Читать книгу Midnight Rider - Joanna Wayne - Страница 13
ОглавлениеCannon took a long swig of the cold beer. It did nothing to ease the shock or to relieve the aches in his joints and muscles. R.J. and Hadley sat across the booth from him in the nearby café where they’d gone to finish their discussion. The infant slept in Hadley’s arms.
The confusion he’d felt back at the arena was growing worse instead of better. “I don’t even know anyone named Brittany Garner. I definitely didn’t have a child with her. She evidently has me confused with someone else.”
“She seemed pretty sure about her facts when she dropped Kimmie off with us,” R.J. said.
“She could be just trying to get money out of you,” Cannon said. “If she knows anything at all about me, she knows I’m not worth conning.”
“She’s a detective,” Hadley offered. “Surely she wouldn’t be working a con.”
“Anyone can have business cards printed,” Cannon said. “That doesn’t prove she’s a cop.”
“She’s a cop all right,” R.J. assured him. “Your half brother Travis is a homicide detective himself in Dallas. He had her checked out. She’s legit and apparently good at her job.”
She might be a detective, but Cannon wasn’t convinced he’d slept with her. “How old is this woman?”
“Looks to be in her late twenties,” R.J. said. “’Bout your age. Sky-blue eyes. Tall. Thin. Strawberry-blond hair. Damned good-looking if that helps jog your memory.”
It didn’t. “Awful young for a detective,” Cannon commented, not that it mattered. He was twenty-seven himself and he’d already finished a stint with the marines and made a name for himself on the rodeo circuit.
“How old is Kimmie?” he asked.
“Three months, according to Brit Garner,” R.J. said.
Cannon went over the basics in his mind. Kimmie was three months old. This was the first week in December. If Kimmie was his, she would have been conceived about a year ago. That would have meant he had to be in Houston last December.
The big Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo was always in March. He’d participated in that, but didn’t recall being in Houston any other time. Of course, he might have passed through on his way to somewhere else. He’d have to check his calendar.
He wasn’t into one-night stands, but that didn’t mean he’d never given in to temptation. He definitely hadn’t been in a relationship then, or any time in recent memory. Have a few good times with a woman and she was ready to pick out furniture and run your life.
A one-nighter with a gorgeous Houston detective that he didn’t remember. Extremely unlikely.
“You can get a paternity test,” Hadley said. “That’s the only way you can know for sure if you’re Kimmie’s father.”
“A paternity test.” He sounded like a nervous parrot. But he couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around the possibility that the baby sleeping in Hadley’s arms could be his.
“I hear they’re easy to get these days,” R.J. agreed. “If you’re short of cash, I can front you the money.”
“I’m not the father,” Cannon insisted, but his stomach had twisted into a huge, gnarly knot.
Kimmie began to stir. She stretched and yawned and then tried to poke her entire fist into her wide-open mouth. Hadley moved her to her other shoulder, but the baby continued to fuss.
“She’s hungry,” Hadley said. “Would you like to hold her, Cannon, while I get her bottle from the diaper bag?”
Hold that squirming ball of life? Not a chance. A puppy, he could handle. But this was a real live baby.
“I wouldn’t know how,” he said.
“I s’pect you better learn,” R.J. said. “Not only how to hold her, but also how to feed her and change her and even bathe her—that is, if she turns out to be yours.”
R.J. was already a believer. Cannon could tell by that knowing look in his eyes even though his pupils were half-hidden by the bags beneath them and the loose skin that drooped over his lids.
Kimmie started to cry. Cannon’s muscles bunched. The prospect of fatherhood struck him with raw fear, the kind of paralyzing fright he’d never felt when climbing atop a bull.
“Maybe you should stay at the Dry Gulch Ranch while you have the paternity testing done,” Hadley suggested. “There’s plenty of room since R.J. is the only one actually living in the original ranch house now. The rest of us have built our own houses on the Dry Gulch now.
“I’d be close enough to help you with Kimmie if you’re at the ranch, but I can’t stay here. Adam and I have two young daughters of our own who need me.”
Stay at the Dry Gulch and then owe his worthless biological father for the favor. The prospect was repulsive. But what other options did he have? He couldn’t walk out of here tonight with a baby in his arms and no idea how to care for her.
He had six days before his next rodeo, time he needed to get over his sore shoulder. But what if the paternity test proved it was his baby. Then what? Drag Kimmie around in a saddle blanket?
The baby had a mother. Detective or not, she’d have to take over the parenting chores until the kid was old enough to at least tell Cannon why she was crying.
