Coulda Been a Cowboy

by Brenda Novak

  Why not let hers be with the best wide receiver in the NFL?

  * * *

  TYSON HAD PULLED ON a pair of jeans, turned on the television and spent the past half hour pacing. He’d told himself to go to bed, but at the moment, sleep wasn’t a realistic possibility. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t touch Dakota. It was too risky. She could become attached and get hurt when he moved on. She could get angry, decide he’d taken advantage of her and jump on Rachelle’s bandwagon—at which point he wouldn’t have a prayer of convincing anyone that he was any better than a cockroach. She could poison Gabe against him, and then he’d lose his good friend. She could even get pregnant. He doubted she was on any birth control. What would a virgin need with the pill? And the only thing he had was a couple of condoms. As far as he was concerned, after Rachelle, a condom wasn’t enough. A million different things could happen and, other than the immediate satisfaction of getting what he wanted, none of them good.

  Sex was what had started the worst of his problems. He doubted it was a good idea now.

  Telling himself to relax, he rubbed his eyes. He was worrying for nothing. Dakota was too self-conscious about that weight she’d mentioned to come anywhere close to his bed—

  A soft knock interrupted. Pivoting, he faced the door, feeling the same surge of desire he’d had in the Jacuzzi. All the logic in the world couldn’t erase it, he decided. Desire was a force to be reckoned with. But he couldn’t let it get the best of him.

  “Tyson?”

  The sound of Dakota’s voice—a little hesitant and unsure—scared the hell out of him. What was he doing getting involved with someone like her? He needed a worldly woman, a woman who could take a sexual encounter in stride and move on.

  Like Rachelle? another voice whispered.

  No, not like Rachelle. Nothing like Rachelle.

  “You asleep?” she asked.

  Hoping she was here for something completely unrelated to his offer, he crossed the room and opened the door. Dakota was standing in the hall, wearing a fluffy white robe and carrying a fresh bottle of wine with two glasses. As if the wine and the glasses weren’t enough to tell him what she wanted, he was pretty certain she didn’t have anything on underneath.

  Oh, boy…

  He pretended not to notice the wine. “What can I do for you?” he asked, his tone as brisk and businesslike as he could make it.

  She stepped back and put the wine and glasses behind her back. “I was just…”

  He scowled as though impatient to hear the rest. “Yes?”

  Her eyebrows knitted in confusion, but she finally lifted the wine. “I thought you might want a drink.”

  He didn’t want a drink. He wanted to slip his hand inside her robe and cup her breast, lay it open to his view. But he’d already decided he couldn’t touch her. He’d had lots of good reasons, too. He just couldn’t remember what they were when she was standing there, naked in her robe. “I think I’ve had enough,” he said.

  He watched a blush creep up her neck and felt horrible. He’d offered, she’d tried to accept, and then he’d rejected her. He was a total jerk, and he knew it. But a jerk was better than what he’d be if he capitalized on this moment, right? At least he was putting a decisive end to the chemistry between them. After this, she’d never approach him, or let him approach her, again.

  “Right,” she said. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”

  Her words were barely audible, as if he’d just knocked the wind out of her. He knew how difficult it must’ve been for her to gather the nerve to come to his room. But he couldn’t tell her why he’d changed his mind, or she might promise him he was worried about nothing. Then he’d believe her, because he wanted to believe her.

  “Good night,” he said, and shut the door before he could pull her inside with him.

  * * *

  IN T-SHIRT AND SHORTS, Dakota ran on the treadmill for over an hour the following morning. She also lifted weights until her arms and legs ached. Then she did two hundred stomach crunches.

  “I’m going to…get this weight off…if it kills me,” she said between breaths, talking to Braden, who was playing with toys in his playpen. She never wanted to put herself in the same kind of position she’d been in last night at Tyson’s bedroom door—feeling awkward and unworthy, a fool for showing up. No, she’d look so good even a man like him wouldn’t be able to resist her.

  A door closed somewhere in the house. Braden squealed, and she grimaced. “Yeah, he’s here,” she muttered. “Not that I want to see him.”

  Don’t think about last night. He offered! It’s not like you propositioned him.

  But she had approached him in a robe with a bottle of wine. And he’d acted as if he’d sooner eat worms than touch her.

  Distracted, she didn’t get her hand out of the way as she adjusted the weights on one of the Nautilus machines and managed to pinch her finger. “Ouch,” she cried.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Tyson had just come into the room. Dakota heard the concern in his voice, but quickly disregarded it. She obviously didn’t know how to read him.

  “Nothing,” she said, doing little to hide the grumpiness in her voice, and stuck the offended finger in her mouth.

  He came into the room wearing a T-shirt, jogging shorts and tennis shoes. As soon as Braden saw him, he stood, clutching one side of the playpen, and began to jump up and down, but Tyson ignored him completely. “You hurt?”

  “No.” Shaking her hand, she put it behind her back.

  “Let me see.” He moved forward, but she backed up step for step, keeping the same amount of distance between them.

  “It’s fine.”

  He stopped several feet away. “Speaking of injuries, how’s that cut on your arm?”

