Why couldn’t she just relax and accept his protection?

But she couldn’t relax around him. The memory of their time together was too potent, the attraction between them still far too dynamic.

She got out of the truck and watched as Dakota removed their daughter from her car seat. The baby dropped her head to his shoulder as if it were natural for this cowboy with a smile that matched her own to be carrying her into the house.

Viviana hurried to unlock the door. She noticed the doll almost at once, at the edge of the walkway next to a flower pot. It wasn’t her daughter’s.

Apprehension made her palms clammy as she stooped to pick it up. The back of the doll’s head had been crushed. Fake blood dripped down the collar of the dress.

She started to slam it back to the walk and spotted a square of paper tucked inside the clothing. As she read it, the words blurred. Her hands began to shake. And then she felt the earth moving beneath her feet and the walkway rushing to her face …

About the Author

JOANNA WAYNE was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organisation. Her debut novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.

Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list for romance and has won many industry awards. She is also a popular speaker at writing organisations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.

Joanna currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star State. You may write Joanna at PO Box 852, Montgomery, Texas 77356, USA.

Cowboy Fever

Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To our good friends the Mitchells. Always nice to have

you two around to catch a movie with when I need a

break from the computer. And a hug to Wayne

for enduring my deadlines.

Chapter One

Dakota Ledger was back in Texas and the heat was on. Sweat rolled down his back and pooled at his armpits, staining his lucky red Western shirt. The smell of livestock and manure permeated the still air. “All My Ex’s Live in Texas” blared from an aging sound system. The edgy excitement of competition was electric in the stifling June air.

“Gotta love bull riding in San Antonio.”

Dakota turned to the youthful cowboy who was grinning like a puppy with a new bone. “What’s so special about San Antonio?” Dakota asked.

“I qualified for the competition.”

“That’ll do it.”

Dakota didn’t know the rider’s real name, but even though he was relatively new to the Professional Bull Riders Association circuit, he’d already earned a nickname. “Cockroach” stemmed from the way he scurried out of the reach of a bull’s kicking hooves. It was a great talent to have if you wanted to keep living with all parts working.

Cockroach rubbed his palms against his chaps. “This is my first year to compete in PBR-sanctioned events, so I’m a little nervous.”

“The adrenaline will take care of that once you drop onto the bull’s back.”

“I’m counting on that.” Cockroach adjusted his hat. “One day I hope to be the PBRA world champion, just like you were two years ago. A million-dollar purse. I could use that. Not to mention all those endorsements you have.”

“Bull riding’s not about the money.”

“I know.” Cockroach toed the dirt as if putting out a cigarette. “It’s a long, hard ride from the bottom to the top, but I plan to be one of the few who make it.”

“Persistence is a large part of the battle,” Dakota agreed.

“And skill is the rest,” Cockroach said.

“Skill, passion and luck,” Dakota corrected. “You gotta love what you’re doing. And you gotta stay alive to keep doing it.”

Cockroach reached down and adjusted his right spur. “Have you ever been seriously hurt?”

“Never met a bull rider who hasn’t. I’ve had cracked ribs, concussions, a broken right wrist and bruises probably on every inch of my body.”

“Hey, Dakota. Looking good.”

Dakota turned toward the railing that separated the paid attendees from the competitors. A group of young women were leaning over the railing, probably not a one of them over twenty years old. Not that he was all that much older at twenty-five, but he sure felt it.

Still, he tipped his hat and smiled.

“Your friend’s cute, too,” one of the females called.

Cockroach beamed, turned a tad red and tipped his hat to his vocal admirer.

“What’s your favorite rodeo town?” Cockroach asked when he turned back to Dakota.

Dakota nudged his worn Stetson back from his forehead. It damn sure wasn’t San Antonio or any other town within five hundred miles of here, but he wasn’t getting into that.

“Doesn’t really matter where you are. It always comes down to just you, the bull and the clock.”

“Can’t be the same in places like Montana. I mean look at those hot babes over there. Short shorts, halter tops, sun-streaked hair and all that luscious tanned flesh. Bet you don’t get that in cold country.”

“They’ve got hot buckle bunnies every place they’ve got rodeo competitions,” Dakota assured him. “The names change. The flirting and seduction games remain the same.”

At least that had been true for him until he’d run into a certain dark-haired beauty with class and brains after a bull got the best of him last year at Rodeo Houston. The attraction between them had struck like lightning, shooting sparks without warning. They’d had six days together before he’d had to move on to the next competition. Six torrid, exciting, fantastic days.

End of story. He hadn’t been the one to write the finale. The rejection had stung a lot more than expected. His performance level had taken a drastic drop for several months after that. He could thank Viviana—along with a couple of injuries—that he didn’t even make it to the championship finals last year.