Great attitude. If he wasn’t careful he’d rival R.J. for the Worst Father of a Lifetime award.
Cannon finished his beer while Hadley fed the baby. “How many times a day do you have to do that?”
“About every four hours during the day. Kimmie has a healthy appetite. She goes longer between feedings at night.”
“She takes a bottle at night, too?”
“She sleeps through most of the night but wakes up around five in the morning for a feeding. The good news is she goes right back to sleep after that, and usually doesn’t wake up again until about eight.”
No wonder the mystery detective was ready to hand the infant off to him. She was probably sleep deprived. Only what kind of mother would trust a man like him with their child?
Either Detective Brittany Garner had no idea what he was like or she was one totally irresponsible mother.
“I need to go to Houston and talk to Detective Garner,” he said. “I hate to ask, Hadley, but if you’d watch Kimmie just for another day or two, until I can get the paternity test and sort all this out, I’d really appreciate it.”
“You want me to take her back to the Dry Gulch Ranch?”
“Just for a few days.”
“I can manage that.”
“But no more than a few days,” R.J. cautioned. “If Kimmie turns out to be your biological daughter, then she’s your responsibility. Yours and the mother who dropped her off like a stray kitten.”
R.J. was a fine one to give advice on parenting. Cannon was willing to bet he’d never in his life changed a diaper or gotten up at five in the morning to poke a bottle at a crying infant.
If the test came back positive—which he was almost certain it wouldn’t—Cannon would at least make a stab at being a dad. There had to be a book that would help.
Sure, parenting by the book. About like a guidebook could teach a man how to stay on a mad, bucking bull for eight seconds.
“Are you driving back to Dallas tonight?” Cannon asked.
“We’re flying back,” R.J. said. “Tague Lambert, one of our neighbors, flew us down in his private jet. He’s waiting at the small airport just west of town.”
“So if you’ll just take Kimmie with you, I’ll drive to the ranch when I finish my business with Brit Garner,” Cannon reiterated.
“You can fly back with us,” R.J. offered. “Get the testing done in Dallas, might even be able to schedule it for tomorrow. Then you can wait until you have the facts to contact Kimmie’s mother. You can use one of the vehicles at the ranch to take care of business.”
“I don’t go anywhere without my pickup truck,” Cannon said, dismissing the offer. The less time he spent around R.J. the better.
The conversation dried up and died while his mind searched for reasons this baby couldn’t be his and why some woman was trying to screw him over.
Once Kimmie had her fill and spit the nipple from her tiny, heart-shaped lips, Hadley set the almost empty nursing bottle on the table and shifted the baby in her arms. “Don’t you want to at least hold her and say hello before we go?”
Cannon shook his head, though he figured it made him look like a jerk. “I’ve never held a baby before. I’m afraid I’d do it wrong and hurt her.”
“You won’t.” Hadley stood and walked to his side of the booth. “Stand up and hold out your arms. I’ll show you how to cradle her.”
He stood, but kept his arms to his sides. “I don’t think I should....”
“Nonsense.” Hadley handed the baby off to him.
He took her reluctantly, standing stiffly while she fit the baby into his arms.
Kimmie’s eyes fluttered, eyes the same general color as his, only lighter. Cannon’s breath caught in his throat.
The infant was practically weightless, but not still. She squirmed and started to fuss as if she knew he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. At least she was smart.
Cannon touched her chin with a fingertip. Her skin was as soft as silk. She made a gurgling noise and kicked and swung her little arms like a wind-up toy.
Her short, chubby fingers somehow caught and wrapped around the one he’d used to touch her cheek. An emotion he didn’t recognize shot through him and settled in his heart.
He had never been more afraid in his life.
* * *
BY THE TIME Cannon returned to his hotel room, the shock had worn off enough that the aches and pains had checked back in. He headed straight for a shower, shedding his clothes as he went. For the first time he noticed the rip in his jeans and the dirt stains blotching his Western shirt.
Stripped naked by the time he reached the bathroom, he glanced in the mirror. The area around his rib cage was already turning an ugly shade of purple.
Macabre was no doubt sleeping comfortably in his stall, probably dreaming of what he’d do to the next sucker crazy enough to climb on his back.
Cannon turned the knobs on the shower until the spray was steamy hot. He stepped in and let the water sluice over his head and run down his aching body.
He closed his eyes, but the relief he’d hoped for didn’t come. Instead, an image of Kimmie rocked his mind. Could she possibly be his daughter? He racked his brain trying to remember his schedule for last December.
