Midnight Rider Page 11

  The unexpected hunger for him was primal, untamed. Her arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer as her body arched toward his.

  When he had the good sense to pull away, her body went weak.

  “Don’t think the doctor would approve of this.” His voice was a husky whisper.

  “Probably not,” she agreed, though it wasn’t her physical health she was worried about but her inability to control her emotions where Cannon was concerned. It wasn’t the time or the place. Likely not even the right man, no matter how right it felt right now.

  “Good night, Detective.”

  “Good night, cowboy.”

  She stood in the door for what seemed an eternity, drowning in the ecstasy.

  One thing about Cannon Dalton. When he kissed, a woman knew she’d been kissed.

  * * *

  CANNON SLEPT RESTLESSLY, waking when the thunderstorm went through and several times since, agonizing over the situation he’d fallen into.

  Kimmie.

  The murder of Kimmie’s mother.

  The attempt on Brit’s life.

  The kiss that never should have happened. The kiss that had sent him on a fast track to heaven. The kiss he ached to repeat.

  He finally gave up on sleep when the first light of dawn crept through his open second-floor window. He slipped from beneath the covers, surprised to find an icy chill to the air.

  He padded to the window in his bare feet, naked, the way he always woke. He hadn’t owned a pair of pajamas since he’d left his uncle’s ranch at eighteen. He’d always showered before hitting the sack and liked letting everything hang free while he slept.

  He stared into the purplish haze of dawn and spotted the first frost of the season, a thin layer of ice that clung to the blades of grass like sugar frosting.

  The house was quiet, but the odor of fresh-brewing coffee tantalized his senses. Might as well go down and get his encounter with R.J. over with. Hopefully, he could avoid a barrage of questions about how he planned to take care of Kimmie if the test turned out positive.

  And he definitely didn’t want to discuss his reasons for not buying into the controlling stipulations of R.J.’s will and becoming one of the Dry Gulch Ranch entourage of followers. But he wouldn’t lie to R.J. or pretend to have any interest in moving out here to watch him die.

  Cannon slipped into his jeans, shirt, socks and boots and made his way to the kitchen. The light on the automatic coffeepot was green, but there was no sign of life.

  Cannon checked the pot. It was programmed to start perking at six o’clock. It was six-ten now, so R.J. would probably come to the kitchen for his morning jolt of caffeine soon.

  Cannon took a mug from the cabinet and filled it with the pungent brew. Still restless, he took his coffee outside. The household might be sleeping but the rest of creation was waking up.

  Horses neighed. Birds sang and darted among the branches of oaks, sycamores and pines. A bullfrog croaked. A wasp buzzed by his head. Wide-open spaces stretched out over the pasture and to the wooded area beyond.

  A man could get used to this life right quick, he thought as he started down a well-worn trail that led away from the back of the house. Waking up at the Dry Gulch intensified his anticipation for the day he had enough money to buy his own ranch and start raising rodeo stock.

  And not just any rodeo stock. He aimed to provide the best animals in the business. His bulls and broncs would be the ones the cowboys prayed they’d get to ride, the ones who could guarantee a rider top points if he could stay on his full eight seconds.

  Cannon had his future planned to the nth degree.

  At least he had until this week. So much for a man’s plans when life decided to kick him around. First Kimmie. Now this crazy reaction to Brit. The detective was doing a hell of a job on him. If he wasn’t careful, he’d start believing the two of them could make a go of it even though they weren’t even heading in the same direction.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her. She shouldn’t have let him. But she hadn’t just let him, she’d kissed him back. Now she was taking over his mind. If this was love, fate was playing a rotten trick on him.

  Brit was so dedicated to her job that, according to Captain Bradford, she never even took a vacation. That meant living in Houston. He was a bull rider who was always on the road. And when he did settle down, he planned to do it on a ranch.

