Genuine Cowboy

Joanna Wayne was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organization. Her debut novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.

Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list for romance and has won many industry awards. She is also a popular speaker at writing organizations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.

Joanna currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star state. You may write Joanna at PO Box 852, Montgomery, Texas 77356, USA.

Genuine Cowboy

Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my good friends Patsy and Hill, who are always there

when I need them for golf, fun or just to talk. They are

part of the reason I LOVE living in Texas. And to my

marvellous editor who keeps me on track.

Chapter One

“Mommy! Mommy! Don’t let him get me!”

Eve Worthington jerked awake at the sound of her young son’s voice and then dodged the agile body that propelled itself from the floor into the middle of her bed.

She gathered Joey into her arms. “Did you have a nightmare, sweetie?”.

“A man was in my room. He was going to hurt me.”.

“It’s okay, Joey. There’s no one in the house but you and me. You’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”.

She kissed the top of Joey’s head and let her lips linger in the soft blond hair that smelled like sunshine and springtime. She held him close, her hands splayed across his back until the shudders stopped.

It had been two years since he’d lost his father to a drive-by shooting mere blocks from their Dallas home. He’d been almost four years old at the time, independent and curious, a ball of energy who was eager for any adventure.

Now he seldom made it through the night without waking screaming, in the throes of a nightmare. He held tightly on to her hand whenever the two of them left the house. Even at the neighborhood park that he loved, he didn’t want her out of his sight, especially if there was a man around. When she’d tried to enroll him in kindergarten, he’d become so distraught, she’d decided to hold him back a year.

She was a psychiatrist. She should know how to help Joey get past this, know how to make him feel safe. Her mentor and favorite professor, Edgar Callen, claimed she was simply too close to the situation to be objective.

Edgar was probably right but her own fears went much deeper than even he knew. Her three years of working with prisoners in Texas correctional institutions had left their scars even before she’d lost her husband.

Her friend Miriam, whom she seldom saw anymore, also a psychiatrist, believed that Eve had become far too protective of Joey. Miriam was likely correct in her assessment as well. But Joey had been through so much that Eve couldn’t help being overly cautious with him.

“Can I sleep with you, Mommy?”.

“You’ll be more comfortable in your bed. I’ll come and lie down with you until you fall asleep.”.

“I don’t want to go back in there.”.

“We’ll turn on all the lights and look around. When you see your toys and stuffed animals, you’ll know the bad dream wasn’t real.”.

“It seemed real.”.

“I know it did. Nightmares are like that, but there’s nothing in your room when the light is off that’s not there when the light is on.”

She scooted to the edge of the bed, then threw her bare feet to the floor, just as a streak of lightning zigzagged across the night sky. Joey stood on the mattress and wrapped his short arms around her neck.

She picked him up, noting, as always, how light he felt in her arms. He was small for his age and a difficult eater, constantly complaining of stomach pains. The pediatrician had ruled out any medical reasons for them.

Once back in his room, they spent a good half hour making sure every toy was in place. By the time he’d settled in his bed with his stuffed lion, a light rain was slapping against the window and low rumbles of thunder growled in the distance.

Eve snuggled beside her son until he fell asleep, though she doubted he’d sleep soundly with the storm kicking up outside. There was little use to go back to her room only to be dragged from bed again.

She climbed out of his bed stealthily and turned down the quilt on the spare twin bed in Joey’s room. Finally, Eve drifted into a sound sleep. When she opened her eyes again, it was half-past six. Amazingly, both she and Joey had slept through the rest of the night.

She stretched and turned to check on her son. He’d kicked off his covers, but his lion was still clutched tightly to his chest. She listened to his gentle breathing, watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and felt a tightening in her throat.

Moving quietly so as not to wake him, she climbed from the bed and walked to the bedroom door, lingering to look back at Joey. If only he always looked as peaceful as he did this minute.

Padding to the rear of the house, she started a pot of coffee, pausing when she was done to stare out the kitchen window. The thunderstorm had given way to a calm dawn, but water puddled the lawn and dripped from the few leaves that clung stubbornly to the lone oak tree.

Eve went back to her bedroom for her slippers before walking almost to the street to retrieve the plastic-wrapped copy of The Dallas Morning News. When she’d worked, reading the newspaper had been a luxury reserved for weekends and holidays. Now that she’d become a full-time mother to her troubled son, it was part of her morning routine.

Stripping away the wet wrapper, she tossed it into the trash and spread the paper on the kitchen table as the odor of fresh-perked coffee filled the room. The headlines dealt with the wrangling between local politicians. She ignored it and skimmed the rest of the page before flipping to an inside section.

Her breath caught as her focus centered on a black- and-white photograph at the top of the page. The caption beneath the picture gave her chills.

Orson Bastion had escaped from the Texas State Penitentiary at Huntsville, Texas.

