Page 70 of River Justice

Charlotte disconnected more determined than ever to make changes in her life. One in particular had needed to be made for years, she thought as she left the house.

*

THETIMESBIRDIEsneaked onto the Stafford Ranch, she’d made sure that most everyone was away from the house or in bed asleep.

Even with Holly Jo safe back at the McKenna Ranch, she suspected everyone, including those at the Stafford Ranch, would be on the lookout for anyone on the property who shouldn’t be. That would mean her.

But she wasn’t going to the main Stafford Ranch house—or anywhere near Brand. She didn’t need to ask him what he would think of her approaching his mother’s ranch manager to prove that his mother was a murderer.

Before she’d left Elmer, she’d gotten the information she needed to find Boyle Wilson’s cabin. It was in a spot where he had privacy and could come and go at will unseen. Which also meant he wouldn’t have known if someone had seen him leave the night Dixon Malone was killed. He could have followed Charlotte to the McKenna house that night, since apparently he had a romantic interest in his employer. He could have witnessed the murder and kept it to himself to use later as leverage. According to Elmer, that was the kind of man the ranch manager was.

Boyle’s cabin was on the other side of the dense stand of cottonwoods, far away from the house and some distance from the bunkhouse. There was a path out the back door to the stables, but the front door faced the mountains in the distance. Out his front window was miles of ranch land and little else until the pastures rose to foothills and higher.

Realizing how isolated the cabin was made Birdie hesitate. She considered herself brave, but not foolish to the point of facing down death. Elmer, who was clearly afraid of Boyle, had warned her. She didn’t doubt that the man was as evil as the retired ranch hand believed him to be.

But this couldn’t wait, she told herself. Tonight, she might find out the truth. Once she did, there was nothing keeping her here. She thought about Brand and the silence in the pickup after Ryder had asked about them. They’d been a novelty in Powder Crossing, something to gossip about. Even after all they’d shared, how could they be more than that?

The sun had long set behind the mountains to the west. Twilight had settled over the Stafford Ranch. Long dark shadows had formed under the cottonwoods. As she approached Boyle’s cabin, keeping to the pockets of darkness, she heard voices. The closer she got, the louder they became. A man and a woman were arguing. At first she couldn’t make out what they were saying—until she reached the front of the cabin.

Through a partially opened window, she heard the woman say, “Boyle, I didn’t come out here to argue with you.”

She crouched down so she could see inside the lit cabin. Charlotte Stafford?

Boyle, a rugged, surly-looking man with a smirk on his face, took a step toward her. “You think you came out here to fire me?” He laughed. “If that was true, you would have called me up to the main house like you usually do. Queen-of-the-manor-like. But no.” He took another step. Charlotte held her ground. “You came down to my cabin for the very first time for a whole other reason, and we both know it.” He reached out as if to touch her, but she slapped his hand away.

“I wanted to look you in your eye when I fired you, and I didn’t want anyone else to hear this,” she said.

“Didn’t want anyone to hear? You mean family? Or staff. You don’t think I’ve noticed that you’ve cut your household staff down to nothing and your young’ins have scattered to the wind? This ranch is in trouble, Charlotte.”

“It’s Mrs. Stafford to you, Boyle.”

His head tipped back, and a roar of laughter came out. “Why don’t you admit it? How long has it been since you’ve had a man in your bed? A real man, not Holden McKenna, the man who used you and dumped you how many times?”

Her hand came up fast. Boyle didn’t have time to avoid her slap. The sound of it ricocheted through the small cabin. But he was fast enough to grab her hand and jerk her toward him. He caught her at her waist with his free arm and slammed her against him.

“You’re going to find out what a real man feels like,” he growled as he shoved her up against the wall, trapping her there with his body. Charlotte fought hard, but he already had one of her hands and grabbed the wrist of the other, trapping them both in his huge hand. Pinned against the wall, she struggled as he bent to kiss her.

Birdie had shot up from where she was crouched the moment Boyle grabbed Charlotte. She rushed to the door and threw it open as the ranch manager let out a cry and jerked back from the kiss. She saw that his lip was bleeding, his face a distorted mask of fury.

“You bitch!” He drew back, fisted his free hand and swung it at Charlotte’s face.

But before it reached its destination, Birdie grabbed his arm and cranked it down behind Boyle’s back. At the same time, she got a knee between his legs and brought him down hard on the wood floor. She knew she wouldn’t be able to keep a man his size and strength down, though, so she quickly jumped back, expecting him to rise and attack as he started to get up from the floor.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charlotte pull a shotgun down from the gun rack by the door. She swung around, ratcheted a shell into the chamber and pressed the end of the barrel against the back of Boyle’s head before he could get to his feet.

He froze.

Birdie exchanged a look with the woman. “Let’s call the sheriff?”

Charlotte seemed to think about that. “Or I could pull this trigger and save the sheriff the ride out here.”

“And join your son in prison,” Boyle groused from where he was sprawled on the floor.

“I’ll call for help.” Birdie pulled out her phone and dialed 911.

“You don’t want to do this, Charlotte,” Boyle said. “Who knows what might come out of my mouth once I start talking to the sheriff?”

Charlotte ignored him, seeming unconcerned. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said after Birdie made the call and pocketed her phone again. “I’m assuming you know who I am. Charlotte. Charlotte Stafford.” The shotgun was still pressed to the back of Boyle’s head. She looked like a woman who knew how to use the firearm, and Birdie figured Boyle knew it, too.

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