Dakota turned back to the circle of dirt where he’d face tonight’s battle. Letting anything interfere with your concentration was suicide for a bull rider.

Which was why he should have never come back to Texas. Even before he’d met Viviana, the odds here were stacked against him. The Ledger name was infamous in the Lone Star State and that had nothing to do with his reputation with the bulls.

Nineteen years after the fact, the brutal murder of Dakota’s mother was still being written and talked about in this area of Texas. She’d been shot at home, in a ranch house less than a hundred miles from where he stood right now.

His father, Troy, had been convicted of the crime. Dakota had been six years old at the time.

Luckily, questions about his past hadn’t come up today in his interviews with the local media. All they’d focused on was taking pictures and asking him about his success. He suspected that was because the competition’s organizers had told them any mention of Troy Ledger was off-limits.

Cockroach got the signal to head toward the chute. He looked over to the female cheering squad and tipped his hat before swaggering toward the bucking, snorting beast that was already fighting to clear the chute.

“Remember, it’s just you and the bull,” Dakota shouted after him. Six seconds into the ride, the bull bucked and veered to the left. Cockroach was thrown off. Fortunately, it was his hat and not his head that got entangled with the bull’s hooves. True to his nickname, the cowboy got out of the way while Jim Angle distracted the indignant animal.

Jim was one of the rodeo clown greats. It had been Jim Angle who’d saved Dakota from getting seriously injured back in Houston the night he’d met Viviana. The past attacked again, this time so strong Dakota couldn’t shut the memories down.

Images of Viviana filled his head. Dark, curly hair that fell to her slender shoulders. Full, sensual lips. Eyes a man could drown in. A touch that had set him on fire.

Damn. If he didn’t clear his mind, he’d never hang on for the full eight seconds, and he needed a good showing tonight to make it to the final round in this event tomorrow. A rider couldn’t rest on past laurels and the competition got tougher every year.

He’d drawn the meanest of the rough stock tonight. That was half the battle to getting a high score. The other half was up to Dakota.

He was the last rider of the evening and he worked to psyche himself up as the other contenders got their shot at racking up points. As his turn drew near, he fit the leather glove on his riding hand and one of the other riders helped him tape it in place. The resin came next, just enough to improve his grip. Then he climbed onto the chute. It was time for action.

A rush of adrenaline shot through him as he gripped his worn and trusty bull rope and felt the 1700-pound bull buck beneath him. It would be a hell of a ride. The crowd was with him. Their cheers pounded in his head, their voices an indistinguishable roar.

“Hey, Ledger. We don’t like murderers around here.”

Unlike the cheers, the taunt was distinct. Cutting. Jagged.

The gate clanked open and Devil’s Deed charged from the chute.

In what seemed like a heartbeat, the bull went into a belly roll and Dakota went sailing through the air. His right shoulder ground into the hard earth. A kicking hoof collided with his ribs as he tried to scramble to safety.

Pain shot through him like a bullet.

Yep. He was home.

Chapter Two

“STAT. Ambulance en route.”

Dr. Mancini looked up at the male E.R. nurse delivering the news.

“And I so needed this cup of coffee.”

“I know. It’s been murder in here tonight. Must be the full moon.”

“More likely that I volunteered to pull Dr. Cairn’s shift for her.” She took a large gulp of the much-needed caffeine. “Nature of the emergency?” she asked, shifting her brain to work mode.

“Gunshot wound to the head. Critical blood loss. Vitals at life-threatening levels. “

There went her last chance of getting home on time and relieving the nanny tonight. “Any other details?”

“Caucasian male, likely early twenties, picked up in the back parking lot of a bar in the downtown area. Expected arrival …” He glanced at his watch. “Any minute.”

“Alert the nurse assigned to the shock trauma center and also Dr. Evans.”

“I’m on it.”

She was glad Dan Evans was on duty tonight. He was one of the top neurosurgeons in Texas. “Also alert the O.R.,” she called to the departing nurse.

Fatigue was forgotten as she hurried down the halls to the trauma unit. They’d already lost one patient tonight. Hopefully, they’d save this one.

“Dr. Mancini.”

She recognized the voice. Police Detective Harry Cortez, or Dirty Harry, as she’d come to think of him. Not because of his toughness—though she expected he was plenty tough—but because the front of his shirt always bore testimony to his latest meal.

“If you’re here about the patient with the gunshot wound, you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen him as yet.”

His eyes narrowed. “You have a patient with a gunshot wound?”

“Arriving as we speak, but don’t even think about questioning him until I give you clearance. This is a hospital, not the police station.”

“I’m only doing my job, just like you, Doctor. Besides, I’m here to talk to you about Hank Bateman.”

Mention of the name filled her with disgust. “We’ll have to talk later.”