  Their lifestyle differences weren’t the worst of it. He might be the father of her twin sister’s baby. A baby conceived during a one-night stand with a woman he barely remembered and had never had any real feelings for.

  Brit’s bitterness over that had been obvious in their first meeting. So had her contempt for his career choice. That bitterness might be shoved to the back burner now but it would resurface when the urgency of the moment faded.

  It was preposterous to even dream they could make it as a couple.

  But damn, that kiss had carried a wallop. He could still feel it right down to his toes. How in the hell could he ever trust himself around her now?

  He turned and walked back toward the old ranch house and the mouthwatering odor of frying bacon. When he reached the back porch, he heard a babble of voices he didn’t recognize. Talking. Laughing.

  All suddenly interrupted by the wail of a baby. A baby who might be his own flesh and blood. If she was, life was about to come falling down on top of him like trees in a West Texas tornado. If the lab didn’t call with results soon, he was going to pop like a cheap balloon.

  He said a few curses under his breath, opened the door and stepped inside to face the posse of Daltons who’d obviously arrived while he was taking his walk.

  * * *

  BRIT WOKE TO the clattering vibration of her phone on the bedside table. She reached for it, then hesitated, her mind so lost in the dregs of a deep sleep she didn’t know where she was.

  Rectangles of sunlight sneaked around and through the slits of opaque blinds. A strange bed. A strange room. Frosty air flowing through an open window.

  The Dry Gulch Ranch.

  With Cannon Dalton.

  How could that have slipped her mind even for a second? Her lips tingled at the memory of his kiss. The momentary confusion lifted as the thrill of it rushed through her veins.

  She slid her finger across the phone to take the call. “Hello.”

  “Did I wake you?”

  “Yeah, but that’s okay. What time is it?”

  “Almost eight. Are you okay?”

  “Of course. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound too great and you’re usually in the office and on your second espresso by now.”

  “I was kept up half the night by a thunderstorm that has apparently moved on. And I was ordered to stay out of the office, remember?”

  “You were also ordered off the case, but you’re not complying with that.”

  “Not until the lunatic who killed Sylvie and tried to kill me is behind bars. Did you locate Hagan?”

  “No. Best source of information indicates he’s in Mexico.”

  “What about Palmer?”

  “He’s agreed to come in and answer a few questions this morning at nine—with his new sleazy lawyer, of course. After that, I’ve decided I should head north to a chat with Melanie Crouch.”

  “That would be a waste of time since I’m already here.”

  “Don’t tell me you drove up there last night in the condition you were in?”

  “No. Cannon drove me.”

  “Cannon Dalton?”

  “He’s the only Cannon I know.”

  “Correction, partner. You don’t actually know him. You just met him. All you know about him is that he knocked up your sister who was later murdered.”

  “He had nothing to do with her murder.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “Of course I can. I have a sixth sense about guilt. You know that. Anyway, Bradford said I should get out of town and take a few days off. I decided to spend that time wit
h Kimmie.”

  “So you and Cannon are at his father’s ranch. Easy to see how he moved in on your sister so fast. The guy doesn’t waste any time.”

  “He is just being helpful.” Easier for Brit to see how her sister fell for him so fast. A good reminder for her to slow down in the romance department. Now to convince her libido of that.

  “It’s fine by me if you talk to Melanie,” Rick said. “But there will be hell to pay if you blatantly ignore Bradford’s order. It could even cost you your job.”

  “I’ll talk to her. When she realizes I’m fine, she’ll come around. Is she in the office now?”

  “Yep.”

  “What kind of mood is she in?”

  “The chief of police was in her office a few minutes ago and they both were frowning.”

  “Then I’ll call and preface my offer to question Melanie Crouch with a reminder of how short staffed and overworked Homicide is.”

  “What about the headaches from the concussion?”

  “Totally gone.”

  “And the disorientation?”

  “Also gone.” Thankfully, that was true, at least for now.

  “Good. What I called to tell you should make you feel even better.”

  “Hit me.”

