Lock, Stock and McCullen
Don't miss USA TODAY bestselling author Rita Heron's new miniseries, The Heroes of Horseshoe Creek…Sherriff Maddox McCullen cradled Rose Worthington, every protective fiber of his being firing as she shuddered against him. She told him how she had been brutally attacked and had killed the man—her fiancé!—in self defense. But when Maddox investigates the crime scene, he finds nothing. No bullet casing, no blood, no body.The deeper Maddox probes, the more questions arise, revealing a mysterious past that shatters all Rose has ever known. Caught in the crosshairs of escalating danger—and his powerful desire for Rose—Maddox vows to protect her. He’ll risk his life to find a desperate enemy who will stop at nothing to keep the past buried.
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For a moment, her breath caught.
She found Maddox in her kitchen, scrambling eggs on the stove with a mug of coffee in his hand. The big, tough-looking cowboy seemed at ease in the kitchen, but his jaw was still set in that firm line, and when he looked up at her, a dark wariness had settled in his eyes.
He poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her, their fingers brushing. A tingle rippled through her at the heat, but he yanked his hand back quickly, then scooped the eggs onto a plate.
âWe need to talk.â
Roseâs instincts surged to life, and she sank into the kitchen chair. She sipped her coffee. âYou found something?â
He shook his head then joined her at the table, his big hands wrapped around the mug. âThatâs just it, Rose. I ran a background check on Thad Thoreau and didnât find anything.â
She frowned. âNothing incriminating?â
âI mean nothing,â he said, emphasizing the last word. âAs in the Thad Thoreau you knew doesnât exist.â
RITA HERRON, a USA TODAY bestselling author, wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didnât think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesnât have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for writing romance, and now she writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. Rita lives in Georgia with her family. She loves to hear from readers, so please write her at PO Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, USA, or visit her website, www.ritaherron.com.
Contents
There were days and nights when he didnât know if he could do it.
Kill Rose.
He remembered her smiling face as a child. That striking red hair. Her singsongy voice. The way sheâd looked at him as if he hung the moon.
After sheâd disappeared from his life, heâd dreamed about her. Had wanted to find her. Had asked his father over and over where sheâd gone and if she was coming back.
His father had told him to forget her.
Then, years later, heâd stumbled onto the truth.
And he hadnât known what to do.
Mistakes had been made, his father saidâmistakes that had cost lives.
Mistakes that, in the end, could save others.
His resolve kicked in. Unfortunately there was no turning back now.
Rose Worthington had to die.
Sheriff Maddox McCullen did not want his father to die.
But he was dying anyway, and Maddox couldnât do a damn thing to stop it.
He clenched the doorknob to his fatherâs bedroom door, his stomach fisted into a cold hard knot.
Heâd looked up to Joe McCullen his whole life, admired his fatherâs love of the land and the way heâd run the family ranch, Horseshoe Creek. It had been passed down from one McCullen to the next for generations and had made men out of all of them.
His father was as tough as steel and had worked hard. Heâd bred thoroughbreds and raised cattle and treated his ranch hands with respect and authority.
But he would be gone soon, and Maddox had to take over. Not that he wasnât prepared. The ranch was in his blood. Taking care of it and the town gave him a purpose.
Mama Mary, the housekeeper and cook whoâd practically raised him, met him at his fatherâs door. Short, plump and sturdy, sheâd squished him in her big loving arms since he was a child.
âHow is he?â
âResting,â she said, her hands gripping a tray holding a teapot and empty cup. âBut he wants to see you.â
Maddox rapped gently on the door, then pushed it open, forcing himself not to react to the changes in the big, strong man whoâd taught him how to shoot a rifle, ride a horse and rope a calf. His father had lost more weight, his eyes looked sunken and his hand shook as he raised it to cover a cough.
Dammit. Maddox was a take-charge man, a doer. He fixed peopleâs problems. He didnât like this feeling of being helpless.
But his father needed him to be strong. He sure as hell didnât need to see his oldest son break down.
âDad?â
âCome on in, Maddox. We need to talk.â
God, not another discussion of his will and how and where he wanted to be buried.
âWhat is it? Can I get you something?â
A sheen of sweat coated his fatherâs pale forehead. âNo, but there is something you can do for me.â
His dad waved him over, and Maddox crossed the room, his boots pounding the wood floor. He dragged the straight chair in the corner next to the bed, straddled it, then removed his Stetson.
âAnything, Dad. You name it.â
His father pushed himself to a sitting position, then raked what little hair he had left back from his forehead. âIt wonât be long nowââ