The squeak of a gurney’s wheels came from near the E.R. entrance. She raced toward the trauma center. The slap of the detective’s street shoes on the tiled floor signaled he was right behind her.

She was sliding her long fingers into a pair of sterile gloves when she heard the detective’s voice outside the examining room.

“Who shot you? C’mon. Name the bastard. He won’t come after you again. I’ll see to it. Just give me the name.”

She walked to the door as the patient was rolled in. She shot a stern warning look at Cortez, and he waved in surrender and backed away.

One look at the patient and her stomach rolled. She should be desensitized by now, but the sight of bloody tissue oozing from the skull was not the kind of thing she’d ever get used to. The victim’s chance of survival was next to zero. The miracle was that he had lived to make it to the hospital.

The young man coughed, and blood mixed with spittle spilled from his lips. His mouth kept moving. He was trying to say something. She leaned in close, but the gurgled murmurings were too garbled to understand.

“I’m Dr. Mancini,” she said as she helped the nurse get him hooked up to the heart monitor. “I’ll try to ease your pain.”

“And I’m Dr. Evans,” the young neurosurgeon said as he joined them.

The patient coughed again, this time choking on the blood.

“Shhh … Shell …”

She leaned in close. “Are you trying to tell me who shot you?”

Before he could nod or mumble a reply, the line on the monitor went flat.

“EITHER YOU GO TO the emergency room by ambulance or I drive you,” Jim Angle said.

Dakota shrugged, but winced as he tried to grab a gulp of bracing air. “I don’t need to see a doctor. It’s just a contusion.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I was wearing my protective vest.”

“You could still have a few cracked ribs. Butch Cobb was wearing a vest in Phoenix.”

All the riders knew about Butch. He’d been one of the best until a fractured rib had punctured his right lung. “A freak accident,” Dakota said.

He lifted a bottle of water to his mouth. His chest protested the movement with such vengeance that he grimaced.

Naturally, Jim noticed.

“You need to be x-rayed.”

“I needed to stay on that bull eight seconds.”

“You don’t always have to play the tough guy, Dakota.”

“Who’s playing? But if it makes you happy, I’ll stop by the emergency room, old man, and get checked out.”

“Watch who you’re calling ‘old man’ or I’ll toss you over my shoulder and haul your sorry ass to the hospital.”

“How about you just collect my bull rope and glove for me?”

“Can do, and then I’m driving you to the hospital.”

“Just what I need, a chauffeur in rodeo-clown makeup.”

What Dakota wanted was a couple of painkillers, a six-pack and a soft bed, but he knew that Jim was right. He should get the injury checked out. If it was something serious, the faster he got it tended to, the better off he’d be.

The nearest hospital was only a ten-minute drive. He’d passed it on his way to the arena tonight. He could easily drive himself. He started unbuttoning his shirt. He had a clean one in his truck and he didn’t want the hospital deciding they had to rip this one off of him.

He almost doubled over from a stab of pain as he shrugged out of the shirt. His chest felt like someone had just whacked it with a two-by-four.

“Get in,” Jim said.

This time Dakota didn’t argue.

Chapter Three

“We still need to talk, Dr. Mancini.”

Drats. The detective was still here. She adjusted the strap on her handbag. The nagging headache that had begun at her first sight of the dying gunshot victim intensified sharply.

“Do we have to talk tonight? I was just leaving.”

He nodded. “It’s important.”

What wasn’t? “There’s a small conference room at the end of the hall,” she said. “But can we make this short? It’s been crazy around here tonight, and I’m exhausted.”

A tinge of guilt settled in her chest. She had no right to complain about exhaustion when, unlike two of the night’s patients, she was alive.

Detective Cortez followed her to the conference room, which was little more than a large supply cabinet with chairs and a small round table instead of shelves. She perched on the edge of one of the chairs.

Cortez scratched the back of his head and dandruff snowed onto the collar of his dark cotton sport shirt. “We have some complications.”

“Don’t tell me they’ve postponed the Bateman trial?”

“No, but Judge Carter was relieved of the case.”

“Why?”

“His wife’s been diagnosed with cancer and he’s taking an emergency leave from the bench.”

“Won’t they just appoint a new judge?”

“They have,” Cortez said. “It’s Judge Nelson.”

“Mary Lester Nelson?”

“That’s the one,” Cortez said.

“You don’t sound too happy about the change.”

“Judge Nelson has a reputation for being soft on rotten sons of bitches like Hank Bateman. Pardon my French.”

“Surely she won’t let a child killer off with a slap on the wrist.”

“No, she’ll throw in a little community service.” Sarcasm punctuated his voice. “She already decided his rights were being denied and set bail this afternoon. I’m sure Bateman is out walking the streets by now.”