Nothing stood out. His life was a steady stream of rodeos and towns he barely saw except for the arenas where the action took place. After years on the circuit, they ran together like gravy ladled over a plate of biscuits and sausage.
He remembered the big events. Dallas. Austin. Houston. San Antonio. Phoenix. Las Vegas. Hell, he even made it up to Montana on occasion. It all depended on the points he needed and how big the purse was.
There had been women. Not that many, but a few. Never married ones, at least not knowingly. And he stayed clear of the underage buckle bunnies who hung around the arenas and flirted shamelessly with any cowboy who’d give them the time of day. Plenty did. They could get a man in big trouble.
More to the point, he kept a supply of condoms handy—just in case.
The way he saw it, there was damned little chance that Kimmie was his daughter.
So why had he felt that quake deep in his gut when Kimmie had accidentally latched on to his finger? Couldn’t be because he had some kind of secret longing to father a child.
He had his future all planned out. His winnings from the rodeo were his ticket to making it happen. A kid would put the skids on his dreams faster than a bull could clear the chute.
He should call Brittany Garner tonight and tell her she had the wrong man.
No. Better to see her face-to-face. If he had sex with her, he’d surely remember her once he was looking at her. If he’d been sober enough to get it up, then his brain cells should have been functioning at least at a minuscule level.
He soaped his body, gingerly, especially over the bruised flesh. Then he rinsed and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed one of the bleached white towels from the shelf and wrapped it around his waist.
The dull pounding at the base of his skull that had been playing background drums for him ever since the fall intensified. He took the bottle of extrastrength painkillers from his duffel and shook two into his left hand. He swallowed them with a chaser of water he’d cupped in his hand from the faucet.
Rummaging in his shaving duffel, he dug out a toothbrush and squeezed a roll of minty jell along the bristles. The brushing did little to rid his mouth of the coppery taste that had taken hold the second he’d learned he might be a father.
Fatigue stitched with dread settled in hard as he walked to the bed, dropped his towel to the floor and threw back the heavy spread. Tomorrow he’d make the long drive to Houston. Tonight he had to get some rest.
Sleep came almost instantly. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. By four in the morning, Cannon was behind the wheel of his pickup truck, pulling out of the hotel parking lot. Brit Garner’s business card was deep in his pocket.
Talk was cheap, especially from a detective who admittedly slept around. A paternity test was all it would take to prove that she was wrong.
* * *
THE CLERK AT the police precinct stared at Cannon, her gaze focused on the angry raw scrape that colored his right cheek. “Are you here to file an assault complaint?”
“No. I’m here to see Detective Brittany Garner. Is she in?”
“The detective is with someone in her office now. What’s your business with her?”
“Personal.”
The middle-aged clerk leveled her gaze, her features hardening as if she suddenly found his visit threatening or just downright annoying. “Detective Garner is very busy, but give me your name and I’ll see if she has time to see you.”
“Cannon Dalton and she’ll see me.”
The clerk rolled her eyes at him as if he was just another nuisance in her day. “Wait here.”
The wait was short. The clerk returned less than a minute later. “The detective will see you now. I’ll walk you to her office.”
He followed the clerk down a narrow corridor, taking a left at the end of the hall. She opened a door and motioned him to go in.
R.J.’s description hadn’t done the stunning woman behind the desk justice. She did look vaguely familiar, but damned if he could place her. Probably reminded him of some movie star or supermodel. She had the body and the looks for either one.
“I’m glad you finally found time to stop by, Mr. Dalton. We need to talk.” Her voice was stern, her manner stiffly authoritative. All cop. Not quite what he’d expected from a woman who was about to say, Hey, guess what? I had your baby.
Maybe Kimmie wasn’t her daughter, after all. But surely the Houston Police Department didn’t have the staff to send homicide detectives out to find deadbeat dads.
Cannon let his gaze travel over her while she slid some loose papers into a brown envelope. Striking eyes, the color of a summer sky. Hair was shiny and straight and fell past her shoulders. Long bangs were tucked behind her left ear.
Finally she sat down and told him to do the same. He settled in the straight-backed metal chair across from her desk. He looked her in the eye. Hers were accusing. They matched her smug expression.
“I’m glad you stopped by. This will be much easier to deal with in person.”
“Might have been easier if you’d talked to me before you dumped your kid on R.J.’s doorstep.”
“I didn’t dump. I delivered Kimmie to her grandfather since her father wasn’t around to accept responsibility for her welfare.”
“Part of your official duties as a detective?”
“As a matter of fact, it was.”
“And how did you reach the conclusion that I’m Kimmie’s father?”
