Page 4 of Lie for a Million

The black Chevy SUV he’d been driving belonged to the Bureau. His own car, an aging Toyota, had been left in Chicago. Sam had flown to Abilene for a job interview and been thrown onto the Culhane case the first day. He’d had no time off to return to Chicago and move his belongings out of the rented apartment where he’d lived since his divorce. Meanwhile, he was camping out in a dreary motel room.

After taking his cell phone out of his pocket, he checked for new messages. The only thing worth reading was a text from Lila Culhane confirming that his quarters in the guest bungalow would be ready for his arrival. He knew she wouldn’t be pleased to welcome him back. But when the Bureau had made the request, she’d known better than to refuse.

The temptation to phone Jasmine at her mother’s condo in Austin was almost eating him alive. He thrust the phone back into his pocket and started the vehicle. At times like this, Sam would have bargained his soul to hear her voice. But while he was back on the Culhane case, their relationship was taboo. For the sake of his job, they’d agreed to stay apart until the investigation was over. Even a phone call could be traced and checked.

The hell of it was, as long as the case remained unsolved, Jasmine couldn’t be ruled out as a suspect. The fact that he loved her couldn’t be allowed to matter. Sam’s instincts, combined with the lack of evidence, told him she was as innocent as she claimed to be.

But what if he was wrong?

* * *

Before leaving the stable, Roper checked the stall gates to make sure every door was locked. A few weeks ago, he might have left the task to one of the grooms. But that was before a hired hand’s negligence had let a wild animal into the stable. The huge hyena had escaped from the nearby game farm. After slipping through an open door, it had killed Million Dollar Baby, the ranch’s prize mare.

Baby’s tragic loss had set off a chain reaction of repercussions. The clash with Lila that morning had been only one of them. Now, with the Run for a Million just weeks away, Roper found himself at a crossroads.

Chet Barr, a leading quarter horse breeder, had offered Roper one of his best horses—a chestnut stallion named Fire Dance. Five years old, bred from a line of champions, the russet-coated horse had won several futurity events and was scoring well in big-time reining competition. Roper had seen him perform at the Cactus Classic and been impressed.

If asked, Barr would probably let him work with the stallion at his ranch near Amarillo. For Roper, there might even be a chance of a future job offer. But that would mean a permanent break with Lila. Was that what he wanted?

Barr was getting impatient for an answer. If Roper didn’t accept the horse soon, it might be offered to someone else. There were other horses available, but Fire Dance had the look of a winner. Whether he had the heart was something Roper wouldn’t know until he rode him in competition.

In the Run for a Million, with sixteen of the world’s best horses and riders competing, anything could happen. But another event, the Shootout, which would take place a day earlier, was just as demanding and every bit as stressful. The Shootout was a qualifier. Out of more than fifty competitors, the five riders with the top scores would secure their place in next year’s Run for a Million. Riders who didn’t make the cut would have one more chance at the Cactus Classic in March, where the remaining eleven would qualify.

Even the riders in this year’s big event would have to compete for a slot next year. Roper had already registered for the Shootout. Again, there was the question of which horse to use. But with so much hanging in the balance, including his job with Lila, he was too tired to make a decision tonight. He would get a good supper in his belly, sleep if he could, and start fresh in the morning. Maybe some answers would come to him.

The moon was rising by the time he crossed the employee lot to his aging Ford pickup and headed out the gate for home. Roper lived with his family on the small ranch they’d bought two years ago, when they moved from Colorado. Rich folks like the Culhanes looked down on them. But Roper’s parents were honest and hardworking, and his younger half-siblings—three boys and a girl—were rodeo stars on the national stage. They’d even been featured on the cover ofSports Illustrated.

Roper had been a winning bronc rider until an injury had forced him to quit and become a trainer. Looking back, he reflected, the horse that broke his hip had done him a favor. He could only hope that Stetson, Rowdy, Chance, and Cheyenne would have the sense to move on before they got injured or washed up.

The four had been out on the circuit most of the week, but as Roper crossed the creek by the bridge, drove through the gate, and saw the motor home and horse trailer, his spirit lightened. He was always happy to have the young ones come home.

The mouthwatering smell of his mother’s pot roast and fresh biscuits wafted through the open door of the simple clapboard house. There was a shabbiness about the place, but the need for corrals and a new stable had come before the vanity project of fixing up the house. Ever practical, his mother had insisted she didn’t need new flooring, cabinets, or siding anytime soon.

The aging cattle dog mix came wagging out to greet Roper as he climbed down from the truck. After petting the dog, he washed his hands at the pump and went inside.

The rest of the family was in the kitchen. The three lanky, suntanned boys—Stetson, Rowdy, and Chance—were seated around the table. Kirby, their father, was in his wheelchair, sipping from the ever-present cup of whiskey-laced coffee that he drank to ease the pain of his back, crushed years ago by a massive bucking bull.

Twenty-year-old Cheyenne was filling the unmatched glasses with ice water. A petite brunette with sensual lips and fiery eyes, she was the media star among the four young rodeo champions. Roper was aware that she’d turned down modeling and movie offers to compete on the circuit with her brothers. How long that would last was anybody’s guess.

Rachel, Roper’s mother, paused to tuck a strand of graying hair behind her ear, then moved the platter of meat and vegetables from the counter to the table and took her seat at the far end. She’d been a beauty once, but years of ranch life, raising a family, and caring for a disabled husband had taken their toll. Now she was the steady rock of the McKenna family, her softness worn away and replaced by steel.

The family joined hands around the table and shared a brief blessing. Then they filled their plates and began eating. Rachel was the kind of cook who could turn the cheapest ingredients into a tasty meal. Even in hard times, they’d never wanted for good food.

Roper would have to move away if he were to leave the nearby Culhane stables and go to work for another ranch. That could prove a problem. His parents needed him when their four younger offspring were on the rodeo circuit. Of course, Kirby and Rachel could always hire some help. Between Roper’s salary and the winnings of the young rodeo stars, they could easily afford it. But Rachel had always resisted. “I always believed folks should do for themselves,” she was fond of saying. “Paying somebody for work you could do with your own hands is plain laziness and a waste of money.”

“So how did the rodeo go, boys?” Kirby’s gravelly voice broke through the low murmur of hungry people eating.

“Fine,” Stetson said. “Rowdy won a buckle in bareback, and Chance was second in tie-down.”

“Only second?” Kirby sipped from the coffee-stained porcelain cup. For a man whose system was steeped in alcohol, he was sharp. “And what about you, Stetson?”

“I took the bull riding with an 88, but I banged my shoulder on the dismount. It’ll be sore for a while.”

“Just rub some of your mother’s liniment on it.” Kirby’s gaze shifted to Cheyenne. “And what about you, girl?”

“Jezebel went down on the third barrel. She’s all right. That’s what matters.”

“And what about you? Were you hurt?”

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