hair, and rubbed slow circles along her back. For the first time in years, she felt safe. Cared for.

But he was only being nice. He had his own life, and when she confessed the truth about Sam, there was no telling how he’d react. He might hate her.

Or he might leave town and not get involved in her troubles. A murder case could ruin his reputation.

But really—none of that mattered. Not when Sam was in danger.

“Willow,” Brett said softly. “Honey, you’ve got to tell me what’s wrong. What happened?”

Brett slipped a handkerchief into her hands and she wiped her face. Then she looked up into his eyes.

He had the darkest, most gorgeous eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes she’d gotten lost in years ago.

She wanted to soak in his features, but looking at that handsome, strong face only reminded her of her little boy who looked so much like him that it hurt.

He rubbed her arms. “Willow, talk to me.”

“I...don’t know where to begin.” With the body of her dead husband? Or Sam?

“You said it was a matter of life and death. I know you’re married, that you have a little boy.” She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at him for a moment.

“I noticed the pickup truck outside and the crunched bike. Is that what this is about?”

“I wish it was that simple,” she said on a shaky breath.

Brett led her over to the sofa and she sank onto it, her legs giving way. He joined her, but this time he didn’t touch her.

“Your husband? Is he here? Did he hurt you?”

Emotions threatened to overcome her again, and she glanced at the phone, willing it to ring. Willing the caller to tell her how to get her little boy back and end this horror.

“Did he?” Brett asked, his voice harsh with anger.

She shook her head. “Not exactly.”

Brett shot up from the seat, his jaw twitching. “Come on, Willow, tell me what the hell is going on.”

“He’s dead,” Willow blurted. “Leo is...dead.”

Brett went stone still and stared at her. “What do you mean, dead?”

“In there,” Willow said. “When I got home tonight, I found him.”

He glanced around the bedroom, then exhaled noisily. “How did he die?”

“Someone shot him.” Her voice cracked. “There’s blood...everywhere.”

Brett released a curse and strode to the bedroom. Willow jumped up and raced after him, trembling as he flipped on the overhead light. The stark light lit the room, accentuating the grisly scene in her bed. Leo staring at the ceiling with dead eyes. Blood on his clothes and the sheets.

Brett choked back an obscenity. “Who shot him?”

“I don’t know,” Willow whispered. “I...found him and was going to call the police, but then a man jumped me.”

Brett pivoted, his eyes searching her face, mouth pinched with anger as he lifted his hand and touched her forehead. She didn’t realize she’d been bleeding, but he drew his hand back and she saw blood streaking his finger. “He hurt you?”

“I’m all right. He grabbed me from behind, and he said... He told me not to call the police, that he...had Sam.”

“Sam?”

Willow’s lungs strained for air. “My little boy. He has him, Brett. And he said if I called the police, I’d never see him again.”

* * *

BRETT GRITTED HIS TEETH. “You mean he kidnapped your child?”

“Yes,” Willow cried. “I have to get him back.”

Brett stared at the man lying dead in Willow’s bed.

Her husband.

He’d never met the man but had heard he was a businessman, that he’d done well for himself.

So why had someone wanted him dead? And why kidnap Willow’s son?

“I don’t know what to do,” Willow said “I...can’t leave Leo there. But if I call the sheriff, he’ll send police and crime workers, and I might never see Sam again.”

Cold fury seized Brett’s insides. What kind of person threatened a small child?

“How old is Sam?” he asked.

“Four,” Willow said. “He’s just a little guy, Brett. He has to be terrified.” Her voice cracked again, her terror wrenching Brett’s heart. “And if he saw Leo murdered, then he may be traumatized.”

He also might be able to identify the killer.

But Brett bit back that observation because it would only frighten Willow more.

If her son could identify her husband’s shooter, the killer might not let Sam live anyway, no matter what Willow did.

Brett tried to strip the worry from his voice. “What does this man want from you, Willow?”

“I have no idea.” She looked up at him with swollen, tear-stained eyes. “He said to wait for a call.”

Brett turned away from the sight of the bloody, dead man. “I know you’re scared, but think about it—why would this man take Sam? Did your husband have a lot of money?”

Willow shook her head back and forth, sending her hair swaying. It was tangled from where she’d run her hands through it, the long strands even more vibrant with streaks of gold and red than he remembered.

He tried to dismiss memories of running his hands through it, of the way it felt tickling his belly when she’d loved him, but an image teased his mind anyway.

“Are you sure? Maybe he had some investments? Stocks?”

“If he had any money, I didn’t know about it,” Willow said. “He didn’t even have a savings or checking account in town. It’s one of the things we argued about.”

Brett arched a brow. He didn’t have a bank account in town—which meant he was probably hiding one somewhere else? “One of the things?”