“Doesn’t she know what happened three months ago when Judge Carter decided that the prosecution was requesting unreasonable extensions and he decided bail was in order?”

“I’m sure the prosecution made certain she knew Bateman made a run for the border.”

“Not just made a run for it, he was crossing it when Border Patrol made the arrest and sent him back to jail,” she said. “And still Judge Nelson released a child killer on bail. The more I learn about the justice system, the more unjust I think it is.”

“At this point, Bateman is just an alleged child killer. His attorney is insisting he’s innocent.”

“But we know he isn’t. He admitted that he’d been with his girlfriend’s baby all evening the night the infant died.”

“Yeah. Nice guy. Babysitting for the woman who’s out turning tricks to buy him crack cocaine.”

“I don’t give a—” She threw up her hands. “This isn’t about the mother. It’s about getting justice for a helpless infant. And our evidence is indisputable.”

“Until a defense attorney starts whittling away at it.”

“There is nothing to whittle.” Her irritation was building so fast, she couldn’t contain it. “There was excessive retinal hemorrhaging, and bruising on the baby’s arms and stomach that was not consistent with a fall. That infant died from NAT.”

“Calm down,” Cortez said. “You don’t have to convince me the cause of death was nonaccidental trauma delivered by a heartless bastard. I don’t doubt the autopsy findings. But jurors aren’t always swayed by printed reports. They react to emotion. That’s why I’m counting on your testimony.”

“And nothing will stop me from appearing at that trial.”

“Good.”

“So what is this visit really about?”

“Now that Bateman’s out of jail there’s a good chance he’ll try to contact you himself.”

“To try to frighten me into refusing to testify?”

Cortez nodded.

“It won’t work, Detective, no more than his threatening notes have or last month’s visit from his thug friend who showed up in the E.R. pretending to be ill.”

“The trial is only nine days away. Bateman will be getting desperate. He may up the ante.”

The tone of the detective’s voice alarmed her. “Surely you don’t think I’m in any kind of danger.”

“I just think you should be careful. If you so much as see him hanging around or get a phone call from him, I want to know about it. There’s a chance I could take that information to the judge and get the bail decision reversed. Having Bateman behind bars is our only assurance that he won’t skip the country and hide out in some remote area of Mexico.”

So it wasn’t her that the detective was worried about. But she was as interested in seeing Hank Bateman behind bars as he was—permanently locked away, where he could never harm another helpless infant.

But she had other concerns, as well. “I have a seven-month-old daughter. I can’t have her in danger.”

“She won’t be. Neither will you. I’ll see to that.” Cortez pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and dropped it onto the table in front of her. “Keep this with you. Call me on my cell if Bateman tries to make any type of contact with you.”

She picked up the card and quickly committed the number to memory. Fortunately, that came easy for her. It was what got her through med school when she was too crushed by her mother’s death to cram for finals.

They finished the conversation quickly. By the time she was ready to leave, her mind was back on the gunshot victim she hadn’t been able to help.

He was young, someone’s son, maybe even someone’s husband or father. He’d never make it home tonight, and their lives would never be the same without him.

She’d majored in emergency medicine because she liked saving lives. More often than not, she did. But even one life needlessly lost to violence was too many.

Her car was parked about a hundred yards from the E.R. exit nearest the ambulance entrance. The back parking lot was almost deserted this time of night. An uneasy feeling skirted her senses, probably due to too much talk of Hank Bateman. She scanned the area. All was quiet.

When she reached the shiny black Acura that she’d purchased just last week, she pulled her keys from her handbag and unlocked the door. She was about to slide in when she sensed movement to her left.

“Get in.”

A man grabbed her left arm and shoved what felt like the barrel of a pistol into her side. Panic seized her, crippling her reflexes, deadening her senses. She was about to slide into the seat submissively when her survival instincts kicked in.

If she got into the car with this brute, she might never escape alive.

Her former self-defense instructor’s words came back to her in fragmented pieces. Use what you have. Cause a scene. Fight for your life.

“Get in, bitch. Do what I say so that I don’t have to use this gun.”

“If it’s money you want …” She slung her purse at his gun hand as she frantically fit the metal car key between her fingers, fashioning a weapon of sorts.

He shoved her. She fell forward, no longer feeling the force of the gun. She punched the man, aiming for his left eye. The metal end twisted as it buried in his eye socket.

He yelled and flailed, blindly knocking the keys from her hand. She hit the pavement running.

She was almost back to the walkway when the heel of her shoe caught on a strip of uneven pavement. Her foot came out of it and she pitched forward, her right wrist twisting beneath her as she tried to catch herself.

She heard the squeal of a car as it sped away. Please let it be the gunman.

But a hand touched her right shoulder. Horror reached deep inside her and she threw back her head and screamed.