  “We have an ID on your attacker.”

  She sat up in bed, her interest intensifying. “Who?”

  “A guy named Clive Austin.”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “He goes by Stats. Have no idea why.”

  “Still doesn’t mean anything. Did I arrest him?”

  “No, nor did your father. But Stats does have a rap sheet that would stretch around Reliant Center. Mostly in Austin and Dallas.”

  “What kind of crimes?”

  “Started off with shoplifting when he was a preteen. Graduated early to hot checks, burglary and then moved on to armed robbery.”

  “But he isn’t in jail?”

  “Not at the present time. His last arrest was in Tyler, Texas, for some elaborate scam to bilk money out of aging widows. He got out of prison on a technicality nine months ago. Word has it he moved back to Dallas and has the mob on his tail for a huge unpaid tab with his bookie.”

  “No record of murder for hire?”

  “No, but there’s always a first time for career criminals like him, especially if he needed money.”

  “Which he obviously does.”

  “You got it. Now we just need to find out who hired him.”

  “All the more reason I should be the one to talk to Melanie while you check out other suspects. I can be in her face before you get out of Dallas morning traffic.”

  “Bradford will insist you keep this by the book and go through the local sheriff.”

  “I already have. More reason for me to handle this.”

  She explained the graveyard encounter and how it had ended with the sheriff’s snapping a bracelet on Melanie and carting her off to jail.

  “So now Cannon’s not only your chauffeur and nurse, but also he’s involved in the investigation?”

  Rick’s tone left no question as to how he felt about that development.

  “It wasn’t planned, Rick. We were only going to drive by Melanie’s house when we spotted her in the cemetery.”

  “Bradford will be royally pissed if she hears about this.”

  “There’s no reason for her to hear it, at least not yet. With luck, not ever. Now if we’ve covered everything, I need to get some coffee and call Bradford.”

  “Call me back as soon as you talk to her so I can plan my day.”

  “Right.”

  Once the connection was broken, Brit threw her legs over the side of the bed. The quick movement delivered a sharp pain through her right shoulder and down her arm.

  The soreness from the attack seemed more painful today than yesterday or else she was just paying more attention to it now that the headache was gone.

  The only consolation was that if she felt this sore, Clive Austin must be in worse shape. He’d lost a lot of blood and apparently hadn’t shown up at a hospital. If he had, Rick would have mentioned it.

  Paid to kill her. But by whom? Melanie? More important, how did either of them know she and Sylvie were sisters? Would the killing stop now that she’d wounded her attacker or would that only further enrage the person who’d hired Clive?

  Brit heard footsteps and voices coming from down the hall. Probably R.J. and Cannon getting reacquainted but possibly the sheriff who might have decided to pop in earlier than he’d indicated.

  Luckily she’d showered last night, so all she had to do was slip into some clothes, brush her hair and join them.

  If it wasn’t the sheriff, she’d say good morning, get her coffee and then come back to her room and give the captain a call. Better to deal with her after caffeine.

  After that, she’d seek out Kimmie. She must be somewhere on the ranch and Brit couldn’t wait to see her adorable niece.

  But it was Cannon and last night’s burning kiss that haunted her mind as she dressed in a pair of black pants and a pale blue sweater.

  Boundaries, she reminded herself as she brushed a stain of blush to her cheeks and smoothed her lips with pink gloss. Not only to preserve her professionalism but also to protect her heart.

  Determined to keep that in mind, she followed the voices to the kitchen. Her breath caught in her throat when her gaze rested on Cannon.

  He was dressed in jeans, a Western shirt and his boots. A heart-stopping hunk of masculinity holding a smiling, gurgling Kimmie in his arms.

  Brit’s willpower to keep her infatuation in check melted faster than a chip of ice in a sauna.

  Shaken by the intensity of her reaction to seeing him with Kimmie, she stepped away from the door before anyone noticed her. Perhaps it was best to call Bradford first. That should cool off the heat Cannon had generated.

