Coulda Been a Cowboy. Brenda Novak

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      “And what about you?” he asked.

      Dakota had been doing her best to keep her face averted when possible. She knew her lip and the bruise on her cheek looked worse than they would if she’d had the chance to shower and use the cover-up that came in handy when she needed to hide the remnants of her and her father’s fights. “Better,” she said, rinsing off another dish.

      “Let’s see.”

      She kept working. “There’s nothing to see.”

      “Look at me. How bad is it?”

      Again she tried to shrug him off. “It’s fine.”

      He didn’t respond, but he stood in the center of the room watching her—she could feel his attention—so she finally relented and turned.

      His eyes zeroed in on her lip. “Damn, he clipped you pretty good.”

      “It’ll be better tomorrow.”

      “And that bruise on your cheek?”

      “I’ve got something I can put on it. You won’t be able to see it.”

      “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

      What could she say? She was getting used to hiding the worst of her injuries. The cut on her arm still hadn’t healed. She was afraid it was getting infected.

      “I’m going out for a jog,” he said and took a water bottle from the cupboard above the fridge.

      Dakota put another plate in the dishwasher. “It’s about to rain. You might want to run inside. Gabe’s got two different treadmills back there.” The workout room took up as much square footage as the living room, dining room and kitchen combined, and was better equipped than most professional spas. Dakota had already wandered through it, admiring the expensive equipment and imagining how she could look if she had access to that every day.

      “I don’t care about a little rain. Running in place has never made much sense to me.”

      The door slammed shut, leaving Dakota alone with Braden. “Don’t worry about him,” she told the baby. “He’s just in a bad mood.”

      Braden sat on his diapered behind and jabbered as he played with her keys, which she’d given him because he didn’t seem to have any toys.

      “I’ll get you some blocks when I go to town today,” she promised.

      Finished drying the last pan, she scooped the baby into her arms and laughed as he planted a wet kiss on her chin. She knew the behavior had more to do with teething than affection, but it felt good all the same. “You’re something else, you know that?” she told him, tickling him under the chin.

      He giggled and buried his face in her neck, and she hugged him close. He felt so solid and round and soft. He was going to be big, just like his daddy.

      She could get used to this job, she decided. She already liked it more than anything else she’d done.

      “If your father’s not going to use the gym, maybe I will,” she said. “Then you and I will go outside and see what needs to be done to plant a garden.”

      As long as she’d be at the cabin so much, she figured she might as well take advantage of all the amenities. The cupboards in the kitchen, and the freezer in the mudroom, were so well stocked maybe she’d even do some cooking. She’d found steaks, shrimp, crab, even a couple of lobster tails—and Tyson acted as if he didn’t care what she did as long as she kept the baby happy.

      She thought of the magazines piled in her bedroom in the trailer—mostly fan magazines because they were quick reads, but there were plenty of food and wine magazines, too. Mr. and Mrs. Cottle at the pharmacy gave her the outdated ones they pulled from the shelves. When she was young, she’d dreamed of becoming a gourmet cook and had spent a lot of time since then studying food preparation and experimenting with various menus.

      Later today, she’d pick up a few recipes she wanted to try. She needed to check on her father anyway. But she didn’t really want to see him. His irrational and violent behavior wasn’t easy to forget. After he cut her last time, he’d promised he would never raise a hand to her again.

      She ran her tongue over her sore lip. Since he’d started drinking, he was no longer the man she’d once known and loved.

      She wouldn’t visit today. Nor would she call, she decided. Mrs. Duluth would alert her if there was anything serious going on. Feeling better, she hurried to exercise before Tyson came home.

      TYSON FORCED HIMSELF to run uphill so fast he felt as if his lungs might burst. With so many personal problems and so much competition on the field, he had to be better, stronger, faster. Mind over matter, he reminded himself, and kept going even when he was convinced he’d drop if he didn’t quit. His knee was starting to hurt—he knew a trainer would tell him to take it easy—but he was tired of giving in to the weakness. He wasn’t ready to leave the NFL. He still had five good years in him.

      If only his body would cooperate.

      As long as he could play, the endorsements wouldn’t matter, he told himself. He’d still be gainfully employed. And if he played well, he could outlast the scandal over Rachelle’s accusations and, eventually, maybe he’d win a few of them back.

      But that wasn’t very realistic, and he knew it. By then, he’d be older and that much closer to retirement. It was the young guys the big names wanted—the ones with a perfect reputation.

      “Damn her,” he said aloud. Then, unaccustomed to the altitude, he finally stopped and bent over to suck some cool, mountain air into his burning lungs.

      He had to go back to California, he realized, had to meet with Rachelle. Maybe he could talk some sense into her. He knew it wasn’t likely. She had no conscience or she wouldn’t have done what she’d done in the first place. But what other option did he have? He wouldn’t relinquish Braden. He was convinced taking the baby had been the best thing to do. How else could he be sure his son would be raised right?

      But he couldn’t stand by and let her destroy his reputation and possibly his career.

      “I can be back tomorrow,” he promised himself and headed for the cabin.

      TYSON’S VISIT to California didn’t turn out to be the quick trip he’d intended. He couldn’t get a flight out of Boise until the following morning, and when he reached L.A., Rachelle wouldn’t respond to his attempts to contact her. After three days, he finally showed up at her place unannounced, only to be confronted by a man who claimed to be her bodyguard.

      “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Garnier.” The giant Samoan left the security chain in place and spoke through the crack. “You can get in a lot of trouble for being here.”

      Garnier wasn’t intimidated by the hulky bodyguard. He faced men who weighed one and a half times his weight for a living. “Why? All I want to do is talk to her.”

      “I’m sorry, but you’re violating a restraining order.”

      “A what?” СКАЧАТЬ