Genuine Cowboy Page 8

  “Does he have to do that often?”

  “It depends on where we go and who we run into.”

  Sean trailed a finger up the sleeve of her pajamas, letting it linger at her neck. “I was referring to your suitors. Do you date a lot of different men?”

  “Me? None. I haven’t been with anyone since my husband died.”

  His thumb rode her neck and tangled in her hair. “But you do like men?”

  Her heart skipped crazily, leaving her positively giddy. “I like some men,” she murmured, trying for nonchalance.

  “Good.”

  His free arm encircled her, and he pulled her close. His eyes were dark and mesmerizing. His lips were dangerously close. “I didn’t mean I like—”

  Sean stopped her protestations with his lips on hers.

  Eve closed her eyes and let the thrill of him zing through her. She was so lost in the moment that she’d totally forgotten about Troy still being up, until she heard his footsteps starting down the long hallway. Still, she felt cheated when Sean released his hold on her body and her lips.

  “Sleep tight,” he whispered, disappearing into his room before Troy reached them.

  She stumbled to her door, stepped inside and leaned against the bed railing until she caught her breath.

  Eve’s heart was beating so erratically, she wondered if her pulse would ever return to normal again.

  She wouldn’t even try to analyze that.

  WHEN EVE WOKE, the sun was beating through the window, the threatening storm of last night having moved on without ever fully developing. Eve knew that for a fact. She’d been awake for the intermittent rain.

  Amazed and disturbed by the way an impetuous kiss affected her, she’d been unable to fall asleep for what seemed like hours. In a few weeks, she’d turn thirty-two. That was far too old for this type of infatuation with a man she barely knew.

  Even with Brock, she’d insisted on moving slowly. Too many of her friends had gotten married in a fever, only to have the relationship cool down after the marriage. Her and Brock’s relationship hadn’t cooled down. It had run into an iceberg.

  Joey was still asleep, though she knew that wouldn’t last long. The clock said 8:15. Sean would likely be off somewhere on the ranch with Dylan by now. With Troy home, he surely wouldn’t feel he had to stay so close.

  She hoped Sean wasn’t around. That was the problem with a kiss. It changed a relationship completely.

  She shrugged into her robe, desperately needing that first cup of coffee. The enticing odor wafted down the hallway. So did the sounds from the TV. She tied her robe tightly and kept walking.

  She heard the click of the remote as she reached the end of the hall. And then she saw Sean, fully dressed, one boot on the hearth, his expression hard and strained.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “Sit down,” he said. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee.” If his mannerisms hadn’t said enough, his tone said the rest.

  “Is it Troy? Did he have another attack?”

  “Troy’s fine. He had an early breakfast and went to his room to read the morning newspaper, fortunately without catching the morning news.”

  A shudder rocked through her. “It’s Orson, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. He’s not in Mexico.”

  “Are they sure?”

  “No absolute proof, but last night’s murder has his name written all over it.”

  Eve collapsed onto the sofa, bracing herself for what would come next while Sean stepped into the kitchen. He came back with two cups of black coffee. He handed her one and dragged over a hassock, sitting on the edge so that he faced her up close and personal.

  She took a sip of the coffee, needing the restorative power it usually provided. This time it lacked that effect. “What happened?” she finally asked.

  “According to the news, the homicide detective who had originally cracked the case and arrested Orson Bastion for the brutal beating death of his stepbrother was murdered at his home last night. Police are speculating that Orson is behind the murder.”

  “Was it a shooting?”

  “No. I’m guessing a simple gunshot wound to the head is not Orson’s style. The detective was stabbed repeatedly before finally having his jugular sliced.”

  “I’m not speculating,” Eve said. “Orson killed him. I’m sure he did.”

  “If he’s guilty of everything they say, that brings his total for the current killing spree up to three,” Sean said. “The prison guard, the woman whose car he stole and now the detective. You were right to fight his early parole.”

  “We’ll never know for sure. Maybe if he’d gotten that break, his anger might have diffused.”

  “Don’t waste time second-guessing yourself with that monster. Men like that don’t change just because someone does them a favor. You made the right decision. It’s the system that made a mistake in letting him escape.”

  Being right gave her no pleasure and certainly no reassurance.

  Sean curled his hands into fists. “Frankly, I’m tired of sitting around waiting for the bastard to make a mistake.”

  His vehemence worried her. “What does that mean?”

  “Just what I said. All the police seem to do is wait for Orson to attack again. That’s not my style.”

  “This isn’t your fight, and you’re not a cop.”

  “It’s my fight if I make it my fight, and as for the police, they don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”

  “What do you think you can do?”

  “I want to learn everything I can about Orson Bastion. The more I know, the better chance I have of figuring out his next move before he makes it.”

  “He’s not one of the horses you’re used to working with, Sean. You can’t micromanage him with theory. I know. I’m the psychiatrist here.”

  “Your being his psychiatrist is one of the things that will help make this work. I want to know all you know about this man, and don’t give me that client privilege crap. If he represents a danger to himself or others, you can talk. So start talking.”