  She tiptoed back to her room and made the call. Unfortunately, Sheriff Garcia had called Bradford first. The captain was ready to have her head, and Cannon was the source of her rage.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Don’t be nervous,” Faith encouraged. “You’ll get the hang of this in no time.”

  The assurance did nothing to ease Cannon’s fears. He was afraid he was holding Kimmie too tight. Or not tight enough. Or not supporting her head in just the right way. Or that she was going to start wailing.

  As if on cue, Kimmie started to fret.

  “Either I’m doing something wrong or she doesn’t like me.”

  “Try holding her on your shoulder and patting her gently on the back. She may need to burp.”

  “Burping. Now that’s an art I can probably teach her. How do I get her to my shoulder?”

  Faith smiled as she helped him readjust his positioning of the wiggly infant.

  To Cannon’s amazement, Kimmie burped, a good loud one. “Now we’re getting somewhere. But you know, we’re jumping the gun here with all this parenting practice. I still don’t have the lab results.”

  “I don’t need DNA to know this is your daughter, Cannon. She has your eyes and coloring. And she has the Dalton mouth—a crooked twist to her lips when she smiles.”

  “C’mon. All babies look like this.”

  “Absolutely not. Look at any of your pictures when you and your half brothers were babies. Hard to tell one of you from the other.”

  Cannon wasn’t interested in Dalton family photos and he didn’t see the likeness to him. But he had to admit, Kimmie was growing on him. She’d obviously already captured Faith’s heart.

  Faith was Travis’s wife, one of the many members of the Dalton clan who’d stopped by for a cup of coffee and to say hello this morning after Leif and Joni had arrived with Kimmie and before rushing off to their own lives.

  Apparently news had spread quickly that Cannon and Brit were spending the night at the ranch, though he’d gotten the feeling that stopping by the big house for coffee and/or breakfast was routine for most of them.

>   Faith was the only visitor still here, apparently Kimmie’s caretaker for the morning. Perhaps R.J.’s, too. They all seemed to keep close tabs on the father who had never been around for any of them.

  At least that was the distinct impression Cannon had gotten at the reading of the will where R.J. had surprised them with the manipulative stipulations and the fact that he wasn’t dead. Not a one of his half siblings had been singing the old man’s praises that day.

  Adam hadn’t even stayed around for beer, barbecue and a tour of the ranch. Yet he was the first one to move onto the ranch with his wife and two twin daughters. He was managing all of the daily operations of the ranch now.

  Kimmie’s good mood was short-lived. She puckered her lips and started to whimper. “I think she knows she’s in shaky hands,” Cannon said.

  “She’ll get used to you,” R.J. said. “You might as well get used to her, too. If that test comes back positive, as Faith and Kimmie’s detective aunt Brit seem convinced that it will, you’ll be her only parent.”

  As if Cannon needed that reminder, especially by R.J., a man who hadn’t cared about fatherly responsibilities until he found out he was dying.

  Cannon picked up one of Kimmie’s toys and rattled it for her. She quit fussing and her eyes opened wide. Finally, something she liked. She waved her tiny fists, cooing as if she were trying to tell him something.

  He wasn’t ready to try his hand at baby talk, certainly not in front of Faith and R.J., but he couldn’t deny a tug at his heart. Kind of like when he’d first moved to his uncle’s ranch and watched a new spindly-legged colt come into the world. Only this time the pleasure was mixed with anxiety.

  Kimmie was going to need a real father, one who could change her diapers and bathe and dress her. One who knew what to do when she cried. One who knew about formula and baby food and immunizations.

  Cannon wasn’t that man.

  He shifted and spied Brit standing in the doorway. It hit him again how stunning she was without even trying. No heavy makeup. No fancy clothes. Just a natural beauty.

  The thrill of last night’s kiss shot through his senses. He did his best to tamp down his arousal before it became embarrassing.