Genuine Cowboy

by Joanna Wayne

  She and Collette moved to chairs near the window, still in Joey’s sight, but not so close that he’d hear every word, even if he had been listening. Fortunately, he appeared lost in a cartoon.

  Eve supplied the most basic facts about her relationship with Troy—that he had become a friend as well as a patient when she had served as his therapist during his incarceration. She’d stopped working at the prison two years ago and hadn’t seen Troy since that time. She felt remiss for not getting in touch with him sooner.

  “I wish everyone saw Troy as you do,” Collette said. “Too many people around here still see him as a murderer. Troy never complains, but I know the suspicions and mistrust take their toll. I think it hurts him most that his sons have avoided seeing him since his release—except for Dylan, of course.”

  “Troy always talked a lot about his sons.”

  “He will be so sorry he missed visiting with you.”

  The conversation turned to less stressful topics. Ranch life. The house Dylan and Collette had just built. Helene’s treasured courtyard garden that Collette had restored with Dylan and Troy’s help. Life in the small town of Mustang Run.

  When Colette’s phone rang, Eve was surprised to see that an hour had passed since the ambulance had sped away with Troy inside.

  Collette pulled the phone from her pocket and checked the caller ID. “It’s Dylan.”

  The tension seemed to melt from Collette’s features as she talked, allowing Eve to breathe easier. She stood and took their coffee cups to the sink, giving Collette a little privacy. For once, Joey didn’t follow.

  Collette was smiling when she joined her in the kitchen. “They’re still running tests, but Troy is responding to treatment and meds. He’s conscious and talking.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  Moisture brimmed in Collette’s eyes. “It would have been so sad if Troy had lost his life just when he was finding it again. I just hope his other sons give him a chance the way Dylan has.”

  “Maybe tonight’s incident will open their eyes,” Eve said.

  “I wouldn’t bet on it, but I’m sure Dylan will let them know about it. Anyway, Dylan said Troy remembers that you were here, and he’s asked about you.”

  She’d almost hoped he wouldn’t remember. He didn’t need to waste his energy worrying about her.

  “He seems to be under the impression that you’re in some kind of trouble,” Collette said.

  “I’m sure I didn’t say anything to give him that impression.”

  “Still, Dylan says he seems anxious to see you. I know this is an imposition, but is there any way you could make a quick trip to the hospital in the morning? It would mean a lot to him.”

  “I’m not sure.” She wasn’t even sure she’d stay in Austin. Perhaps the best thing now would be to just go home and rely on the police for protection.

  “You could stay the night,” Collette said. “Then you wouldn’t have to drive these unfamiliar country roads in the dark.”

  “You mean stay here at the ranch?”

  “Sure, there’s lots of room,” Colette said. “It’s not fancy, but it’s comfortable. I’d invite you to stay with Dylan and me, but unfortunately we haven’t furnished the guest room as yet.”

  Staying here was the perfect solution. Even if Orson was still planning revenge, he wouldn’t show up here. And by morning Orson might be behind bars again.

  “I suppose I could stay tonight,” she said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. “If you’re sure Troy won’t mind.”

  “After you saved his life? Not that he’d mind anyway. I’ll help you get your things out of the car and show you to the guest rooms. All the beds have new mattresses and linens, so you can take your pick.”

  “I can manage the luggage. I’ll just bring in an overnight bag.”

  “Then I’ll straighten the kitchen. Oh, but first give me your cell phone number in case I need to get in touch with you about Troy. That way you won’t have to bother picking up the house phone if it rings and answering a hundred questions if someone calls for Troy. And I’ll give you my number in case you need something in the house that you can’t locate.”

  Eve was hesitant to give Collette her phone number. The phone was new, temporary, bought with cash at a convenience store to make certain Orson could not use it to track her down. It had been purchased right after she’d gone to the bank and withdrawn five thousand dollars so that she wouldn’t have to use her credit cards.

  The only one who had the phone number was Gordon Epps—and the ambulance service, if they bothered to check their incoming call records.

  But surely Collette could be trusted.

  Once they’d exchanged numbers, Eve took her car keys from her pocket and started to her car. Joey jumped off the couch when he saw her pass with her keys in hand.

  “I’ll be right back, sweetie. You can keep watching TV. I’m just going to the car to get our luggage.”

  “What about our adventure?”

  “It’s late, and I’m very tired. We’ll spend the night and get an early start in the morning.”

  “I don’t want to spend the night here. I wanna sleep in my bed.”

  “Your bed is all the way back in Dallas. Besides, this is your first visit to a real ranch.”

  “And in the morning, I’ll show you the cows and the horses,” Colette said. “Do you like horses?”

  “I think so. I never got close to one,” he said, hurrying to keep up with Eve as she started toward the car. “But I need to go home.”

  Eve stooped and hugged him. “It’s going to be okay, Joey. You’ll like it here, and I’ll sleep next to you.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  The howl of coyotes in the distance and the forlorn hoot of an owl greeted them as they stepped onto the porch. Dark shadows jumped out at her as she took the creaking steps to the walk. Weirdly, she had a chilling feeling that someone was watching her.

