Cowboy Fever. Joanna Wayne
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two uniformed police officers showed their IDs and once they’d taken seats in the cozy living room, they got down to business. Dakota let Viviana do most of the talking, though he did have to explain that he didn’t get a good look at the guy he’d chased off.
Nothing in the questioning jumped out at Dakota until the younger of the cops, a guy named Greg Simmons, started asking more pointed questions.
“Is there anyone who might have a reason to target you, Dr. Mancini?”
Viviana fingered the small gold heart that dangled from a chain around her neck. “Yes, I talked to Detective Cortez earlier tonight. I’m sure he’ll follow up on that first thing in the morning, but—”
The cop interrupted. “Harry Cortez, in homicide?”
She nodded.
“How did you come to talk to him?”
“I know him from a case he’s investigating.”
The older cop leaned forward. “What case would that be?”
“The Compton case. I admitted Leslie Compton to the hospital the night she died of abuse. The case goes to trial in nine days. I’m one of the prosecutor’s witnesses.”
The cop nodded as if that explained a lot. “So you’re involved in the case against Hank Bateman.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t Hank Bateman who stole my car. I would have recognized him. if you need to know more, I suggest you talk to Detective Cortez.”
“We’ll make sure he sees this report.”
“I’ve told you everything. Wouldn’t it be more useful now for you to be searching the neighborhood for the man who tried to break in my house—whoever he may be?”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll get on that. Keep your doors locked and if there’s any more trouble, call 911 again. I’ll see that someone’s in the neighborhood for the rest of the night.”
“I appreciate that.”
Dakota stood and tried to wrap his mind around the new fragments of information. Viviana was to be a witness in a case against a man the cops seemed to know well. That was never a good sign.
She was massaging her right temple when she rejoined him after seeing the officers to the door. She dropped to the sofa. “We need to talk.”
Her tone indicated this wouldn’t be pleasant. “About the Compton case?”
“No, that’s far too detailed to go into tonight. We need to talk about us.”
As if that would be easy. “Whatever you need to say about us has waited sixteen months. Another eight hours can’t hurt. So if it’s all the same with you, I say we crash.”
“You can’t stay here. I don’t even have an extra bed.”
He patted the sofa cushion. “This works fine. And don’t worry, I’m a light sleeper. I’ll wake at the first sign of trouble. Not that I expect there to be any more tonight.”
“You don’t have to stay.”
“I’m staying.”
“Then I guess we should just crash.”
She didn’t sound excited about having him as an overnight guest, but she did sound relieved. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was sticking around for protection or because she could put off the conversation she was obviously dreading.
She walked away but returned a few minutes later with sheets, a pillow and a fresh ice pack. The moment grew uncomfortable. Saying a friendly good-night to a woman with whom he’d shared the hottest sex of his life, albeit months before, was downright prickly.
They managed it. He watched her walk up the stairs, the gentle sway of her hips as seductive as ever.
A few hours ago, he’d had nothing on his mind but riding a bull. Now he was consumed with Viviana, and everything had become complex and tangled.
Worse, he had a feeling deep in his gut that the complications were going to get a lot worse before this was over.
DAKOTA’S FEET stretched over the end of the sofa, making it impossible to get into a comfortable position. A nagging headache sat at the back of his skull. Breathing hurt. His muscles ached.
Unable to sleep, his mind juggled the night’s events. It was purely coincidence that he’d arrived on the scene at the exact moment that Viviana was being attacked.
But how much of the rest of what happened was coincidence? Random attack or targeted? A determined bastard coming to finish what he’d started at the hospital?
And if Viviana had been targeted, was Hank Bateman behind it? Dakota would need to know a lot more about the Compton case before he could even make an intelligent guess.
He could call his brother Wyatt. Consulting a good homicide detective made sense, and Wyatt was one of the best. But calling him in Atlanta would open a whole new set of thorny dilemmas.
Two of Dakota’s brothers lived in or near their hometown of Mustang Run. Dylan lived on Willow Creek Ranch with their father; Sean lived close by in Bandera. His brother Tyler planned to move back to the ranch as soon as he finished his stint in the army. His wife, Julie, was already there.
Dylan, Tyler and Sean had let go of the past and embraced Troy Ledger as if he were Santa Claus coming down the chimney on Christmas Eve. It worked for them.
Dakota wanted no part of it. At this late date, he wasn’t about to start wallowing in the mud while pretending it was chocolate.
Dakota stretched and cringed as he sucked in the pain. He hadn’t hurt this bad since … since he’d been kicked by a bull the night he’d first met Viviana. Or maybe since the night they’d said goodbye and he’d rode off into the sunset in his then-aging pickup truck.
There were all kinds of hurtin’.
He’d get over the pain in his muscles and joints soon enough, but he might as well face facts. Even if Viviana told him his presence around here wasn’t wanted or needed, which he figured was the basis for the promised discussion, he’d be in no shape to ride or rack up points for the next few nights.
VIVIANA JERKED AWAKE to the sound of footfalls on the stairs. She glanced at the clock—7:00 a.m. No doubt Claire was going to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, just as she did most mornings about this time. Only normally Viviana would be just finishing up her graveyard shift.
This morning when Claire went for the morning newspaper, she’d spy the hunky cowboy on the sofa. The officious nanny would not consider that a pleasant surprise.
Viviana untangled her feet from the sheets, jumped from the bed and grabbed her ivory-colored silk robe. She’d have to get downstairs on the double to explain—or run interference—since somehow Claire had slept right through last night’s drama. As had Briana.
The sixty-something nanny was in super physical condition, but she did have a slight hearing problem. She didn’t wear her aids when she slept, but she kept the baby monitor on the bedside table near her ear so that she’d hear Briana’s slightest whimper.
Poking her arms through the sleeves of the robe, Viviana made a quick stop at the door to the nursery. Briana stirred and stretched her pudgy little arms over her head when the door squeaked open, but thankfully her eyes remained closed.
The smell of coffee drifted up the staircase. Dakota must have beat Claire to the brew task. Impulsively, Viviana smoothed her hair and pulled the robe tighter, looping the belt to keep the robe closed.
Her pulse quickened as she pictured Dakota in her kitchen making coffee. Barefoot. His hair rumpled. Wearing his briefs … or nothing at all. The memories of how it had once been spilled into her mind and Viviana trembled as heat suffused her body.
She paused when she reached the bottom step, and her fingers