The guy backed off. “Is there a problem?”

The voice echoed through her mind. Familiar. Haunting. She started to shake. Heart hammering in her chest, she turned and looked at the man standing over her.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I heard a yell and then spotted you running across the parking lot.”

Her heart skipped erratically as she studied the man who’d come to her rescue. The same depths to the dark eyes she remembered so well. The same thick, unruly hair. Even the same worn Stetson—or one exactly like it.

He stared at her as if she were a ghost.

Her heart turned inside out.

“Dakota.” It was the only word she could manage without totally falling apart.

Chapter Four

“Viviana.” Dakota muttered her name and stared at the woman who’d haunted so many of his dreams. He was reeling, so stunned at seeing her that he had trouble getting his mind around what had just happened or even why he was here. His memory was jolted by a dizzying stab of pain when he reached to pick up her shoe.

“Who let the bulls out?”

Jim arrived on the scene with his usual rodeo flair, still in his trademark oversize red-and-black jersey and loose shorts. A bit of the clown makeup was still smeared around his eyes, though he’d wiped it off as best he could on the way over with his dirt-smeared bandana.

Viviana stiffened and her eyes signaled an increased anxiety level. “Who are you?”

“He’s a friend of mine,” Dakota said quickly. “We were driving to the E.R. entrance when we heard the commotion and I spotted you racing across the parking lot.” Dakota did a second visual scan of the area. There was no sign of trouble now, yet she’d screamed hysterically when he’d knelt beside her. And a car had just burned rubber leaving the lot.

“Name’s Jim Angle,” Jim said.

“I’m Dr. Mancini.”

Dakota steadied while she slid her foot back into her shoe. It was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and hold her tight. But too many months apart and the lingering sting of rejection made him hold back. Not to mention that it would start a barrage of questions from Jim.

“What just happened out here?” Dakota asked. “Were you attacked?”

“I was leaving work. When I got to my car, a man appeared from out of nowhere and pointed a pistol at me. He told me to get in.”

“Then what?” Jim asked when she stopped talking and started looking around the parking area.

“I threw my purse at him, punched him and started running.”

“You must have delivered one hell of a blow,” Jim said. “Man yelped like you’d gutted him. That’s actually what got our attention.”

“I rammed my key into his eyeball.”

Jim grinned. “A woman after my heart.”

She hugged her arms around her chest and shivered in spite of the warm summer air. Her gaze turned to the parking lot. “My car is gone. It was parked next to that SUV near the ambulance entrance.”

“Cars are replaceable,” Dakota said. She could have been killed. If he ever got his hands on the thug …

“Did you know the yellow-bellied bastard?” Jim asked.

“I’ve never seen the man before, at least not that I remember. A lot of patients come through the E.R.”

Dakota struggled to get his head around the emotions bucking inside him. In the best of circumstances, running into Viviana so unexpectedly would have been enough to throw him off his game.

Finally, he let his eyes meet hers. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am now. I think you may have frightened off the gunman, except that I guess what he really wanted was cash and my car. Now he has both.”

“Then lucky I made a wrong turn and came in the ambulance entrance,” Jim said.

Dakota scanned the area again. “Don’t you have security around here?”

“Yes, but they can’t be everywhere at once.”

“They could see you to your car when you leave in the wee hours of the morning.”

“I’ve never had any trouble before. This is normally a safe area.”

“Security can’t do anything now,” Jim said. “Call the cops. They may be able to find the low-down thief before he clears the area.”

“My phone is in my purse and I hurled that at the attacker. No doubt he took it with him.”

“Most likely,” Dakota agreed. “But we’ll check.

“I’ll take a look,” Jim said.

“Where are your keys?” Dakota asked.

“I’m not sure. They may have fallen to the floor of the car, or I may have just dropped them in my panic.”

Which meant the attacker could have her keys and possibly her purse with her ID. If so, he’d know where she lived.

Dakota’s muscles clenched. He took his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Viviana.

Only instead of punching in 911, she made a call to a Detective Harry Cortez. Her conversation with the man was brief and to the point. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder if her relationship with the man was business or pleasure.

By the time she finished the call, Jim had returned with her purse. “You’re in luck,” he said. “The purse was lying next to another parked 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 relationship had been fire and ice, passion and agony, love and …

Loss. And she couldn’t go through that again, especially now.

“You need to stay off the bulls for a few days to give your body time to heal. You need ice on the injured areas, several times a day, and I recommend that you keep that right arm in a sling for the next week to give it some extra support.”

“Anything you say.”

Would likely be ignored. Still she had to say it.

“What about your car?” Dakota asked. “Have the cops located it?”

“No, but hopefully they will soon.”

“Do you have a ride to your apartment?”

“Actually, it’s a town house, near the hospital.”