  Lines around his mouth and eyes suggested he hadn’t slept well. Dakota couldn’t have been happier. She’d had a miserable night. It wasn’t easy to drift off while kicking herself for being so gullible. “It’s fine.”

  “Right. In one day.”

  She shrugged. “Antibiotics are amazing.”

  “Let me see for myself,” he said skeptically.

  “I’m taking care of it. There’s no need.”

  Darting forward so fast she didn’t have time to react, he caught her wrist. She tried to jerk free but only managed to bang her other elbow on a different machine. “Ow!”

  “Take it easy,” he said. “I just want to check it.”

  “Don’t touch me. I’m all sweaty.” She glowered at him. But he wasn’t looking at her face. And he didn’t seem to care about the sweat. He was already removing the bandage.

  “It’s not much better,” he said with a scowl.

  She wrenched her arm away from him. “The antibiotics haven’t had a chance to work.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because it takes a few days.”

  They stared at each other, and she lifted her chin.

  “Don’t you want me to take you to a doctor?” he asked. “That’s gotta hurt.”

  It did hurt. Especially when the sweat ran into it. But she didn’t want to go anywhere with Tyson, couldn’t visit the local doctor without having a good explanation, and doubted her car could make it to Boise. With her luck, she’d get stranded along the way. Besides, the antibiotics Tyson had bought her would take care of the problem eventually. It was a simple infection.

  “It’ll heal,” she said again. “Give it some time.”

  He seemed uncertain. “Maybe you’re resistant to the medication.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough.” She gingerly pressed the bandage back over the wound. “Anyway, you’ve got your own problems. Detective Donaldson called this morning. He said to tell you that he’s taking the early plane and will be here by three.”

  She hadn’t meant to sound so smug about it. But after some of the fantasies she’d spun in the Jacuzzi last night, having him touch her had left her a little rattled. She didn’t feel as if her legs were firml
y underneath her anymore.

  “Da…da…da!” Braden slapped the netting with his hands, but Tyson continued to stare at Dakota. Finally he turned and left.

  She heard the front door slam a few minutes later and knew he’d gone out for a jog. “Good, you’re gone,” she said. But she wasn’t happy about it at all. And neither was Braden. The slamming door startled him so badly he puckered up and began to cry.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Grandpa Garnier: It’s best to keep your troubles pretty

  much to yourself, because half the people you tell them to

  won’t give a damn, and the other half will be glad to hear

  you’ve got them.

  SHORT AND STOCKY, with a military-style crew cut, Detective Donaldson had definitely spent some time in the weight room. He took off his sports jacket almost as soon as Dakota let him in, then laid it carefully across the arm of the couch and pulled a pad and a pen from his shirt pocket.

  Now that she was coming to know him, Dakota could tell that Tyson was nervous. She believed the truth would eventually win out, couldn’t imagine he’d actually go to prison just because this Rachelle woman was so vindictive. But she understood he had a lot to lose even if the accusations didn’t go that far.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Garnier,” Donaldson said. “I realize this can’t be a pleasant experience for you.”

  To Dakota, he didn’t sound sorry, or even slightly regretful, but Tyson accepted the hand he extended. “No problem.”

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee or something else to drink?” Dakota asked. Her first instinct was to slip away and give them some privacy. This didn’t concern her. But Tyson had asked her to stay as a witness. He also wanted her to record the conversation.

  Detective Donaldson shook his head. “I just had a soda in the car.”

  “Detective, this is Dakota Brown, my nanny,” Tyson said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Donaldson mumbled, but clearly more interested in studying Tyson, he scarcely acknowledged her.

  Dakota decided she didn’t care for the detective’s manner. She wondered if Tyson should’ve had a lawyer join them. She’d overheard him on the phone with his agent earlier, talking about postponing the interview until he could arrange for one. But the detective hadn’t given him much time, and Dakota knew he’d had to weigh the advantages of legal protection against appearing uncooperative. Tyson didn’t want the detective to get the impression that he was already building some kind of legal fortress. If the police had it out for him, the situation could get much worse.

  The two men sat opposite each other. “I’ve asked Dakota to stay and record the conversation, if you don’t mind,” Tyson said.

  Dakota knew it was small protection, but at least he’d have an accurate copy of everything that was said, which he could share with an attorney if it ever became necessary that he hire one.

  “I don’t have a problem with it,” the detective said and Tyson gave her the signal to start, and she clicked the recorder as she took a seat at the bar.

  “You’re acquainted with Ms. Rachelle Rochester, most recently of Beverly Hills, California, correct?” Detective Donaldson began.

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me the nature of your relationship?”

  “I have a nine-month-old son by her.”

  “Where is your son?”

  “Upstairs, taking a nap.”

  “Were you and Ms. Rochester ever…committed?”

  “No. I wasn’t even sure Braden was mine until I had a lab do a paternity test.”

  “Didn’t she tell you the baby was yours?”

  “Yes, but she and I were intimate for a very brief time. She’s been involved with a lot of men, and I wanted to be sure.”

  His pencil scratched as he made several notes. “How many men would be a lot?”