  This was happening too fast. She hadn’t even had a chance to digest the latest gruesome crime. But Sean was right about the law. If the patient was deemed an imminent threat to himself or others, the rules of confidentiality didn’t apply.

  Orson Bastion wouldn’t be worried about his privileges. His actions guaranteed that, if he was recaptured now, he would live the rest of his life in prison. She was certain he had no intention of going back to that life.

  Not that Orson had ever leveled with her about anything when he was in therapy. He’d played mind games, said what he thought she wanted to hear. He’d known she was hired by the state to assess him, and he expected her to give him a glowing recommendation for early parole.

  What she knew about the evil that festered inside Orson came from her own intuition rather than what he’d actually said. And from what other inmates had said about his cruelty when he was sure no guards were around.

  She sipped her coffee and then placed the mug on the table beside her. “I don’t know where to start.”

  Sean reached over and took her hands in his. “Tell me what made you so sure that given the chance Orson would kill again.”

  SEAN WAS A SEETHING BUNDLE of nerves since hearing the news of last night’s murder. It was clearly a revenge killing by a man who’d gone over the edge. Successfully taking out the detective exponentially increased the chance that he’d come after Eve.

  Sean had no intention of letting the psycho anywhere near the ranch or her.

  “I should start at the beginning,” Eve said.

  Sean got the impression that she was putting off the worst of her explanation, but there was time. He wouldn’t push as long as he felt she was giving him the truth.

  “When you counseled Orson, did you see him in his cell?”

  “No, I saw him in a room designated for that purpose. There was always an armed guard right outside the room whenever I was workin
g professionally with a subject.”

  “Did you see all the inmates?”

  “No. I was hired by the prison to specifically conduct assessments, usually before prisoners were given more freedom within the institution or when they were up for parole. Occasionally, I was asked to assess and make recommendations for prisoners who were considered at risk for suicide.”

  “How many times did you see Orson?”

  “Probably a dozen or more.”

  “Sounds like a thorough assessment.”

  “Orson and a few other convicts, including Troy, were part of a one-time, special study I conducted to determine the effects of prison life on the morale of convicts who were serving sentences of over ten years.”

  So that’s how she’d become such good friends with his father. Ironic, that the study involved a prisoner who made her fear for her life and another whom she’d come to for protection.

  “So what made Orson different?”

  “The way he talked about the murder that had sent him to prison.”

  “What kind of things did he say?”

  “He blamed everything on his stepbrother, said he’d intentionally driven him over the edge. Orson claimed he hadn’t meant to hurt the guy and yet it was reportedly one of the goriest crimes ever committed in that county.”

  “How long did he serve before he was up for early parole?

  “Ten years and a few months. He was convicted of murder two because his defense attorney convinced the jury that his rage was linked to a drug he was taking for migraines.”

  “Exactly how did he kill his stepbrother?”

  “He was waiting for the man when he got home from work that night. He beat him to death with the jack from his wrecked car. Pictures from the crime scene were so gory that two of the jurors got sick and had to leave the room after viewing only a few of them. The judge declared the prosecutor had shown enough to make his point.”

  Eve clutched her stomach as if thinking of the pictures was making her sick as well.

  “Did you see the photographs?”

  “Yes, and the images will haunt my mind forever.”

  And Sean was insisting she dredge it all up again. “That’s enough for the time being.”

  “There’s more you should know,” Eve said, “and I’d just as soon get it all out now.”

  He got up from the hassock and sat beside her on the couch. He’d sworn after last night’s kiss that he’d keep a safe physical distance between them, but this morning’s developments voided those vows.

  He snaked an arm around her shoulders.

  Eve shifted so that she could see his face, but didn’t move away from his touch. “Three weeks after Orson’s failed parole hearing, he tried to kill me.”

  Fury burrowed inside Sean. Was there no end to the misery this man had caused her? “Where were the guards when this happened?”

  “Who knows? Orson had been playing the system, had been a model prisoner in the months leading up to the parole hearing, had even claimed to have found religion. As a result, he’d been made a trustee. That offered him a lot more freedom inside the walled area.”

  Her shoulders tensed and Sean could only imagine the horror creeping back into her consciousness.

  “I had finished for the day and was walking back toward my office, my mind already on the upcoming weekend and a planned trip to the zoo with Joey. Orson stepped out from nowhere and planted his meaty hand over my mouth before I had a chance to call for help. He dragged me into a small recreation room that was no longer in use and locked the door behind us. I managed to get in one swift knee to the groin before he slammed my head against the wall so hard that I lost consciousness. When I came to, he’d ripped all the clothes from my body.”

  Sean’s muscles tightened as if wound with girded steel. “The son of a bitch.”

  “He didn’t rape me,” she added quickly, “but I’m sure that was his plan.”

  “What stopped him?”

  “A prison work crew returning to the cells passed by and one of the inmates caught a glimpse of Orson through the window. I got out my one and only scream seconds later when Orson kicked me in the stomach.

