Cowboy Fever. Joanna Wayne
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car. Your keys were a few feet away. Guess he hotwired the vehicle.”
She took the bag from him. “Good. At least he doesn’t have my keys and personal information.”
“What do you keep in the glove compartment?” Dakota asked.
“Usually the car registration, but I just bought this car and all of the paperwork is in my house.”
“Is your detective friend coming over to investigate the situation?” Dakota asked as she returned the phone to him.
“Dirty Harry is not exactly a friend, but, yes, he’s on his way. He won’t be long. He just left the hospital a few minutes ago.”
Dirty Harry. He must be some tough cop. But what did she mean by “not exactly a friend”? That could mean anything. A mosquito buzzed around Dakota’s head. He reached up to slap it away, and his ribs screamed as if he’d leaned over a flame. He winced and struggled for a shallow breath.
“You’re hurt,” Viviana said.
“It’s nothing.”
She shook her head as if to clear it, and her dark hair danced about her slender shoulders. “If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be at the hospital. What’s wrong?”
“He tangled with a maniacal bull, and the bull won,” Jim answered for him. “Don’t happen often. This here’s one of the top bull riders in the world, and he’s got the buckle and the trophy to prove it.”
She looked up at him, a silvery strand of moonlight glimmering in her seductive eyes. The little emotional control he still possessed cratered.
“So you’re still bull riding?” she said.
“It’s in my blood. And you’re still tending the sick and wounded.”
“Guess that’s in my blood. And now you’re one of the wounded again.”
“Yep.” He did his best to fake a nonchalance that didn’t match the heated memories boiling inside him. “Guess you could say we’re right back where we started.”
“Not quite, Dakota.”
Crazy the way his name sounded different when she said it. Softer. Warmer. A bit gut-wrenching.
Jim’s brows arched and he rocked back on the heels of his boots. “Am I missing something here? Do you two know each other?”
“Old friends,” Dakota said.
“Well, damn. Why didn’t you say so?”
“Just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”
“What type of injury did you sustain?” Viviana asked, seamlessly snapping back into her physician role.
She acted as if they were nothing more than old friends. If he were smart, he’d treat this encounter the same way.
He tried for a deep breath and managed a shallow, excruciating one. “I took the bull’s back hooves to the chest. I was wearing a safety vest, so chances are I just got bruised up a bit. I’m mostly here to get Jim off my case.”
“You’re obviously in distress. You need X-rays and possibly an MRI. Let me use your phone again. I’ll call for a wheelchair.”
“I don’t need a wheelchair. I ran over here and rescued you, didn’t I?”
“Give it up, Dakota.” She reached for his phone. “If you weren’t in severe pain and afraid something was broken, dislocated or crushed, you wouldn’t be at the hospital.”
“Yep, she knows you,” Jim said.
While she was making the call, a small truck with a red flashing light on the roof slowly rounded the back of the building.
“Security,” Viviana said, waving them over. “I’ll handle this, but not until you’re checked into the E.R.”
Viviana told the men her car had been stolen but that she’d already called the SAPD. The next thing Dakota knew he was being rolled toward an open hospital door and a uniformed nurse was ushering him inside. Once behind the curtained cubicle, he answered a few questions and admitted that on a scale of one through ten, his pain was pushing eight.
An injection of painkiller took that down quickly, but floating in a med-induced state made it doubly hard to keep his mind off Viviana. She could have been killed.
And she might still be in danger.
It was a piss-poor time for him to be beaten up like this. Not only was he practically useless to Viviana, but in mere hours, he also had another rendezvous with a bull.
THREE HOURS LATER, Viviana stood in the hallway, poring over Dakota’s test results. There was a partial tearing of the ligaments in the glenohumeral joint in his right shoulder. That would need time to heal.
There was also swelling and extensive bruising around the ribs but no serious breaks, thanks to the safety vest that he hadn’t been wearing sixteen months ago when she’d first nursed him back to health. The contusions to the chest wall were making breathing and movement painful.
But what could a man expect when he made a living riding bulls?
She couldn’t begin to understand his passion for danger. Couldn’t make sense of his need to push his body to such physical extremes. Couldn’t comprehend his willingness to put his life on the line for a rush of adrenaline and a few seconds of glory.
But, like his loner ways and his nomadic lifestyle, it was who he was. A cowboy at heart. A bull rider by choice. A man who had no desire to settle down. He’d never pretended to be anything different.
She’d accepted that months before and she wouldn’t let herself start second-guessing what she knew to be true.
Betsy, the nurse who’d been assigned to Dakota, stopped at Viviana’s elbow. “The cowboy in room five is gorgeous, but headstrong. He refused the offer of more pain meds, says he needs to be alert enough to drive. He’s also refusing to wear the sling and says he is not about to stay overnight for observation.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
Viviana braced herself for the emotional strain of being near Dakota and marched into room five, hugging his chart to her chest.
Dakota propped himself up a few inches with his elbows when she entered, wincing at the pain. He was going to be seriously sore for several days.
“What’s the verdict?” he asked.
As she explained the findings, he maintained a poker face. He’d heard it all before, probably more times than he could count.
“You were lucky,” she said. “You could have seriously fractured bones and had a completely dislocated right shoulder … if not worse.”
“Luck’s the name of the game.”
“In here, the name of the game is survival. I think you should be admitted for observation.”
“To make certain I don’t get much sleep for what’s left of the night and that I’ll be awakened at seven for dry eggs and cold coffee?”
“So that we can manage your pain and the respiratory therapist can see you in the morning.”
“I know the routine, Doc. Deep-breathing exercises to make certain I don’t develop pneumonia.”
“It is important.”
“I know.” He took a deep breath to show her he could do it.
She managed a smile. “You do seem to have that down.”
“I had a great doctor once. She taught me lots of things I haven’t forgotten.” His eyes said what his words only hinted at.
Tension escalated in the small cubicle until her own breathing was difficult. Nothing about dealing with Dakota had ever been easy. Their