  It was just the isolation of the ranch and the fear that stalked her. She couldn’t give in to it. Yet the icy trepidation stayed with her until she and Joey were back inside the well-lit house.

  She’d be safe here. To believe otherwise in the face of the facts would be letting Orson Bastion win the battle of minds without him ever making a move against her.

  She was tougher than that.

  THE CREAKS AND RASPS of the rambling old ranch house set Eve’s nerves on edge. Surprisingly, the same had not been true for Joey. He’d fallen asleep mere minutes after she’d tucked him into a twin bed at the end of the long hallway.

  Once she was sure he was sleeping soundly, Eve left him to brush her teeth and wash and cream her face in the nearby bathroom.

  Thoughts of Orson continued to plague Eve’s mind as she slipped into her cotton pajamas. Of all the inmates she’d counseled, he’d been the only one she dreaded having to talk to—even before the night he’d left no doubt that he could kill her without a second’s remorse.

  Joey was still sleeping soundly when she returned to the bedroom, but anxiety was buzzing inside Eve like a horde of angry bumblebees. Knowing sleep wouldn’t come quickly, she went back to the family room and turned on the TV.

  The local news was coming up next. Great. If they’d just announce that Orson Bastion had been recaptured, her nightmare could end and she could not only get a good night’s sleep, but actually look forward to seeing Troy in the morning.

  She shed her slippers and stretched out on the brown leather sofa while a string of commercials aired. Finally the screen switched to the newsroom of a local channel.

  “Stay tuned for breaking news concerning escaped convict Orson Bastion.”

  Eve tensed and waited. When a sophisticated blond anchor appeared, the grim expression on her meticulously made-up face guaranteed the news would be disturbing.

  “A young woman was fatally strangled after being kidnapped from a Dallas shopping center this afternoon. Her car was found deserted a few hours later. Pol
ice suspect that escaped prisoner Orson Bastion may have been involved in the death.”

  Eve clutched a throw pillow to her chest and fought off a bout of nausea. Orson had killed again, which was exactly what she’d testified he’d do if he was released from prison.

  He’d exhibited so many behaviors consistent with that of a psychopath, especially the lack of emotional involvement with others. The only thing that was missing was the fact that he didn’t have a real history of criminal behavior; or, if he did, she hadn’t been made aware of it.

  He was in jail for killing his stepbrother in an act of rage. He’d only received a charge of second-degree murder. Orson had been twenty-eight years old at the time. He was forty now.

  Eve flicked off the TV. She didn’t need to hear more. Gordon had said Orson would never look for her at the Ledger ranch, but what if Gordon was wrong? Still, this was likely the safest place on the planet, at least for the time being.

  If Troy were here, she’d likely feel totally safe, but she was alone in this rambling old house, without so much as a weapon to protect her son.

  She walked to the kitchen, checked the drawers and took out a carving knife. Just in case. Not that she’d need it. Still, knife in hand, she wandered back into the den just as streams of light flicked across the window. The low hum of an engine purred and then stopped.

  Someone was here, parked in the driveway.

  Surely not Orson. He couldn’t have found her this quickly. Yet adrenaline pumped through her leaving her shaking so violently she had to hold the knife with both hands.

  Heavy footsteps clumped across the wooden porch. Eve fought the rising panic. She had to stay calm. She could do this. She had to do this. If the man outside the door was Orson, a lock would never deter him.

  She stood so that she’d be behind the door if it opened, poised to bury the blade of the knife in Orson’s back the minute he stepped inside—if it was Orson.

  She heard the flick of a key in the lock. If the person at the door had a key, surely it wasn’t Orson. The knob turned, the door opened and the intruder stepped across the threshold.

  His breathing was deep and sharp. His voice echoed though the room.

  “The day of reckoning has finally come.”

  Chapter Four

  The voice proclaiming the fatalistic message was masculine, husky. Unfamiliar.

  The intruder reached for the door and slammed it shut, leaving her and the knife in full view.

  Her knees buckled and her breath rushed out in a whoosh. This wasn’t Orson. Instead, it was hunk of a cowboy who reeked of strength and power.

  Before she could say anything, he grabbed the arm holding the knife, yanked it over her head and shoved her against the wall. She struggled to push him away, but she might as well have been flailing against a brick wall. A brick wall with broad shoulders that smelled of musk and forest glens.

  “Take your hands off me,” she sputtered.

  “After you tell me what the hell is going on here.”

  “I thought you were someone else.” Her relief drowned in a rush of confusing awareness, as the man’s breath heated a spot just below her right earlobe. His masculinity was staggering. She gasped and gulped for air.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “I’m a friend of Troy’s. Now back off before I—”

  “Before you what, come at me with a knife?”

  She writhed and tried again to break free, but he strengthened his hold on her wrists and kept his body pressed against hers.

  Finally, she shifted so that she was staring straight into the depths of his dark eyes at extremely close range. Something jumped inside her, an eruption of emotions that under the circumstances made no sense at all.

  His hold loosened, as if whatever had left her quaking had affected him as well. “I’ll take that knife,” he said. “And then you can tell me who you are and why you’re defending my father’s house like it was the Holy Grail.”

