Midnight Rider. Joanna Wayne
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