Coulda Been a Cowboy

Rachelle had forced too many changes on him already. But he knew he and Gabe would disagree, so he veered away from the subject. “Fortunately, I have the help I need now.”

“That’s all you want?” Gabe asked. “A nanny?”

“That’s all I can afford,” Tyson said ruefully.

There was a slight pause. “You did the right thing, Tyson. Braden’s worth every dime.”

Tyson didn’t regret the money. Once he’d found out what was going on, he’d had to do something. His sense of responsibility was too strong to allow the child to be neglected. But he still lamented that he’d been fool enough to allow a gold-digger to change the course of his life. “Thanks for stocking the kitchen,” he said. “I got in too late last night to hit a grocery store.”

“That was Hannah.”

“Thank her for me.”

“You bet. How’s the knee?”

“Healing.” I think. It wasn’t as strong as he’d hoped it’d be, but he had two months to strengthen it. “The equipment you have here will help.”

“The whirlpool should be good for it, too. And I’ll send the trainer I work with at the high school to meet you. He’ll get you on a good therapy program. He’s one of the best.”

Tyson finished drawing his football player and started on a cowboy. His grandfather had lived a solid, clean life. A simple life. Which seemed damned enviable at this point. “So what’s he doing in the mountains of Idaho?”

“He’s also the town vet. Loves it here.”

Tyson shaded the face of the cowboy he was drawing to reflect the craggy nature of Grandpa Garnier’s features. God, he missed the old man. Had his grandfather still been around, Tyson could’ve taken Braden back to the ranch.

But those days were over. The ranch was now owned by Tyson’s uncle, who refused to sell it to him. And Grandpa Garnier lived only in Tyson’s memory.

At least in Dundee he had someone to help him with Braden, a trainer to get him ready for the start of the season, top-of-the-line therapy equipment and—best of all—some privacy.

For the moment, that would have to do.

DAKOTA STARED at the light beneath the door in Tyson Garnier’s office. He’d been in there since he’d hired her more than five hours earlier. She’d occasionally heard his voice as he talked on the phone, but the cabin had been deathly quiet for at least ninety minutes.

Should she knock? He’d mentioned that she needed to stay four or five hours, which meant she could go home at eight. But it was past eight-thirty and nearly dark, and he hadn’t come out to take the baby, make arrangements for tomorrow, anything.

She shifted Braden onto her other hip and double-checked her watch. Sure enough—eight thirty-five. She had to get home before her father headed to the bar. He often grew restless after dark, wanted to go out and join his friends. And he wasn’t the same when he was drunk.

“Mr. Garnier?” She knocked softly. He must’ve fallen asleep, she thought, but he proved her wrong when the door swung open almost immediately.

“Yes?” He towered over her by at least ten inches, appearing even more unkempt than he had before. His brown hair, although short, stood up all over, as if he’d pushed his fingers through it a few hundred times. The shadow of beard on his jaw and chin had darkened. And his eyes were bloodshot.

Except for the hard, flat stomach beneath his T-shirt, he looked like her father after a drinking binge. She couldn’t smell any alcohol, but maybe he was on some kind of drug. Who else would promise someone five hundred dollars for a few hours of babysitting?

“It’s time for me to go,” she said and tried to hand him his son.

He stepped back as quickly as a vampire would from a Christian cross. “It can’t be eight o’clock already.”

She pulled Braden’s hand away from her hair before he could get another fistful. “It’s past that. And I really need to go.” Or she’d have to track down her father and drag him home. They’d recently taken his driver’s license away from him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to drive that old clunker truck of his. And if he did get on the road, and the police picked him up, she’d have to bail him out of jail again. They were already so deeply in debt they could barely scrape by.

“Of course,” he said but made no move to take the baby. Instead, he gave her the sexy smile she felt certain had garnered him the attention of Hollywood in the first place. “Any chance you could get him…er, Braden…down for the night before you leave?” he asked hopefully. “I’m pretty busy in here.”

Dakota would rather have stayed in the elegantly appointed cabin than return to what she called home, but she felt too much pressure. Although her father had once been a kind, responsible, loving man, the pain he suffered from the accident and the alcohol he drank to battle it had changed him. She scarcely recognized him anymore. “I don’t think Braden’s ready for bed. He had a late nap and could probably use a bath.”

“You didn’t give him one?”

“I would have,” she explained, a bit defensive at his tone, “but I couldn’t find the baby shampoo, and I didn’t want to disturb you in case you were sleeping.”

Tyson also intimidated her. On television, he seemed very cocky—the kind of guy who might stride into an event late and unapologetic, wearing an expensive pair of sunglasses and an “eat your heart out” smile. But he didn’t seem very confident right now. “Isn’t all shampoo basically the same?”

“Not if it gets in his eyes. You’ve got to go shopping anyway, so you might as well pick up some.”

“Why do I have to go shopping? Hannah already stocked the cupboards.”

The muscles in his arms flexed impressively as he shoved his oversized hands into his pockets. She could tell he wasn’t trying to put on a show, but his well-toned body made Dakota more self-conscious of the twenty pounds she’d gained over the past few months. With her father behaving so badly, she couldn’t get out of the house the way she used to. It was difficult leaving him alone long enough to go to work. Now that she’d be putting in longer hours, she’d have to rely even more heavily on Mrs. Duluth. But at least the arrangement was only temporary. She didn’t think Mrs. Duluth would mind.

“Hannah did a general stock,” she said. “I think she expected you to bring your own baby items.”

“Like shampoo? That’s a baby item?”

“Gentle shampoo, yes—and diapers and formula.”

“I have diapers.”

“Not anymore, unless they’re in your luggage.” So far, in addition to the diaper bag in the baby’s room, which was empty, she’d only spotted a duffle tossed carelessly at the foot of the bed in the master. But Tyson could have diapers in there, she supposed. Or in whatever vehicle he’d brought. She hadn’t checked the detached garage.

“You used them all?”

“There were only three, and I had good reason.”

He seemed to grasp that she’d spared him a few messy changes and backed off. “Right. Okay.”

Feeling slightly vindicated, she mentally measured what was left in the can from which she’d made Braden’s last bottle. “You also need more formula, or you will in another day or two. And it’d be nice if you could get a teething ring, a couple of baby spoons and a playpen. If you brought that stuff with you, I couldn’t find it.”

“No, I—Maybe you should make a list,” he said.

Dakota’s anxiety increased as she imagined her father revving the engine of his old truck, preparing to leave for the Honky Tonk. She’d hidden the keys, but he’d found them before. And Mrs. Duluth wouldn’t stop him. She’d be in bed by now. “A list. Sure.”

This time he took the baby when she held him out, and she hurried to the desk to find a paper and pen.

“Where can I get those items?” he asked, peering over her shoulder while she wrote.

“Finley’s Market is open till ten. But it’s a forty-minute drive to town, so you’d better hurry if you plan to go tonight.” She ripped off the sheet and handed it to him. “You can follow me, if you leave right away. I drive right past there.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll do that.”

Braden squirmed and reached for her, which made Dakota hesitate. Tyson seemed tense, unsure of himself. And the way he was holding his son—out away from his body instead of cuddling him close—concerned her. What if Tyson really was taking drugs? “Are you on something?” she asked.

Two deep furrows formed between his eyebrows. “What?”