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  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 de-value 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.

  He heard a child’s voice, or maybe he was hallucinating.

  He fell over a chair and the crash reverberated through the house.

  “Troy, are you in there? Are you okay?”

  The voice was female, vaguely familiar. He tried to answer, but all he managed was a guttural moan.

  “Troy, what’s wrong?”

  He looked up and into the eyes of Eve Worthington. Now he was certain he was hallucinating. The last person who’d be coming to his rescue was the young psychiatrist who’d worked so hard to pull him from his emotional shell while he was in prison.

  “Please tell me what’s wrong. Is it your heart?”

  His response was choked by the pain.

  “Hang in here with me, Troy. I’m calling an ambulance.”

  The room began to spin. He tried to focus on Eve, only to have her disappear in a swirl of darkness.

  He wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. Not until he found Helene’s killer. He would not fail her again.

  WHAT’S WRONG WITH HIM, Momma? Is he dying?”

  “Shh, Joey. He’s sick. We have to help him.”

  Troy muttered something unintelligible. She leaned in closer so that she could hear him better.

  “Dylan,” he gasped. “Call Dylan.”

  Dylan—the son Gordon Epps had mentioned. “I’ll get him,” she said, her fingers already punching in 911 on her unfamiliar cell phone. Once she was assured medical help was on the way, she glanced around the room and spotted Troy’s cell phone on the kitchen table.

  She left Troy’s side long enough to get it. It took only a second to find Dylan’s number amidst Troy’s limited contacts. He answered on the second ring.

  “What’s up, Dad?”

  “This isn’t Troy, but I’m with him. I think he’s having a heart attack. I’ve called an ambulance, but he’s asking for you.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. She wasn’t even sure she was making sense.

  “Who is this?”

  “I’m just a friend who happened to drop in. Troy’s in a lot of pain and barely conscious.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “I’m scared, Momma. Let’s go home.”

  She looked at her son. “We can’t go yet, sweetie.” She held out a hand and he inched toward her, clearly frightened of Troy.

  “Eve.” Troy’s speech was clearer, but sweat beaded on his brow and his breathing was still labored.

  “I’m right here, Troy.”

  “Orson…”

  “Yeah.” She cradled Troy’s head in her arms. “He’s escaped.”

  “Dangerous… Stay safe.”

  “I will.” Even in the panic of a heart attack, Troy was worried about her. That was so like him. Thank God, she’d shown up when she did.

  Joey tugged on her arm. She tried to pull him down beside her, but he backed away. “Is that a bad man?”

  “No. He’s my friend.”

  The words didn’t convince Joey, and she couldn’t do much to make him feel safe until the emergency was over. Fortunately, the door flew open minutes later and a good-looking man in jeans rushed in, still pulling on his shirt. An attractive woman with flaming red hair followed right behind.

  She stood and moved away so that they could squeeze in beside Troy. “I’m Eve Worthington, an old friend of your father’s. I just—” The scream of an approaching ambulance drowned out the rest of her words.

  Dylan took over from there and the next few minutes passed in a blur of activity. Joey began to tremble as the house filled with strangers and medics who worked quickly to get Troy onto the gurney and into the ambulance. Eve held on to his shaking hand, tugging him out of the way and giving assurances as best she could amid the chaos.

  Both Dylan and Collette Ledger were so engrossed in their concern for Troy that they simply accepted her explanation as being an old friend without question. It wasn’t until Dylan had thanked her profusely and rushed to follow the ambulance to the hospital that she had a minute to reflect on her own situation.

  It wasn’t good. Once she’d realized that the police weren’t taking concerns for her and Joey’s safety seriously, she decided to take Gordon’s advice and pay Troy a visit. She really hadn’t thought beyond that.

  For the first time since she’d arrived on the scene, Eve really looked at Collette Ledger. Even in sweatpants, she was striking, with thick red hair that fell in loose curls about her shoulders and a faultless complexion.

  Eve suspected they were near the same age, though Collette could easily be a few years younger than her thirty-one years.

  “I’m so thankful you dropped by,” Collette said. “I hate to think what might have happened if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

  “I’m glad I was here, too,” Eve said. “Believe me, my timing is not usually that good.”

