McCullen's Secret Son (The Heroes Of Horseshoe Creek Book 2) Read Free Page A

circuit now. He had fame and belt buckles and more women than any man had a right to have had.
    But as he mourned his father, he realized that in leaving, he’d missed something, too.
    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.
    * * *
    W ILLOW 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?
    * * *
    B RETT 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