  “Excuse me?” Tyson responded.

  “Would you say she’s slept with more men than you’ve slept with women?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  The detective’s lips curved into a smile that looked far from sincere. “I’m just saying you’ve probably been with more than your fair share, right? Being a famous athlete and all.”

  Dakota’s nails curved into her palms. At first she’d tried to convince herself that the detective was a Stingrays fan and was feeling a little starstruck at meeting one of football’s finest, but that wasn’t proving to be the case. He was obviously hoping to spot some kind of arrogance or deceit.

  “Not as many as you might think.”

  “Can you give me a number?”

  “No. I’ve never counted. And, as I mentioned, I don’t see how this is relevant.”

  “I’m trying to establish patterns of behavior. Certainly you don’t expect Ms. Rochester to act any more, shall we say, virtuous than you do yourself.”

  “I never said I did.”

  Dakota grew more nervous. This wasn’t a good beginning.

  “Then how can you claim she’s slept with a lot of men as if that somehow makes her less reliable than she would otherwise be?”

  Tyson’s eyes narrowed. “If she told you she was carrying your baby, wouldn’t you find that an important detail?”

  Dakota thought Tyson had made a salient point, but the detective merely glanced at his notes.

  “So how many would you say she’s been with?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Do you have any proof that she’s been with an unusually high number?”

  “I haven’t purposely collected eyewitness reports, if that’s what you mean. It’s just general knowledge among her friends and acquaintances. I’ve even met a few of her boyfriends.”

  “Does that mean you’ve continued to socialize with her?”

  “I wouldn’t call it socializing. Occasionally she brought someone with her when she met me.”

  “Met you for what?”

  “To pick up her child support check.”

  “And this someone was usually a man?”

  “I wouldn’t have mentioned it if it was a woman.”

  The detective stopped writing. “There’s no need to get sarcastic, Mr. Garnier.”

  Folding his arms, Tyson studied the detective as if seeing him across some scrimmage line. “I have to admit, I’m having trouble with your attitude.”

  Donaldson cocked his head. “Then you understand how I feel about yours.”

  Tyson said nothing, but his mouth formed a grim line.

  “Why did she bring other men with her?” Donaldson asked, moving on.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Because she was afraid of you?”

  “Hell, no. If anything, she was—” he lowered his voice as if he was slightly embarrassed “—I don’t know, showing off.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Tyson shifted uncomfortably, stretched his neck. “Some of these guys brought footballs and stuff for me to sign.”

  Donaldson seemed to ignore the allusion to his fame. “She brought them to your house?”

  “No, we usually met at the team offices.”

  “Why?”

  The furrow between Tyson’s eyebrows deepened. “Because I didn’t want her constantly invading my privacy.”

  “She claims that she was the one who asked to meet in public places.”

  “I know what you’re getting at, but it’s not true. She wasn’t afraid of me.”

  “She’s hired a bodyguard. You know that, don’t you?”

  Tyson briefly pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you get it?” he said, looking up at the detective again. “It’s all for show. She’s enjoying the attention this is bringing her.”

  “How do you know?” he countered.

  “Because I was the one who dictated where we would meet. You have to understand, she was always calling me, asking for money, could never wait until it was time for me to make my next payment. Sometimes I’d give in and let her pick up a check so she c
ould have it early.”

  “Because you’re such a nice guy.”

  Tyson was teetering on the edge of action without thought, Dakota could tell. Donaldson was purposely antagonizing him, bullying him to see how much he’d take before his temper snapped, seeing if he could get more information when he was off his emotional center.

  Don’t let him do it….

  A cold smile curved Tyson’s lips. At least, Dakota thought, he recognized what was happening. “Whatever you think, Rachelle was the one who climbed into my bed.”

  “Of course. You’re such a big star, who can resist you?” the detective said with a chuckle.

  Tyson’s smile remained, but the warning in his eyes was difficult to miss.

  No, Ty…

  “It’s the truth. I didn’t know her from Adam, I was exhausted from having played that day, and I didn’t want to take advantage of a woman who was so down on her luck. I made no sexual advances. She approached me, and as the situation grew more—” he glanced over at Dakota as if he’d rather she not be around for the next part “—intimate, I voiced a concern about birth control, and she assured me she was on the pill. Then shortly after I broke off the relationship, she called to tell me she was pregnant with my child. That’s how it happened. There wasn’t any force involved.”

  “I see. And after that?”

  “I couldn’t allow her to show up at the house, or she’d come by at all hours, stoned or drunk and demanding money. I told her I’d pay her as long as she stopped doing drugs and took good care of Braden.”

  The skepticism in Donaldson’s manner increased. “You were that worried about a son you never saw?”

  A muscle began to flex in Tyson’s cheek. Dakota held her breath, praying he’d be able to contain his anger. “I didn’t want him harmed or abused.”

  “But you never made any attempt to see him.”

  “No.”

  Dakota wanted Tyson to provide a sympathetic explanation for his not taking a more active role in parenting—he was traveling, Rachelle made visitation difficult, something—but now that his attempts to explain had been met with so much doubt, even derision, he was beginning to clam up.