  “You’re not from this area, are you?”

  “No. I live in Dallas.”

  “I didn’t think I’d seen you around town before. How do you know Troy?”

  “From prison.”

  “Really? Prison.”

  “I was his psychiatrist.”

  “You don’t look like a psyche. Not that you looked like an inmate. I mean…”

  “It’s okay,” Eve assured her. “We’re both a little shaken now.”

  “That’s for sure. I don’t know what your experience with Troy has been, but I’m guessing it was good, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m very fond of him,” Eve said.

  “So am I, Collette agreed. “He’s difficult to get to know, but once he opens up to you, you can’t help but like him. And no matter what anyone says, I know he didn’t kill his wife. Dylan realizes that, too.”

  “I agree,” Eve said.

  “I’m glad we’re on the same page here. Troy didn’t mention that you were stopping by tonight.”

  “I was going to surprise him,” Eve said. Shock him was more like it. And ask him if she could stay with him a few days. That was out of the question now. There was no reason to get into any of that with Collette, though.

  “I’ll be going now,” Eve said. “There’s nothing more I can do here except get in the way.”

  “Where are you going?”

  An excellent question that Eve couldn’t honestly answer. She’d had no backup plan. Eve quickly considered her options. “Joey and I are on our way to visit friends in Austin,” she lied.

  Joey tugged on the hem of her shirt. “You said we were going to a ranch.”

  “We did. This is it. Now we’re off to the rest of our adventure.”

  “There’s no need to rush off,” Collette said. “If you’re half as shaken as I am, you’re in no shape to drive. And I could really use the company. I hate the thought of waiting alone for news about Troy. I’ll make coffee.”

  “Coffee sounds good. And I do think I’m still in a bit of shock.”

  Collette filled the pot with water from the tap and spooned the grinds into the filter. “I’m so worried about my father-in-law that I can barely measure the water.”

  “Troy’s tough. If anyone can pull through a heart attack, it’s him,” Eve said, unconsciously falling into the psychiatrist role. Not that they were certain Troy had a heart attack, but it had certainly appeared to be a coronary trauma
.

  “Have you had dinner?” Collette asked. “I’m not sure what Troy has in his fridge, but I have leftover roast beef and gravy at my house, or I could make you a salad. And I’m sure we could rustle up the makings of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at either house, if Joey would prefer that.”

  “Thanks, but we’ve had dinner.” Joey had eaten half a sandwich and a few apple slices in the car. That qualified as a major meal for him. As for herself, she hadn’t eaten anything all day except a half slice of toast and a few cashews she’d munched in the car. Her stomach had been in no condition for food after the morning’s call from Gordon. Her insides were even shakier now.

  “What’s your son’s name?” Collette asked. “You probably said already, but it didn’t register in the bedlam.”

  Eve rested her hands on his shoulders. “This is Joey.”

  “Hi, Joey.”

  The boy mumbled a hello, his eyes downcast.

  “Joey. I like that name,” Collette said. “Would you like to watch TV? I can probably find the cartoon channel if you’ll help me.”

  Joey nodded, but scrunched himself against Eve’s leg as if Collette had threatened a time-out.

  “He’s shy around strangers,” Eve said, wishing that was all that kept him glued to her.

  “Can’t blame him for being a little cautious, considering what we’ve been dealing with tonight. Why don’t you get him settled in the family room? I’ll bring the coffee when it’s brewed.”

  “Thanks.”

  Joey clung to her leg, his thin fingers digging into the fabric of her trousers as he shadowed her to the couch. By the time she found a channel he liked, Collette was returning with the coffee, a glass of milk and two oatmeal cookies that appeared to be homemade. Collette set the milk and cookies near Joey.

  He mumbled a thank-you, and smiled timidly, staring at Collette from beneath his dark lashes. Eve experienced another wave of uneasiness that bordered on panic. They would have been safe here, even if Orson did still have the crazy notion of coming after her. It was certainly the kind of thing that a manipulative, revengeful person like Orson would do. Now her only option would be a stuffy hotel, and even taking Joey to a park would involve risk.