Loving Miss Radio

LOVING MISS RADIO JO ANNE BARNES Copyright © 2023 by Jo Anne Barnes All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover Artist: Melanie Fletcher Thank you, Melanie, for designing a cover that’s perfect for my book. You were a joy to work with. I will definitely ask you to design future book covers. Created with Vellum CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 About the Author Also by Jo Anne Barnes CHAPTER 1 She was dangerous. Tall and tawny and as beautiful as any woman he'd ever seen ... but she was dangerous. Trey could tell by the slanted green eyes that stared suspiciously at him, daring him to move, by the menacing set of her square chin, the scowl on her high forehead, and the double-barreled shotgun braced against her shoulder. "He's mighty little," she said in a soft-spoken drawl as she nodded toward the animal that lay motionless at Trey's feet, "a nubby buck if I ever saw one. Now why did you want to go and kill a baby?" "I didn't mean to kill him. I was aiming for his mother, but I missed and hit this one instead." "Hmmph!" She lowered the rifle and bumped the deer's rump with the toe of her hunting boot. The fawn batted his eyes. "Well, would you look at that,” she marveled, her face absorbing the sun's golden rays filtering through the tree tops. "Poor baby's still alive ... barely though. He’s in pain.” She removed her gloves and knelt beside the deer, held her fingers in front of his nostrils, rested her cheek on his chest, lifted a front leg and then eased it back down. When she appeared satisfied, she reached on the side of a shapely calf for the hunting knife attached to her boot and flipped it to Trey, pearl handle first. As their fingers touched, he felt her body heat penetrate the cotton gloves he wore and her cool gaze examine his face. He considered the knife. "What do you expect me to do with that?” "You can't leave him here to suffer. I reckon you’ll have to put him out of his misery. It’s the merciful thing to do.” Trey swallowed hard at the picture and bent to inspect the shivering young buck for himself. He ran his hand over the fawn's velvety face and smoothed the dots on his side. The deer raised his head an inch or two off the ground then let it drop again with a soft thud. Trey felt hopeful. The shoulder wound was scarcely bleeding, which might be a bad sign. It could be deep. It was away from the fawn's vital organs, though, and that was a good sign. He removed his leather jacket and wrapped it around the deer, careful to avoid jarring him. The deer flinched. Trey leaned back and gave the little fellow time to adjust to the weight of the leather. The dampness of the Louisiana woods penetrated his chest. He buttoned his shirt at the neck for warmth then neatly tucked the jacket under the deer. "I'm going to take him back to the camp. I think he'll make it. The wound isn't that bad." The suspicion in the woman's eyes softened as she looked down at him, but it was there. "Are you a doctor?" "I'm in sports. My name's Trey Middleton." He debated asking who the hell she was, waving that shotgun in his face, but common sense won out. "Well, Mr. Middleton, it's too bad you aren't a weight lifter. I imagine this fawn weighs forty or fifty pounds. Do you have any idea how far you'll carry him to get him back to the road leading out of here?" Trey chuckled and planted his hands on his hips as he stood. "Who said anything about carrying him? I'm going to use your knife to chop down a few saplings to make a stretcher to roll him on. Then I'm going to drag him to the road, stretcher and all." "Well, goodness-gracious! And here I had you pegged for a greenhorn.” She propped the shotgun against a tree, removed her orange hunting cap, and shook her golden mane until it cascaded down her back in soft curls. She slapped the cap on her firm thigh a couple of times and put it back on her head. "We'd better get started, hadn't we? Want to give me that knife and let me do the whacking? I don't imagine a man in sports is used to hard labor." "I can manage. You just sit over there and try to comfort the deer." A faint smile formed on her lips. "I doubt that anything I can do will comfort the deer. He misses his mama. By the way, my name's Jennabeth, Jennabeth Rawlings. Most people call me Jenny. A few call me Radio." Radio? As curious as he was, he refrained from asking how she got such an outlandish nickname. As much as she talked, she'd probably start back with the night she was born, and work her way through the next three decades to tell him how she acquired it. She looked a couple of years younger than Trey, and he was thirty-five. "I'm sorry I pointed my gun at you," she said. "It's a case of mistaken identity. I'm looking for an outlaw. I'm a game warden." "Game warden? I didn't do anything to break the law, did I?" "I don't know yet." "What do you mean?" With a shrug, she stretched her arms as though in a quandary. "If the fawn dies, I'll have to decide if you've gone and killed a