Delores Fossen - The Cowboy's Son

“I think your need to protect me is all mixed up with what you think is an attraction to me.”

“What I think is attraction,” he repeated. There was a dangerous edge to his voice, as if she’d just pushed a button that shouldn’t have been pushed.

The air between them changed.

He changed.

Collena didn’t back away. She wasn’t afraid of him. But she was afraid of what she’d started. So much for analysing him and blowing off the attraction.

“Let’s test your theory,” he said. “Let’s see if there’s any lust buried beneath all that need to protect you.”

And with that, he reached for her.

Before Collena could even catch her breath, Dylan lowered his head and took her mouth as if he owned her.

Collena Drake– Former cop and head of the task force to find a group of illegally adopted babies, including her own. Her search leads her to powerful Texas horseman Dylan Greer, the man raising her toddler son.

Dylan Greer– The Texas billionaire who had no idea that he was participating in anything illegal when he adopted Collena’s son. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep the little boy he’s raised as his own. Even if that includes a marriage of convenience to Collena.

Adam Greer– Collena’s sixteen-month-old son was stolen from her at birth.

Ruth Sayers– Dylan’s former nanny who now helps take care of Adam. She’s possessive of Adam and resents Collena.

Millie Sayers– Ruth’s daughter and assistant nanny. Does she want Collena off the ranch so she can have Dylan for herself?

Deputy Sheriff Jonah Burke– There’s bad blood between Dylan and him, and Jonah could be letting their past interfere with the investigation that could save Collena, Dylan and Adam.

Rodney Harmon– The convicted felon went to jail because of Collena’s testimony. Now he’s escaped and is after her.

Curtis Reese– Adam’s biological paternal grandfather. He plans to fight both Collena and Dylan for custody of Adam.

Hank Sayers– Dylan’s longtime employee who might also be responsible for a string of deaths that have haunted Dylan for years.

Imagine a family tree that includes Texas cowboys, Choctaw and Cherokee Indians, a Louisiana pirate and a Scottish rebel who battled side by side with William Wallace. With ancestors like that, it’s easy to understand why Texas author and former air force captain Delores Fossen feels as if she were genetically predisposed to writing romances. Along the way to fulfilling her DNA destiny, Delores married an air force top gun who just happens to be of Viking descent. With all those romantic bases covered, she doesn’t have to look too far for inspiration.

DELORES FOSSEN

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To my wonderful editor, Allison Lyons.

Thanks for everything.

Chapter One

Greer, Texas

“Sir, we have an intruder on the grounds,” the housekeeper warned Dylan Greer.

Dylan’s stomach clenched into a cold, hard knot. He silently cursed, said a brusque goodbye to his business associate in London and dropped the phone back onto its cradle.

An intruder. Well, the person had picked a good day for it.

It was Thanksgiving morning, barely minutes after sunrise, and he’d given most of his household help time off for the holiday. He was understaffed. Plus, there was a snowstorm moving in. With the already slick, icy roads, it’d probably take the sheriff at least twenty minutes to get out to the ranch.

“Where is he?” Dylan asked Vergie, the housekeeper, through the two-way speaker positioned on his desk.

“The north birthing stables.”

In other words, too close to the house. That meant Dylan had to take care of this on his own.

“Call the sheriff,” Dylan instructed Vergie as he unlocked his center desk drawer and took out the Sig Sauer that he’d hoped he would never have to use. He grabbed his thick shearling coat from the closet and put his gun and his cell phone in the pocket.

“You want me to tell Hank to go out there with you?” Vergie asked.

“No.” Hank, the handyman, was seventy-two and had poor eyesight and hearing. Besides, this might be Dylan’s chance to have a showdown with the person who’d made his life a living hell.

Dylan worked quickly to get the information he needed. He used his security surveillance laptop to bring up the camera image of the exterior of the birthing stables. It wasn’t the most vulnerable spot on his six-hundred-and-thirty acres, but it did have one major security flaw.

Accessibility.

Anyone could have parked on the dirt road a quarter of a mile away from his property, climbed the eight-foot-tall wooden fence and made their way across the pasture to the stables. Not an effortless undertaking in the cold, but it was doable.

And, on his computer screen, he saw the person who’d managed that feat.

There, next to the birthing-stable doors, was a shadowy figure holding a pair of binoculars. The person was dressed all in black. Black pants, bulky black coat and a knit cap. That attire and those binoculars weren’t positive signs. Whoever it was hadn’t dropped by to wish him a happy Thanksgiving.

Mercy, did he really have a killer on the grounds?

With everything that’d happened, Dylan couldn’t take the chance that this was all some innocent intrusion.

“Lock up when I leave,” Dylan instructed the housekeeper from the intercom. “And call me immediately if our guest moves closer to the house.”

He left through the French doors of his office and stepped into the bitter cold. It wasn’t officially even winter yet, but the weather obviously didn’t know that—it was a good twenty degrees below normal. The wind howled out of the north, slamming right through his jacket, shirt, jeans and boots. A few snowflakes whirled through the air.

The birthing stables were on the opposite side of the house from where he’d exited, so Dylan knew the intruder hadn’t seen him with those binoculars. He ran, following a row of Texas sagebrush and mountain laurel, hoping the shrubbery would conceal him for as long as possible. He wanted the element of surprise on his side. Correction. He needed that. Because this person might have already committed murder.

With that brutal reminder crawling through his head, Dylan took out his gun so that he’d be ready. He had to protect his son at all costs, and if necessary, that would include an out-and-out fight. He wasn’t going to lose someone else he loved to this nameless, faceless SOB.

Though the cold burned his lungs and his boots seemed unsteady on the ice-scabbed pasture grass, he didn’t slow down until he reached the stables. Dylan went to the rear of the building so he could approach the intruder from behind, and peered around the corner. The person in black hadn’t moved an inch and was about fifty feet away.