Midnight Rider. Joanna Wayne
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