Eve sank into the chair as her mind dragged her into the past. Her home phone rang, startling her back into the present. She checked the caller ID. Gordon Epps, the prison’s warden. She lifted the receiver.

“I just read about Orson’s escape,” she said, saving him the trouble of trying to break it to her gently.

“I was afraid of that. Are you okay?”

“I’ve had better mornings. When did he escape?”

“Sometime during the night. He was first missed at the 2:00 a.m. security check. One of the security patrol found the guard pulling night duty on Orson’s wing dead. He’d been strangled.”

“Orson’s calling card. Are you sure he escaped the premises?”

“Relatively sure. We’ve spent the night searching and there’s no sign of him. Speculation is that he somehow rode out with the trash.”

At least he was with his own kind.

“He took the guard’s gun, so we know he’s armed.”

“And there’s no doubt he’s dangerous,” Eve added. “He could be anywhere by now.”

“Law enforcement officers across the state have been notified. With any luck, he’ll be back in custody in a matter of hours. Still, I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

“You don’t think he’ll come after me, do you? I haven’t had any dealings with him in two years. He must have a lot worse enemies than me to get even with.”

“I suspect Orson’s only interested in saving his own hide now. He’s likely keeping a low profile and hightailing it out of the state as fast as he can.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“If you’re worried at all, Eve, you could always go spend a few days with Troy Ledger. His ranch is not that far away, and I know he’d love to see you.”

“How is he?”.

“Adjusting well to freedom. He’s reunited with his son Dylan and they’re working his old ranch.”.

“Then I doubt he’d be thrilled about my running to him at the first sign of trouble.”.

“Just a thought. How’s the boy?” Epps asked.

“Joey’s making progress, but still experiencing a lot of anxiety and separation issues.”.

“I hate to hear that. I’ve got to run, Eve, but if there’s anything I can do, give me a call. And think about paying a visit to Troy. If Orson is stupid enough to seek revenge against you for your testimony at his parole hearing, he’d never think of looking for you at the home of a former inmate accused of killing his own wife.”.

If Orson was stupid enough to come after her … But Orson wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the results of his intelligence testing. He bordered on genius. That didn’t mean he wasn’t evil to the core. And he had threatened to get back at her for fouling his early parole attempt.

Orson’s threat echoed in her mind. She had no doubt when he’d hurled it at her that he’d meant every word. So how could she convince herself that he wouldn’t come after her now?.

“I appreciate the call, Gordon.”.

“Okay, and keep me posted if you decide to leave home. If you stay, you need to alert the police that Orson could show up there. Demand protection. Promise me you’ll do that.”.

“I’m not sure the Dallas Police Department responds to citizen demands.”.

“Then go see Troy for a few days. He’ll understand and you’re surely not afraid of him. You’ve said yourself that you’d never met a prisoner whose innocence was as compelling as Troy’s.”.

She had been convinced of his innocence, had even made a statement to the press on his release that she’d trust him with her life and the life of her son.

She’d meant the words at the time. But was she ready to put them to the test?.

Did she dare not?

Chapter Two

The frosty late November air had a bite to it, and the wind stung Sean Ledger’s face as he ducked through the door and into the cozy barn. He was up early and raring to go to work. He had a feeling this just might be the day he made some real headway with Go Lightly.

He’d been at Cahill Horse Farm for just over six months and Go Lightly was still a challenge. The horse had racing in its blood and was fast enough to be a threat in any of the major races for two-year-olds.

Until the starter fired his shot and the gates opened. Then Go Lightly bucked and fought the jockey, as if he were being asked to run along a track planted with land mines. Ted Cahill was about ready to give up on the animal. Sean wasn’t.

He just needed more time, and fewer distractions—compliments of Tom’s wife.

Women. Sean didn’t understand them and doubted he ever would. Give him a horse any day. Sean could get into a horse’s mind, figure out what had frightened it or killed its spirit. Given time, Sean could usually bring a horse around.

Women, on the other hand, were beyond comprehension. As far as he was concerned, they weren’t just from another planet, but from another galaxy. And they were welcome to it.

He pushed the irritating thoughts aside and tuned into the life pulsing in the barn. Suzy pawed at the pile of hay at her feet, threw back her head and snorted.

“Good morning, old girl.” Sean reached over and scratched the long nose. “You don’t like being ignored, do you?”.

Suzy snorted again and stretched her head over the stall door so that she could rub against the rough denim of Sean’s jacket.

Thunder threw back his head and neighed loudly, then kicked his back feet, protesting any- and everything. Aptly named, he was the most high spirited of all the quarter horses at Cahill Farms. He’d been a winner in his day, and he knew it. The past glory earned him the right to be a contrary sire.

