Page 26 of One in a Million

“Nothing that I didn’t tell the police. It should all be in their report.” He rose, signaling that the interview was about to end. “The evidence shows that Frank died where he fell, in the straw at the feet of his prize stallion.”

“With no witnesses.” Sam finished the thought.

“There was one witness who would have seen everything, but he isn’t talking,” Roper said. “Follow me. If you’ve got a few more minutes, I’ll introduce you.”

“I’ve got all the time you have to give me.” In approaching Roper McKenna for an interview, Sam had expected some resistance. But the man appeared to be a complete professional, as cordial as he was competent.

They stepped out into the heat of the stable. The box stall where Frank had died was still crisscrossed with yellow crime scene tape. There were other gated stalls farther down, some with horses looking out. But Roper stopped before a locked door and opened the dead bolt with his key. “You’ll want a look at this.”

The door opened into a small room lined with counters and shelves. Veterinary instruments, hoses, and clippers hung from a wall rack next to a sterilizer. Bottles and small cartons filled the shelves. “Our vet supply room. Li—Mrs. Culhane wants to build a full facility with an on-site vet, but that’s going to take time and money.”

“Any fentanyl in here?”

“No. It had to have been brought in.”

“Who has keys?”

“Me. Mrs. Culhane. The vet who comes in. There may be a few others around, lent out and never returned. There are some powerful drugs that we keep locked up. We’d be smart to change the locks. But no, we don’t stock the drug that killed Frank. Seen enough?”

At Sam’s nod, they left the room. After locking the door behind them, Roper ushered Sam down the row of stalls to the widest one and slid the stall gate open far enough for the two men to step inside.

A bay roan stallion raised its majestic head and swung around to face them—not aggressively, but the horse was clearly nervous, showing the whites of its large, expressive eyes.

“This is One in a Million,” Roper said. “Some people think a horse is just a big, dumb block of bones and muscle. But horses are highly intelligent and as sensitive as humans. They can feel fear, tenderness, anger, loyalty, even grief. Frank raised this big boy, trained him, and was the only one who rode him in competition. There was a lifetime bond there. Seeing his owner attacked and killed had to be traumatic for him. As you might guess, he’s still in shock. We’re trying to ease him through it, but it’s taking time.”

Sam studied the stallion. He knew next to nothing about horses, but even he could recognize a superb animal. “That’s a beautiful horse,” he said.

“He’s the perfect American quarter horse,” Roper said. “They’re bred for working cattle—sturdy limbs and body, strong neck, angled to keep the head down and focused on their job. And talk about smart—One in a Million may be pretty, but he’s a champion because of his intelligence and what they call cow sense. He’s been a winner in both reining and cow cutting. I came here too late to see him compete, but I was told that even without a rider, he could work cattle the way a Border collie works sheep.”

“So he doesn’t compete anymore?”

“I still put him through his paces every day, but he’s retired to the breeding shed. His sons and daughters have racked up millions in winnings for their owners.”

“The breeding shed. I understand that’s pretty much gone high-tech these days.” Sam had seen theYellowstoneepisode with cowboy Jimmy collecting semen on the 6666 Ranch.

“That’s right. Breeding these performances horses is mostly done in the lab now. Frank would still do a natural breeding for a price. But when I heard that the 6666 Ranch had gone entirely to artificial insemination and IVF, I decided it was time to make the same change. When you’re dealing with powerful, half-million-dollar horses, the natural way is too dangerous. There’s too much risk that an injury could end an animal’s valuable breeding career.”

“So, like so many things these days, the bottom line is money.”

“Sadly . . .” Roper had moved to the stallion’s head. He stroked the satiny neck, calming the horse for the moment as he whispered comforting phrases. “But it’s not just about money. This is more than a sport. This is passion to the point of obsession. There’s a whole lifestyle built around these horses. So no, money is just the fuel that keeps the show running. It matters, but so do other things.” Abruptly, he turned toward the stall gate. “Time to get back to training. Come and watch if you want. Just stay out of the way and don’t interrupt me.”

As they left the stall, Roper latching the gate behind them, Sam was struck by a new thought. One in a Million had been witness to a brutal murder. He couldn’t speak. But what if the stallion could recognize and react to the person who had killed his owner? It wouldn’t provide legal proof of anything. But at least, Sam speculated, it might point him in the right direction.

* * *

By the time Roper left work in his truck, the sky was streaked with ribbons of sunset. He was bone weary, but the day had been all right. The extra training session with Million Dollar Baby had been nearly perfect. And the interview with the FBI agent had gone as well as expected. He agreed with Lila’s assessment of Sam Rafferty. There was more to the low-key federal man than met the eye. He appeared to be a keen observer who played his cards close to his vest.

As he used the remote to pass through the ranch gate, he glanced back toward the house. The lights were on in the dining room where, over dinner, Lila would be planning Frank’s memorial with her family, probably fighting off their attacks on her right to her late husband’s ranch—the ranch whose reputation she’d helped to build.

If he’d been included, he would have stood by her, defending her from their jabs. But he knew better. This was family, and Lila would be on her own. She was a strong woman, stronger than her weak stepchildren. But she was outnumbered. And when their mother showed up, the real battle for the Culhane Ranch would begin. Roper had never met Madeleine Carlyle Culhane, but he’d been given to understand that she was a formidable woman with an army of lawyers at her command.

And right now, all he could do for Lila was take care of her horses.

As he neared the home ranch in the deepening twilight, he could see the familiar vehicles clustered in the yard—the motor home, the long horse trailer, the pickup, and two four-wheelers that went on the circuit with the entourage of young McKennas. His brothers and sister were home from the rodeo in Fort Worth.

Roper parked to one side and climbed out of his truck. The aroma of his mother’s chicken and dumplings teased his hunger. Rachel always made an effort to have a good meal ready when her children came home.

The boys were lounging on the porch, Stetson and Rowdy on the swing and Chance draped over a chair, with the dog at his feet. Their grins told Roper, without asking, that the rodeo had gone well for them. Cocky little devils. But Roper was genuinely fond of them and celebrated their victories. The trailer was empty, the horses put away. There was no sign of Cheyenne. She was probably inside.