Genuine Cowboy. Joanna Wayne

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      About the Author

      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