“Do you live alone?”

Her insides knotted. “No, Dakota. I don’t live alone.”

“I don’t see a wedding band.”

“I’m not married.”

“Well, at least I can offer you a ride to the town house since you stayed extra hours with me.”

“You don’t have a vehicle here.”

“Actually, I do. Another buddy dropped off my truck and Jim gave him a lift back to the hotel.”

“You shouldn’t be driving.”

“The hotel’s only a few miles away and the pain meds have pretty much worn off. I’m in good shape— Well, at least I’m clearheaded.”

“You’re in pain and should be keeping your right shoulder as still as possible.”

He narrowed his gaze. “I’m left-handed.” He sat up, yanking the hospital gown so that he stayed completely covered. “I promise to get you home safely.”

Her physical safety was not the issue. She’d be in his truck. It would smell like him and feel like him. He’d be near enough for her to hear his breathing, and his presence would roll through her in heated swells.

“It’s just a ride home, Viviana. I’m not promoting anything here.”

“Okay, Dakota. Sure. I’d appreciate the ride.”

Her heart was pounding as she left the room. But one thing was for certain. He would not be staying for breakfast this time.

DAKOTA TURNED THE KEY in the ignition, and his new Ford double cab pickup truck hummed to life. A George Strait tune blared from the radio and he reached over to lower the volume.

Viviana set a blue laptop case on the floor at her feet. “Nice wheels.”

“Thanks.”

“I thought you loved your old pickup.”

“I did, but it had over a hundred thousand tough miles on it. It was ready to bite the dust.”

She ran her hand over the dashboard. “I like this one.”

“Yep. It has all the bells and whistles.”

The silence grew awkward, punctuated by an awareness that all but consumed him. He’d been getting over her, or at least making a damn good stab at it. Now she was reviving the old feelings, torching the unhealed scars she’d left all over his heart.

He backed out of the parking spot. “Did the detective you called say whether or not there had been other armed carjackings in the area?”

“He said car thefts are on the rise, but that there hasn’t been a carjacking in this area for a couple of years.”

“Guess you never know when some thug will turn desperate.”

“Apparently. Stay right when you leave the lot and then turn left at the light.”

“Do you always work the late shift?” he asked once he’d made the turn.

“Normally I work from eleven at night to seven in the morning.”

“Why was tonight different?”

“I was covering for a doctor friend who had tickets for a Michael Bublé concert.”

“So she took your shift starting at eleven?”

“No. I’m starting a three-day break, so I wasn’t on the schedule. E.R. hours run a little different from typical doctor’s hours.”

“Guess the graveyard shift is the bane of first-year staff doctors?”

“Not really. Having days off just suits my lifestyle better.”

He understood what she meant. It gave her every evening at home with her significant other. The thought of her in another man’s arms settled like lead in Dakota’s stomach. Not that it surprised him. She’d never indicated she didn’t want a man in her life—just not him.

“The next right,” she said. “After that it’s just a couple of blocks.”

He did as she dictated, stopping in front of a two-story town house with a stone-and-wood fascia. A row of flowering shrubs set off a wide bay window. It was far more upscale than the small apartment she’d had as a resident back in Houston.

He wondered if she still had the same furniture. The couch where she’d given him the first massage to ease his painful muscles. His groin tightened as he remembered where that had led.

“Thanks for …”

“You need to take care of …”

They’d started talking at the exact same moment and their words became tangled.

She laughed nervously. “It was good to see you again, Dakota.”

“Yeah. You, too.” He leaned over, aching to kiss her, knowing it would be a big mistake.

She opened her door and slid out as if fearing he might make a move on her. He opened his truck door.

“Don’t bother walking me to the door, Dakota. You’re hurting, I’m exhausted and it really isn’t necessary.”

He watched her walk away, the finality of their brief encounter searing into his mind. She had her life all figured out and there was no place in it for him.

When she neared the house, motion lights flicked on. She looked back and waved. A few seconds later she turned the key in the lock and disappeared behind the dark wooden door.

He sat there for a few minutes, letting the memories wreak havoc with his brain before gunning the engine and starting off to his lonely hotel room.

He’d driven about four blocks when he stopped for a light and noticed Viviana’s laptop case still on the floor. She might need the computer first thing in the morning, so there was nothing to do but take it back to her. Imagine her live-in’s excitement to have an injured cowboy ring the bell in the wee hours of the morning.

There was movement in the shrubbery as he approached the house. He stopped and stared into the blackness. The movement evidently hadn’t been enough to trigger the motion lights.

But something was in those bushes. He opened his truck door. A man jumped from behind the bushes and started running toward the back of the house. Dakota leaped from the truck and took off after him. With the first pounding of his feet on the pavement, pain shot through him like small explosions. He struggled for breath.