  “An inmate bolted from his group and smashed a fist though one of the windowpanes. Instead of giving up and running away, Orson tightened his hands around my neck and squeezed. With his strength, he would have easily broken my neck had the inmate not managed to open the broken window and come flying at him.”

  Eve turned to face him and rested her hand on his thigh. “Your father was that inmate, Sean. Knowing the guard might shoot him for bolting and running, he still came to my rescue. Not even knowing who had screamed, he risked his life to save the victim. The jagged scar on his face came from a shard of broken window glass.”

  For years Sean had heard nothing but horror stories of how his father had brutally murdered his mother rather than lose her. Now he tried to wrap his mind around Troy as a brave prisoner willing to risk his life for a stranger.

  The confusing images refused to jell.

  Yet, if Troy hadn’t gone to Eve’s rescue that day…

  The clunking sound of stamping footfalls shook him back to the present. He stood as Joey swaggered into the room, rubbing the dregs of sleep from his eyes with his little fists. He was still in his pajamas, but he was wearing his new boots and hat.

  “Am I too late to help feed the horses?”

  “You might be,” Eve said.

  “You shoulda woke me up.”

  “I have an even better idea,” Troy said. “Why don’t we take a trail ride on the horses and rustle us up a Texas cowboy breakfast.”

  Joey smiled and crawled up on the couch, taking the spot next to his mother that Sean had just vacated. “What’s a cowboy breakfast?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Can Momma go, too?”

  “I don’t know,” Sean said. “Can she cook?”

  Joey shook his head. “Not cowboy food.”

  “Oh, well, I suppose we can take her with us anyway.” As if he’d ever had any thought of leaving her behind.

  “Mighty thoughtful of you hombres,” Eve said as she gave her son a quick hug.

  She smiled for the first time this morning, and the simple gesture lit up the room. Sean would do what he had to in order to keep her and Joey safe. That was a given.

  Losing his heart would be a risk he’d just have to take.

  Chapter Eight

  Eve should have had zero appetite after news of the detective’s murder. But cooking over an open fire after a brisk gallop to Willow Creek had left her famished. And thanks to Dylan and Collette, the task of cooking had been an easy one.

  Dylan had delivered in his truck all the food and cooking equipment they’d needed, and had it waiting when they’d arrived at the perfect picnic spot. Their new house was only a hundred yards or so downstream and just over a slight ridge. Sean had pointed out the roofline before they dismounted.

  Her stomach growled as the odors teased and tantalized her tastebuds. She spooned the spicy concoction of chorizo, scrambled eggs, melted cheese and salsa onto the fried tortillas, while Sean poured hot coffee for them and milk from a thermos for Joey.

  Joey looked a bit dubious when she handed him his plate. “Is this really what cowboys eat?”

  “When they can get it,” Sean said, “especially if they can eat it outside on a brisk morning.”

  “What’s brisk?”

  “Cool weather, when you need a light jacket like you have on right now,” Eve said.

  She knew her son might not touch his trail-ride breakfast, but he’d loved the ride over the rolling hills and down the wooded trail to the creek. He’d ridden with Sean on a majestic quarter horse named Gunner. She’d ridden Starlight. The gentle mare was a good choice, since it had been years since Eve had been horseback riding.

  Fresh air, the sound of Joey’s innocent laughter, and the beauty of the countryside had been the perfect antidote for the dark
mood that she’d been drowning in earlier. Not that it had changed everything. Danger was still waiting around the next bend.

  Sean spread a blanket on the grass, a few feet from the muddy creek bank. Eve straightened the back corners before sitting down on it, taco and coffee in hand.

  Sean joined her, sitting far enough away that there would be no incidental brush of arms or shoulders. She wondered if that were an intentional decision so that she’d realize last night’s kiss was no more than a natural reaction to a sensual moment. Or maybe he’d never given the kiss another thought.

  Joey wandered toward a log that stretched to the water’s edge.

  “Watch where you’re walking, Joey. It’s muddy there.”

  From the corner of her eye she noticed Sean wince, as if she’d done something wrong. But she was only looking out for her son.

  Joey turned back to her. “But I’ve got my boots on.” He waited to see if she’d change her mind.

  “Right.” She gave in. “You’ve got your boots on.”

  Joey grinned and marched right through the deepest mud, on his way to the inviting log. He straddled it and set his paper plate on a dry spot near his feet.

  “I’m not always this protective,” she said to Sean. “At least I don’t think I am. It’s just that this ordeal with Orson has me too anxious to think straight.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “But you still think I need to give Joey more freedom.”

  “You’re the expert.”

  “My friend Miriam thinks I hover over him. But his anxiety is real. A mother should protect her son.”

  “I’m not arguing with you.”

  Nevertheless, she knew he agreed with Miriam. Eve bit into her taco and the flavors exploded in her mouth. “Wow. This really is good.”

  Conversation ceased while she finished her breakfast. By the time she had, Sean had gone back for seconds. Joey, on the other hand, had pulled all the ingredients from his tortilla shell except a few bites of scrambled egg. The rest he’d tossed into the trees where a couple of black crows were noisily devouring the scraps.