Coulda Been a Cowboy

“This could cost you your career, Tyson. And that’s worth a lot more than a measly one mil.”

He gripped the phone that much tighter. “You’re telling me to give the baby back?”

“Having you step in scared her. She knows we’re watching now. Maybe she’ll take better care of him.”

Tyson didn’t believe it for a minute. He’d never met anyone more self-serving than Rachelle Rochester, no one more coldly calculating. That she came off so sweet and innocent made her all the more dangerous.

Even if she took better care of Braden’s physical needs, how would it be to have her for a mother? Tyson had always thought his own mother was too consumed with building her title and escrow company to be a good parent. He’d become nothing more than a painful reminder of the only man she’d ever really loved. This would be worse. Braden would fall second to mere vanity and greed. And Rachelle would use him shamelessly until he turned eighteen.

Tyson wouldn’t allow it. “Tell her she can go to hell.”

There was a long pause. Obviously his agent wasn’t happy with his response. “Tyson, with your knee the way it is…”

“What are you saying, Greg? What does my knee have to do with this?”

“I’m saying you need to be cautious. You’re not as young as you used to be. I don’t know if you can afford this kind of fight. Maybe it’s better to concede this round.”

Concede? To a crook and a phony? Never. If there was one thing his mother had taught him, it was to fight when he felt he had to. “Whose side are you on?” he asked and slammed down the phone.

There was a rattle of plates, and he turned in time to see Dakota hurrying away from the open doorway. She’d obviously been bringing him breakfast—but had changed her mind when she heard him screaming into the receiver.

Damn. She’d caught him at a vulnerable moment.

He considered calling her back so he could smooth over his temperamental display. He didn’t want her whispering about him to the locals. Who knew what might leak out? The press would follow him here eventually. The last thing he needed was to do anything that could be interpreted as supporting the terrible things Rachelle was saying about him.

But he was too angry to pretend he wasn’t.

Besides, he no longer felt like eating.

CHAPTER FIVE

Grandpa Garnier: Never kick a cow chip on a hot day.

AFTER TYSON’S PHONE CALL, the house fell silent, except for the television, which was tuned to Good Morning America, and an occasional squeal from Braden as he crawled around the living room. While Dakota did the dishes, she wondered what kind of news the man Greg Higgins had delivered to Tyson. Clearly, her employer wasn’t pleased with whatever he’d heard.

A few minutes later, a creak on the stairs alerted her that he was coming. Then he appeared wearing basketball shorts, a Stingrays T-shirt and tennis shoes.

He still hadn’t shaved. Maybe he was trying to make himself less recognizable. He obviously didn’t want to draw any attention, or he wouldn’t be staying by himself in a friend’s cabin way out in the boonies.

“Hungry?” she asked, trying to pretend she hadn’t just tried to bring him a tray.

“No.” He jerked his head toward the baby. “How’s he doing?”

“Good. He ate some cereal and mashed banana for breakfast, with a bottle of juice.”

Braden gave his father a beaming smile. But Tyson, who was already wearing a scowl, didn’t acknowledge it or respond.

“And what about you?” he asked.

Dakota had been doing her best to keep her face averted when possible. She knew her lip and the bruise on her cheek looked worse than they would if she’d had the chance to shower and use the cover-up that came in handy when she needed to hide the remnants of her and her father’s fights. “Better,” she said, rinsing off another dish.

“Let’s see.”

She kept working. “There’s nothing to see.”

“Look at me. How bad is it?”

Again she tried to shrug him off. “It’s fine.”

He didn’t respond, but he stood in the center of the room watching her—she could feel his attention—so she finally relented and turned.

His eyes zeroed in on her lip. “Damn, he clipped you pretty good.”

“It’ll be better tomorrow.”

“And that bruise on your cheek?”

“I’ve got something I can put on it. You won’t be able to see it.”

“Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

What could she say? She was getting used to hiding the worst of her injuries. The cut on her arm still hadn’t healed. She was afraid it was getting infected.

“I’m going out for a jog,” he said and took a water bottle from the cupboard above the fridge.

Dakota put another plate in the dishwasher. “It’s about to rain. You might want to run inside. Gabe’s got two different treadmills back there.” The workout room took up as much square footage as the living room, dining room and kitchen combined, and was better equipped than most professional spas. Dakota had already wandered through it, admiring the expensive equipment and imagining how she could look if she had access to that every day.

“I don’t care about a little rain. Running in place has never made much sense to me.”

The door slammed shut, leaving Dakota alone with Braden. “Don’t worry about him,” she told the baby. “He’s just in a bad mood.”

Braden sat on his diapered behind and jabbered as he played with her keys, which she’d given him because he didn’t seem to have any toys.

“I’ll get you some blocks when I go to town today,” she promised.

Finished drying the last pan, she scooped the baby into her arms and laughed as he planted a wet kiss on her chin. She knew the behavior had more to do with teething than affection, but it felt good all the same. “You’re something else, you know that?” she told him, tickling him under the chin.

He giggled and buried his face in her neck, and she hugged him close. He felt so solid and round and soft. He was going to be big, just like his daddy.

She could get used to this job, she decided. She already liked it more than anything else she’d done.

“If your father’s not going to use the gym, maybe I will,” she said. “Then you and I will go outside and see what needs to be done to plant a garden.”

As long as she’d be at the cabin so much, she figured she might as well take advantage of all the amenities. The cupboards in the kitchen, and the freezer in the mudroom, were so well stocked maybe she’d even do some cooking. She’d found steaks, shrimp, crab, even a couple of lobster tails—and Tyson acted as if he didn’t care what she did as long as she kept the baby happy.

She thought of the magazines piled in her bedroom in the trailer—mostly fan magazines because they were quick reads, but there were plenty of food and wine magazines, too. Mr. and Mrs. Cottle at the pharmacy gave her the outdated ones they pulled from the shelves. When she was young, she’d dreamed of becoming a gourmet cook and had spent a lot of time since then studying food preparation and experimenting with various menus.

Later today, she’d pick up a few recipes she wanted to try. She needed to check on her father anyway. But she didn’t really want to see him. His irrational and violent behavior wasn’t easy to forget. After he cut her last time, he’d promised he would never raise a hand to her again.