Her face paled. “Yes.” She closed her eyes, a pained sound escaping her. “You might as well know. We weren’t getting along. We hadn’t for a while. Leo moved out three years ago.”

Brett tried to assimilate that information. “What has he been doing?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a choked whisper.

“Was he giving you any money to live on? Helping out with the boy?”

Willow worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “No. He...didn’t want to be a father to Sam.”

An odd note crept into her voice.

“What kind of father doesn’t want to be there for his kid?”

Willow didn’t respond, making Brett even more curious about her husband and how he’d treated her.

“Willow, talk to me. What happened between you two? Was he abusing you and Sam?”

Willow cut her eyes away. “When we met, he was kind, charming. But the last year he’d been drinking too much, and his temper erupted.”

“And he took it out on you and Sam?”

Willow shrugged. “At first it was just verbal. But...he hit me once. Then he started in on Sam, and I told him to leave.” A fierce protectiveness strengthened her voice. “I would never let him hurt my son. I asked him for a divorce.”

“How did he take that?”

“He was angry, but he left. Frankly...I think he wanted out.”

“You don’t know what he’s been doing since?”

“No, I have no idea.”

He was obviously in trouble.

Dammit. Even though he and his brother were hardly talking, Brett’s first instinct was to call Maddox.

But that would endanger Willow’s son.

Besides, Maddox had always been by the book. He’d want to call in the authorities, issue an Amber Alert, all the things they should be doing.

But if they did those things, Willow’s little boy could end up dead like his father.

He couldn’t allow that to happen.

So he made a snap decision. He’d bury Leo’s body and protect Willow until they found Sam.

Chapter Four

Willow couldn’t drag her eyes away from Leo’s dead body. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

She’d hated that her marriage had fallen apart, but it hadn’t been right from the beginning. She’d never loved Leo and he knew it.

And truthfully, she didn’t think he’d ever loved her.

But she’d been hurt with Brett, and lonely and a single pregnant woman with nowhere to turn. Leo had offered her security and comfort.

For a little while. Then everything had changed and the charming man who’d swept in like a hero had disappeared and become...someone she was afraid of.

Someone Sam was afraid of.

That was when she’d known she had to get out.

The blood on her hands mocked her. She hadn’t loved Leo but she’d never wished him dead.

And where was her precious little boy? Was he safe? Hurt? Scared?

A tremor rippled through her. Of course he was scared. He’d been taken from his home.

“We’ll bury him on the ranch somewhere,” Brett said. “It’s too dangerous to do it in your neighborhood.”

Willow rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if to warm herself. “But what about Maddox? He’s the sheriff and...your brother.”

Brett’s look darkened. “I know that,” Brett said. “I’ll talk to him and explain once we get your little boy back.”

Willow’s heart constricted. “I’m sorry for putting you in this position, Brett. You could get in trouble with the law. But...I didn’t know who else to call.”

Brett clasped her arms and forced her to look at him. “Don’t worry about me, Willow. I can handle whatever happens. But we can’t go to Maddox yet. We have to play by this bastard’s rules, until we find Sam.”

How could she argue with that? She’d give her life for her son’s.

And if Brett knew that Sam was his, he’d do the same.

He probably would anyway, just because he was a McCullen. Joe McCullen had taught his boys old-fashioned values, that men were supposed to protect women and children.

Brett moved over by the bed. “I need to get him in the back of my pickup.”

“Why? Aren’t we going to bury him in the backyard?”

“No,” Brett said. “You live in a neighborhood. And if anyone comes asking about Leo and is suspicious, this is the first place they’d look.” He glanced down at the floor and indicated the braided rug. “Let’s wrap him in the sheet and I can use the rug to slide him outside.”

“But what if a neighbor sees us?”

Brett’s jaw tightened. “Your house is set far enough back from the road, so unless someone is in the drive, we should be all right. But I’ll move my truck up to the garage and we can go through there just to be safe.”

Willow agreed, although she knew what they were doing was wrong. Illegal. That they could both be charged.

But nothing mattered now except saving Sam.

* * *

BRETT HATED THE FEAR in Willow’s eyes. If he had hold of the bastard who had hurt her and taken her little boy, he’d pound his head in.

He started to roll Leo in the sheet, but doubts hit him. He’d seen enough crime shows to know that as soon as he touched the man or the bedding, he was contaminating evidence. Evidence that could lead to the killer and the person who had abducted Sam.

Besides, he’d gotten in a sticky situation once. Had been accosted by the jealous lover of a rodeo groupie he’d dated, a man who’d tried to make it look as if he was the guilty party. He’d seen how the police handled the situation. If it hadn’t been for a savvy detective who paid attention to detail, Brett might have gone to jail.