The stud settled a bit, almost gloatingly, when Sean turned his attention to him. Sean shrugged out of his denim jacket and hung it on a peg near the door. Leaning against a support post, he pulled a folded envelope from his shirt pocket. He removed the letter, the latest from his brother Dylan. After reading through it, Sean reread the last paragraph.

“You’d love the Texas Hill Country, Sean. Pay us a visit, if only for a few days. Give Dad a chance. You won’t be sorry.”.

Troy did not share Dylan’s confidence that he’d like returning to the ranch. And as for giving Troy Ledger a chance, those days were long gone. When he was a kid, he’d had his father on a pedestal so high the man would have needed a parachute to come back to earth safely.

Troy Ledger hadn’t utilized a parachute or a safety net. He’d nosedived off the perch into the pool of blood that had soaked Sean’s brutally slain mother.

“Is that a love letter?”.

Sean turned at the seductive voice, nodded to Sasha Cahill, then folded the letter and stuffed it back in his pocket. “Far from it.”.

“I’ll bet you left lots of broken hearts back in Kentucky when you came to work for my father.”.

Not a subject he was interested in pursuing, especially not with his boss’s seventeen- going on twenty-one-year-old daughter. “Don’t you have school today?”.

“Teacher Institute day. You don’t mind my company, do you?”.

“I’m paid to work, not socialize.”.

“I love watching you interact with Go Lightly. Your voice and the way you touch him makes me wish I was an emotionally scarred racehorse you were out to save.”.

Oh, good grief. It was bad enough that Sasha’s mother came on to him like a dog in heat. Now Sasha. If it was something in the water, Ted Cahill had best dig his family a new well.

“You’re not a horse.” She was a spoiled brat, though he refrained from saying so. “Why don’t you take Suzy out for a ride? She could use a good workout.”.

“Horses aren’t the only animals that need a whisperer, Sean.”

The whisperer label was one Sean had never encouraged. It sounded like magic and tended to make people expect miracles. Sean was not a magician. He walked away, heading toward the back of the horse barn where he had a small office.

“Please come riding with me, Sean. I hate to ride alone. You know Mom’s worthless before noon and Daddy’s gone for the day.”.

Her voice had that breathless quality that made her sound like a hormonally charged adolescent trying out for the role of Lolita. If he was her father, he’d ground her until she was past the pimple stage.

Sean shook his head. “Sorry, kid, I have work to do.”.

He strode past the horses, stepped into his office and closed the door behind him. Had there been a bolt, he’d have locked it. The idea of owning his own quarter horse farm sounded better by the day, and he probably had enough money saved to pull it off if he still took on a few private clients who owned problem horses.

He tossed his hat to the top of a stack of unopened cardboard boxes and plopped onto the worn chair behind the metal desk. Remembering the letter, he pulled it from his pocket and dropped it into the top drawer to be answered later—with a very succinct “no.”.

Forging a relationship with a father he hadn’t seen since the day the man received a life sentence for murdering his mother didn’t hold a lot of appeal for Sean. Release on a technicality didn’t wash away the man’s sins.

The door to Sean’s office squeaked open. He groaned. When he finally looked up, Sasha’s jacket was dangling from a crooked finger. Her chest was bare, her firm breasts pointing at him as if daring him to resist temptation.

He took a deep breath—and the dare. “Put your jacket on, Sasha. You’re too smart, too pretty and way too young to be playing this stupid game. Don’t devalue what you are inside by throwing yourself at me or anyone else.”.

She leaned against the rough-hewn doorframe. “Look at me, Sean. You’ll see I’m old enough.”.

Sean stood and grabbed his Stetson. When he reached the door, he picked up Sasha at the waist to move her out of his way. The crazy kid threw her legs around him and pressed her bare breasts against his chest.

He heard footsteps and cringed as he looked up to find Laci Cahill staring at him. The old adage “If looks could kill” had never seemed more apt.

Laci propped her hands on her hips. “Well, this explains a lot.”.

“This is not what it looks like,” he assured Sasha’s mother.

Laci’s irate glare made it clear that she didn’t believe him.

Thankfully, Sasha had dismounted his hips at her mother’s appearance and was pulling on her jacket at a speed that he’d previously only seen her exhibit when texting messages on her touch-screen cell phone.

Laci stepped inside the office. “Go to your room, Sasha.”.

Sasha scooted past him without a glance.

“Why bother with the old mare when you have the filly?” Laci snapped.

“I’m here to train horses, Laci. That’s all, and I definitely didn’t initiate that scene you just walked in on.”.

“Do you expect me to believe that?”.

“I can’t control what you believe, but I’m telling you the truth.”.

“Stay away from my daughter, Sean. If I ever catch the two of you in another compromising position, I’ll not only see that Ted fires you, but that you never work as a trainer again. Do I make myself clear?”.

“Crystal clear.”.