  Anxiety swelled again. This didn’t add up. “You’re lying,” she said. “I met Troy’s son earlier tonight.”

  “You may have met Dylan. I’m Sean, the mild-mannered offspring with a cool head. Lucky for you.”

  She saw the resemblance now. He looked even more like Troy than Dylan did. The same slightly squared jawline. The same classic nose. Only, Sean was years younger than Troy, and so ruggedly handsome that he could have been a soap opera star. And he was still so close that he could probably feel her heart beating.

  Collette had said that Troy’s other sons were estranged from their father. But then Dylan must have called them when he left for the hospital. Maybe his having a heart attack had gotten through to at least one of Troy’s other sons.

  “If you talked to Dylan, he must have told you I was here,” she said, still trying to make sense of this.

  “He mentioned a friend had found Dad. He didn’t say you were staying here. In fact, he made a point of telling me the house would be empty and the spare key was under the flowerpot next to the door. So what are you doing here?”

  “If you’ll release me, I’ll explain.” She wouldn’t, of course, but she’d tell him all he needed to know.

  “Deal. As soon as you let go of the knife.”

  She exhaled sharply and released her killer grasp on it. Before he moved away, his right hand slid slowly down her left arm. Awareness vibrated through her.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” She made a quick return to the harsh reality of the situation, as Joey’s high-pitched calls echoed down the hallway.

  “My son,” she said. “He has nightmares.”

  Sean cocked his head to the side and arched his brows. “Your son. A husband? A daughter? Exactly how many people are in this house?”

  “Just my son, Joey, and me. I don’t have a husband and Joey’s an only child.”

  She was babbling in her relief. Whatever complications Sean presented would be minuscule compared to what she’d have faced had it been Orson instead of Troy’s son who’d showed up tonight.

  “Momma!” The cry had become more hysterical.

  “I’m coming, sweetie.”

  She hurried away without further explanation, grateful to break away from Sean Ledger and get her emotions back under control.

  In the two years since Brock’s death she hadn’t once felt the pangs of attraction for another man. She’d begun to worry that she never would. Now was not the time for fate to turn up the heat.

  SEAN WATCHED EVE WORTHINGTON hurry down the hall and disappear into what had once been his bedroom. She was the last thing he’d expected to find when he pushed through the heavy door of his childhood home.

  Before encountering her, his head had been swimming in a thick fog of memories. The good, the bad and the tragic had immersed him so deeply into the past that his feet had felt like lead when he climbed the steps to the porch.

  Nothing like a woman about to plunge a knife into your back to smack you back into the present. But what in the hell was a woman and kid doing here?

  Dylan had written several times about their father and the fact that he was settling into the life of a rancher. Not once had he mentioned that Troy had a lady friend—one young enough to be his daughter. If he had, Sean would have never come home again.

  He’d been only thirteen years old when his mother was murdered in this very house. His world had been destroyed that day. Then, when his father had been accused of the crime, Sean literally wanted to die.

  When his brothers were asleep that night, he’d taken one of his dad’s guns and actually placed the barrel of it into his mouth. He might have pulled the trigger if his imagination hadn’t played ghostly tricks on his mind, probably an easy feat, considering his shaky emotional state.

  He saw his mother that night as clearly as he saw the weapon in his hands. She’d stepped into the room and taken the gun from his shaky hands. It had fallen to the floor without a sound. He’d tried to hold on to his mother, but she dissolved like a warm breath on a frosty mor
ning.

  He never told anyone about that, had tried to block it from his own mind. But there had been many nights when those memories were so vivid that he could feel the chill of the evaporating vapor and taste the cold metallic bitterness of the gun barrel.

  He shouldn’t have come back here. Returning to Willow Creek Ranch had worked for Dylan, but there was no way Sean would ever mend fences with his father or become totally convinced of his innocence.

  He’d visit his father in the hospital in the morning, but then he’d be on his way. In fact, he should probably apologize to Eve Worthington for barging in on her and leave right now, before he looked into those gorgeous, haunted eyes of hers again.

  He started down the hall after Eve, hating the memories that the house awakened. He stopped near the doorway where she’d disappeared. Her voice was soft and reassuring when she talked to her child, yet there was a shudder of fear in its depths, likely the same fear that had initiated her waiting at the door with a knife.

  She’d thought he was someone else, obviously someone she was deathly afraid of. A stalker? An ex-husband? A betrayed lover?

  None of his business and not his problem. He was running from woman trouble, not looking for it.

  He stopped, just out of sight of Eve and her complaining son.

  “I wanna go home.”

  “It’s too far to drive back to Dallas tonight. Besides, you don’t want to miss the fun of seeing the horses, do you?”

  “What if I don’t like horses?”

  If she was from Dallas, then why hadn’t Dylan realized she was spending the night? Perhaps he’d just forgotten with all that was going on with Troy. Still, it was odd he hadn’t remembered it when he told him to make himself at home. Sean turned and walked back to the kitchen.

  He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He’d barely swallowed his first swig when his cell phone rang. It was Dylan. Sean didn’t bother with a hello. “What the hell have you gotten me into in now?”