“Maybe I should refresh your memory.”
“You definitely should.”
“Marble Falls, Texas. Last December. The Greenleaf Bar. Does that mean anything to you?”
Marble Falls. Last December. A resort-sponsored rodeo. He groaned as the pieces started to fall together.
“The woman in Greenleaf Bar was you?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Vaguely.”
He struggled to put things in perspective. That had been a hell of a night. He’d stopped at the first bar he’d come to after leaving the rodeo. A blonde had sat down next to him. As best he remembered, he’d given her an earful about the rodeo, life and death as he’d become more and more inebriated.
She must have offered him a ride back to his hotel since his truck had still been at the bar when he’d gone looking for it the next morning. If Brit was telling the truth, the woman must have gone into the motel with him and they’d ended up doing the deed.
If so, he’d been a total jerk. She’d been as drunk as him and driven or she’d willingly taken a huge risk.
Hard to imagine the woman staring at him now ever being that careless or impulsive.
“Is that your normal pattern, Mr. Dalton?” Brit asked “Use a woman to satisfy your physical needs and then ride off to the next rodeo?”
“That’s a little like the armadillo calling the squirrel road kill, isn’t it? I’m sure I didn’t coerce you into my bed if I was so drunk I can’t remember the experience.”
“I can assure you that you’re nowhere near that irresistible. I have never been in your bed.”
“Whew. That’s a relief. I’d have probably died of frostbite.”
“This isn’t a joking matter.”
“I’m well aware. But I’m not the enemy here, so you can quit talking to me like I just climbed out from under a slimy rock. If you’re not Kimmie’s mother, who is?”
“My twin sister, Sylvie Hamm.”
Twin sisters. That explained Brit’s attitude. Probably considered her sister a victim of the drunken sex urges he didn’t remember. It also explained why Brit Garner looked familiar.
“So why is it I’m not having this conversation with Sylvie?”
“She’s dead.”
The words sank in slowly, changing everything. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly. The how and why of all of this seemed less important now. A baby would grow up never knowing her mother. A baby that might be his.
He tried to wrap his mind around the new development. The death had to be recent. Kimmie was just a baby. “How did your sister die?”
“She was murdered.”
A new jolt shook his system as the situation grew even more disturbing. He muttered a few careless curse words, not out of disrespect but out of desperation. He didn’t see how things could get much worse, but from the look on Brit’s face, he had a feeling they were about to.
“I get the feeling I should be calling in a lawyer about now,” he said.
“Not if you have nothing to hide. You’re not currently a suspect in her murder, Mr. Dalton, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Currently the operative word. “Have you arrested a suspect?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Do you have one?”
“No.”
“A motive?”
“It’s an open investigation. I can’t really discuss the details with you.”
“Exactly what can you share, Detective?”
Brit stood and walked around to the front of her desk, propping her shapely backside on the edge of it. Hard-edged, probably tough as nails, but hard to get past the fact that she looked more like a starlet playing a cop than an actual detective. There had to be a story there somewhere.
“What specifically would you like to know, Mr. Dalton?”
“First, how about calling me Cannon? If I am Kimmie’s father, then we’re practically related.”
“Okay, what do you want to know, Cannon?”
“For starters, why would you hand over your niece to a man like R. J. Dalton, or to me, for that matter, since you think I’m such a lowlife?”
She hesitated, then exhaled slowly as if she were giving in against her better judgment. “I’d planned to take that up with you after we have the results of the paternity test in hand, but since you’re so eager to discuss details, I guess we can talk now.”
“Then we finally agree on something.”
Brit glanced at her watch. “Do you mind if we talk over a sandwich? I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I need some food and decent coffee.”
“Fine by me, as long as I’m not riding to the restaurant in the back of a squad car.”
Her full lips tipped into a slight smile. “Not this trip. There’s an informal restaurant with quick service just around the corner. We can walk.”
“Lead the way.”
Actually he had few hunger pangs growling in his stomach, as well. He’d driven straight through, grabbing snacks for munching when he’d stopped for fuel and bathroom breaks.
Snippets of that night in Marble Falls kicked around in his mind as they walked to the café. He hated that his memories of that night were lost in a whiskey fog. Weird considering he wasn’t even that much of a drinker. A beer or two every now and then. A six-pack on a bad night.
The night in Marble Falls had been far worse than bad.
Right now he figured he wasn’t the only one with questions. And, in spite of Brit’s assurances, he figured he was one wrong answer away from becoming a suspect.
That still didn’t mean she had her facts right about his being Kimmie’s father.