He got to the back of the house just in time to see the man jump from a branch, clearing the tall privacy fence and landing with a thud on the other side. By the time Dakota shinnied up the tree, the man had disappeared.

He dropped back to the ground, his breath knifing through his lungs. Damn. Had he not been thrown with such force tonight, he could have caught the man and taken him down. But if he hadn’t wound up in the hospital, he wouldn’t have run into Viviana. The gunman might have forced her into the car and abducted her. If this was the man who’d stolen her car, she was clearly not a random target.

He trudged back to the truck, retrieved the computer and took the walkway back to the front door in the faint glow of moonlight. The motion light had either quit working or more likely had been sabotaged. He looked and felt like hell as he rang the bell.

A minute later, Viviana opened the door a crack and peeked out at him. “What’s wrong?”

“You left your computer in the truck. I brought it back to you.”

She opened the door the rest of the way, then reached up and dislodged a leaf from his hair. “You’re out of breath. Where have you been?”

“Chasing a man from your yard.”

“What?”

“I spotted someone at your front window when I drove up. I chased him but he got away.”

“The man who stole my car.” Her voice was shaky.

“That would be my guess.”

Color drained from her face. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

“Best I remember, I came barging into it.”

“So you did. Do you mind coming in while I call the cops?”

“What will your boyfriend say about that?”

“There is no boyfriend.”

So her roommate was female or platonic. More relieved than he should be, Dakota stamped the dirt from his shoes and followed Viviana inside.

Viviana carefully locked the dead bolt behind Dakota. Twice tonight, he’d appeared just in time to save her from some depraved lunatic.

But right now, even that wasn’t the worst of her problems. She’d known for seven months that she had to face Dakota again eventually. She’d tried to convince herself that she’d be able to look him in the eye and explain everything without her emotions billowing out of control.

But the second she’d heard his voice tonight, those illusions had vanished.

“You need to call the cops or your friendly detective right away,” Dakota said. “The man could still be in the neighborhood and if they act fast they may be able to apprehend him.”

“I will, but lower your voice and come with me to the kitchen.”

“Why are we whispering?”

“Someone’s asleep upstairs. There’s an ice pack in the freezer.” She opened a drawer, took out a dish towel and tossed it to him. “Wrap it in this and apply it to your shoulder.”

“Bourbon would be better.”

She opened the door to the cabinet where she kept her meager supply of liquor while she punched 911 into her cell phone. She was tempted to call Cortez again, but it was no use waking him in the middle of the night when there was little he could do at this point.

The 911 operator took her information.

“Are you certain you’re not in any immediate danger?” the operator asked.

“I’m not certain, but the intruder appears to be gone.”

“Stay on the line while I alert the police.” The operator was back in under a minute. “An officer will be there within the next half hour. In the meantime, stay inside with your doors locked. If your situation changes and you feel you’re in immediate danger, call 911 again.”

“Did you stress to the police that this is likely the same man who stole my car earlier this evening?” Viviana asked.

“I made them aware of the circumstances.”

“Thanks.”

Which meant there was nothing to do but wait for the cops.

But at least that would give her a few minutes to clear her head and figure out how to handle Dakota.

Chapter Five

Pain was kicking in big-time. Dakota took a small bottle of aspirin from his shirt pocket and shook a few tablets into his hand.

“Meds and alcohol don’t mix,” Viviana cautioned.

“They do in my world.” He downed them with the whiskey chaser. “Do you have a flashlight? I’d like to take a look at that bay window from the outside.”

“You do realize it’s almost three o’clock in the morning.”

“I’d still like to check it out before a cop arrives.”

“I was told to stay inside with the doors locked.”

“And you should. So either hand me a flashlight or I’ll get one out of my truck.”

While Viviana opened a kitchen drawer and rummaged for a flashlight, Dakota pulled a sharp knife from the rack at the back of the kitchen counter.

“There’s really nothing the man could see from out there,” Viviana explained as she handed him a shiny red flashlight. “The blinds were closed. And even from the front door, all you can see through the sidelights is the foyer.”

“That’s good to know.”

“I’d rather you not go out there, Dakota. The man has a gun and he might come back.”

“I hope he does, but it’s not likely.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He ran both times I showed up. He’s not looking to use that gun if he doesn’t have to. And he’s not looking for a real fight.”

“How do you know so much about criminals?”

“I watch CSI religiously.”

Once outside, the steady whir of the air conditioner dominated the still, quiet air. Dakota squeezed through the shrubs so that he was pretty much in the same spot that the trespasser had been.

Just as Viviana had said, the blinds completely blocked any view of the inside of the house. That ruled out the guy just being a voyeur. So did the fact that the screen was missing.