In fact, a lot of things were clear right now, mainly that he couldn’t work in this type of strained environment. “I’ll pack my things and be off the Cahill property by noon.”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”.

“You don’t have to worry about watching me every second or firing me. I quit.”.

Laci grabbed his arm. “That’s not necessary. I know how Sasha is. This isn’t the first time she’s pulled something like this.”.

Talk about changing horses in midstream. A minute ago, Sean was to blame for everything. Now it was Sasha. A man could get dizzy trying to keep up.

“I’ll leave Ted the names of a couple of guys he might want to interview for my job,” Sean said. Older men who hopefully wouldn’t be subjected to seduction at every turn. “And don’t worry, I’ll leave you and Sasha out of my explanation for leaving on such short notice.”.

“You’re making a mistake, Sean. There’s not a trainer in the state who wouldn’t salivate at the thought of going to work for Ted Cahill.”.

“And now one lucky applicant will get to drool all over his work shirt.” Sean tipped his hat and walked away. Amazing, how a man could start out a day with great expectations, only to have it blow up in his face.

Sean went back to the desk and pulled his brother’s letter from the drawer. Dylan’s written words weighed heavy on his mind as he retrieved his worn jacket and walked back to his small cabin to gather his things. Maybe a trip to the Texas Hill Country wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

It would be good to see Dylan again and finally meet his brother’s new wife—before Dylan’s dreams of idyllic marriage evolved into reality.

Or maybe that kind of luckless romance was reserved for Sean.

Chapter Three

Troy Ledger turned off the TV and walked back to his small kitchen, taking his half-empty plate with him. He’d just caught the tail end of the six o’clock news, and that had been enough to kill his appetite.

Orson Bastion had escaped from the pen and taken out a guard in the process. Talk about a brutal reminder of his prison life. Impulsively, his hand moved to the scar on his cheek.

His thoughts moved to Eve Worthington. The news of Bastion’s escape had to be frightening for her. If he had her phone number he’d call her. But best that he didn’t have it. For all he knew, she’d left the area by now.

Troy washed his plate, rinsed it and stood it in the drainer. He reached for the skillet he’d used to fry a slice of ham for his sandwich and immersed it in the hot, soapy water. The old dishwasher needed replacing, but there wasn’t much need for a fancy machine when a man lived alone.

His son, Dylan, and Dylan’s new wife, Collette, had moved out of the old family house and into their starter ranch house two weeks earlier. They needed their privacy. They were only a good horse ride away, but Troy missed them a lot more than he was willing to admit.

Troy and Dylan had built the newlyweds’ house themselves, with lots of suggestions from Collette. She was quite a woman, even reminded him of Helene a little. Not that he needed a reminder of Helene. She was seldom far from his mind and never out of his heart. Never had been. Never would be.

But the last few months of working with his son on the house and the ranch they were getting up and running again had meant more to Troy than Dylan could possibly realize. Seventeen years in prison had robbed Troy of much of his five sons’ childhood and all of their adolescence. They’d grown from boys to men without him. Dylan was the only one of the five who’d shown any interest in having Troy back in his life. He prayed that would change one day, but he couldn’t count on it.

Troy finished the dishes and dried his hands. It was only six in the evening, but he was exhausted. Working from sunup to sundown did that for a man. Fatigue didn’t bother him. The prospect of spending another night alone in the rambling old house did.

He could handle the days, but alone at night, memories of Helene haunted his mind. He could hear her laughter, sweet and melodic, filling the house as she interacted with their rambunctious sons.

He could smell her fragrance, like a bouquet from the garden she’d pampered like one of their children. He could see her on Sunday morning, her dark, shiny hair dancing about her shoulders, leading them all to church whether they liked it or not.

But the most devastating memories came when he crawled into the bed he’d once shared with Helene. It had taken him weeks to even enter the master bedroom, had taken weeks more before he could bear sleeping in the bed.

Even now, three months later, he couldn’t stretch out between the sheets without his arms literally aching to wrap around her and feel her warm, loving body cuddled against his. Some nights the pain was all but unbearable.

He leaned against the sink as the memories swelled inside him. The gentle ache in his chest erupted into heated stabs that threatened to slice his heart into pieces.

The images swirling in his head darkened as the nightmare he’d lived over and over for almost two decades took front and center: Helene’s body in a pool of blood, faceup, her head against the hearth, her beautiful locks of hair matted with crimson.

The pain became blinding and this time much too physical. Troy clutched his chest as he stumbled backward, falling against the scarred wooden table. Each beat of his heart was agony.

Then reality checked in. This was more than grief. He was having a coronary attack.

There was a knock at the door as he tried to drag himself to the phone. The door was unlocked, as it usually was on the ranch. He waited, hoping it was Dylan. But there was no reason to think his son would return tonight.