“I’ve only had a few minutes to read up on your case, Mr. Maddox,” she said. “My first impression is that we’ve got a tough fight ahead of us. But I’ll give it my best shot.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Luke said.
“Fine. And you don’t need to say it. I’m not what you expected. But believe me, this isn’t my first rodeo. I worked in Chicago, in the Cook County prosecutor’s office, for twenty-eight years. When my health couldn’t take it anymore—bad heart—I came home to Blanco, where I grew up. I’m pretty much retir
ed now, but I help out the court when they need me. So let’s get started. You’re familiar with attorney-client privilege?”
“Yes. I’m afraid this isn’t my first rodeo either.”
“So I see.” She glanced at the file, which lay open on the table. “So, since you understand that everything you tell me here is confidential, I’ll just ask you straight out. Did you ambush and kill Will Tyler?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Okay, so let’s hear your side.”
Luke told her the whole story, including his relationship with Erin and his decision to leave the Rimrock. Only one detail was left out—their night of lovemaking. That was too personal to share.
“So the girl believes you’re not guilty of killing her father?”
“That’s right. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you.”
“And the so-called witness was her boyfriend until you came along?”
“That’s right.”
“Fine.” Pearl closed the file and slid it back into her purse. “You’ll be arraigned in the morning. You’ll plead not guilty. After that we’ll work on three possible lines of defense: Number one, if the bullet can be recovered and tested, it won’t be a match for your gun. Number two, the witness had reason to lie about what he saw. And number three, we can hope to prove that you were too far away to have committed the crime. Got it?”
“Got it.” Luke had a good feeling about the woman. At least she was experienced. But that was no guarantee she could clear him of murder.
“All right, then.” Pearl stood and gathered her things. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’ve seen stronger defenses than yours fall apart, but we’ll give it our best shot. See you in the morning.”
With that, she walked out, the thump of her cane echoing down the hall.
* * *
Will Tyler’s funeral filled the Congregational Church and overflowed into the parking lot. The service was informal, with friends who’d known him invited to get up and say a few words. Several did, including Rose, who spoke about the early days when she’d known him as a boy.
Erin had glimpsed Kyle with his parents, taking their seats in the back of the chapel. Now she kept her face forward, focusing her attention on the service. But it was as if she could feel his gaze boring into the back of her head. She hadn’t spoken with him since the discovery that he was the sheriff’s witness against Luke. But this was the time to honor her father’s memory. Any nastiness with Kyle would have to wait.
She listened as Will’s friends told stories about his honesty, his fearlessness, and his generosity. Will Tyler hadn’t been a perfect man, but he’d been a good man, passionate in his devotion to his ranch and his family.
By the time the closing hymn was sung, there was scarcely a dry eye in the place. The congregation stood with a rustling of motion. With what was left of the family—Beau, Sky, Lauren and their children, and Rose, who’d been included—Erin followed the casket out the door to the waiting hearse. Kyle was still watching her—she could sense it, like a fly crawling on her skin. But that couldn’t be allowed to matter.
Later on, after Will was laid to rest beside his beloved Tori, she would deal with Kyle, the bank, the sheriff, the ranch, Luke’s lawyer, and everything else that had been laid on her inexperienced shoulders. Right now, all she could do was say a loving good-bye and try to carry on as her father would have expected.
* * *
Most of the townspeople went home after the church service. The closer friends and family followed the hearse to the Rimrock for Will’s burial in the family cemetery. The little plot, on the crest of a low hill, looked dry and desolate in the summer heat, the sparse grass yellowed, the ground baked hard, the granite headstones hot to the touch.
The oldest grave was that of Williston Tyler, who’d settled the land and fathered a son by a wife who’d died young. His son, Virgil “Bull” Tyler, who’d built a hardscrabble ranch into a family empire, lay next to his beloved Susan. Now Will would be there, too, beside Erin’s mother.
Other spaces were empty. Would she lie in one of them someday? Erin wondered. Would Luke? Or would this sad little square of land be gobbled up and sold to the syndicate, along with the rest of the Rimrock, when the bank foreclosed?
The thought triggered a burst of hot emotion. She couldn’t lose the ranch. She owed it to these people, and to generations to come, to keep the Rimrock in the family. Somehow, whatever it took, she would have to find a way.
Back at the house, guests gathered for a late buffet of drinks, fresh rolls, donated salads and casseroles, and Carmen’s chocolate cake. When Jasper had died, it had been Will who’d greeted people and accepted their condolences. Now, with Will gone, Beau packing the car for the trip home, and Sky tending to the ranch, that duty fell to Erin.
Most everyone was kind, squeezing her hand, introducing themselves if she didn’t know them, and offering what passed for comfort. Aside from a nagging headache, she was holding up well, or so she thought, until she looked across the room and saw Kyle and his parents making their way toward her. From where she stood, she could see the swollen, purpled flesh that ringed his left eye.