Dakota sprayed a beam of light over the hedge. Sure enough, the screen was tucked into one of the bushes. He moved the beam back to the window. There were marks on the wood where the guy had tried to pry the window open.

No doubt about it, the guy had come back for her. Dakota’s insides bucked at the thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t showed up at that exact moment.

Viviana was waiting to open the door for him when he stepped in front of it.

“Do you have an alarm system?” Dakota asked.

“Yes, and it was set. It would have gone off instantly if the man had come through the door or the window.”

“Nice in theory, but professional crooks disable them all the time. I’ll check it.”

“So much for feeling safe in my own house. Now that I think about it, the motion detector didn’t come on when you went outside.”

“I know. I suspect the bulb is crushed into the lawn behind the bushes.”

Before Dakota could check the alarm system, the security company called on Viviana’s cell phone to say they weren’t getting a signal from the house phone line.

She assured them she was fine. They promised to send a technician out to check the system the following morning, though they suspected the problem was with the phone company.

Dakota suspected it was with a cut phone line.

“What if you hadn’t come back tonight, Dakota? What then?” Viviana’s voice shook. “That armed thug would be in my house right now.”

Dakota slipped an arm around her shoulder. “I did come back. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Viviana dropped to the sofa.

Seconds later, the flashing red lights of a squad car filtered through the sidelights for a few seconds before going dark. The sirens were silent.

Viviana raced to the front door. Dakota was only a step behind her, each hurried step a bitter reminder that physically, he was no match for anyone right now.

The 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 wrapped tightly around the newel cap as she eavesdropped on the conversation.

“Now who did you say you are again?”

“Dakota Ledger.”

“And you’re an old friend of Viviana’s?”

“That’s right.”

Viviana hurried to the kitchen before Dakota had to answer any more questions, and before he started asking any. He was barefoot and shirtless, but fortunately wearing jeans.

“I see you two have met,” Viviana said.

“Yes, and he’s lucky I didn’t ram a knife through him. I sure didn’t expect to find a strange man in the kitchen.”

“Sorry I didn’t warn you,” Viviana said, “but his visit was unexpected. I ran into him in the E.R. and, well, he just wasn’t in any shape to go home alone. I thought he should stay here in case his pain became worse during the night.”

She did not want to explain the ordeal of last night to Claire. If she tried, Claire would ask a million questions and give at least an hour’s worth of advice.

Claire studied the bruises on Dakota’s chest and shoulder. “Were you in an accident?”

“You could say that. I got thrown from a bull.”

“Seriously?”

“Serious as a kick to the ribs.”

“Hmmph.”

Her skeptical tone no doubt summed up not only Claire Evers’s feelings on bull riding, but also her thoughts on his having spent the night.

Viviana pulled some mugs from the cabinet over the coffeemaker. “Thanks for filling in for me last night, Claire.”

“You know I don’t mind staying when you need me.”

“And I really appreciate that. I won’t need you anymore today and you probably have things you need to do.” It was the most tactful way she could think of to get rid of Claire.

“I don’t have anything planned. I can stay if you need me.”

“No. I can handle things.”

“In that case, I’ll just get my handbag and head out. I’ll be back on Wednesday evening at my regular time.”

“Are you the housekeeper?” Dakota asked.

“Lands, no. I’m the nanny. I’ve taken care of Briana since six weeks after she was born. Viviana says she doesn’t trust anyone but me with her baby.”

“Viviana’s baby?” Dakota leaned against the counter, so stunned the words were a husky whisper.

“Yes. The doctor’s daughter. Briana? Who did you think I was talking about?”

“Just checking.” He stood perfectly still, staring at Viviana without saying a word until Claire was out of hearing range. “You never mentioned having a baby,” he said accusingly.

“You didn’t ask.” She poured two mugs of coffee and handed one to him. “I guess you still take it black.”

“Forget the coffee. How old is the baby?”

“Seven months.”

“Seven months. Does that mean you were pregnant with another man’s child when we were together?”

This was not the way Viviana had planned this encounter. Only, that was the real problem. She’d never been able to visualize exactly what she’d say or how Dakota would react. And she was starting to resent his attitude.

“I don’t remember you asking or caring if I was in another relationship at the time. But I wasn’t pregnant when we met, Dakota. I was pregnant when you left.”

“You’re not saying …”

“Yes, I’m saying you have a precious, adorable daughter—Briana. You don’t have to take my word for it. You can swab her cheek and have a paternity test if that would make you feel better. But I wasn’t with another man for months before I met you and I haven’t been with one since.”

Briana began to wail. She was a terrific baby, but she had a horrific sense of timing.

Viviana left Dakota standing in the kitchen staring into space like a zombie while she climbed the steps to the nursery to get Briana from her crib. It was past time the little darling met her bruised and battered cowboy daddy.

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