Genuine Cowboy. Joanna Wayne
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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