Coulda Been a Cowboy

by Brenda Novak

  “You’ll need something for the party.”

  “What party?”

  “The barbecue we’re going to have when I get back.”

  She delved into the refrigerator and came up with an onion. “Oh, right. I’m excited about that.” She didn’t sound like it, but Tyson knew he had to do something to put her out of reach. He was in too much trouble to get involved with someone who’d never even slept with a man. Especially when sex was the only thing he had to offer.

  “Good.” He started toward the office so he could make arrangements for his trip, but turned back as a new thought occurred to him. “Maybe you should see a doctor while I’m gone.”

  She set a frying pan on the stove. “I’m not going to a doctor. I told you, my arm will heal.”

  “To get some birth control,” he clarified.

  Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right? The only doctor in this town goes to my church!”

  “You said you wanted to get a love life.”

  “I want to meet people. That doesn’t necessarily mean I plan on sleeping with them. I’m…open to the possibility, not set on it.”

  “Open means you should be prepared. You’re going to like Quentin Worrack.”

  She put some butter in the pan and began peeling the onion she’d taken from the fridge. “When will you be back?”

  “I have no idea. But you have my cell number if you need me. And I’ll keep in touch.”

  He stared at her for a moment, wondering when exactly she’d gotten so pretty. She’d lost a few pounds, but not enough to drastically change her overall appearance.

  “What?” she said when she met his eye.

  “Quentin’s going to like you, too.”

  * * *

  BRADEN WAS BEGINNING TO FUSS. Tyson heard him as he was packing for his trip early the next morning. He expected Dakota to go to him. She was generally quick about it, and he knew she was awake—he’d heard her moving around the house, smelled the coffee when he’d poked his head into the hall just after his own alarm had gone off. But she didn’t get him.

  Chances were she was out in the garden, trying to put in an hour of work before Braden woke up. Or she was exercising in the gym with the fans on. At her request, Tyson had outlined a fairly rigorous workout schedule, and she was being incredibly diligent about following it. He couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t see some success, especially because she was watching her diet, too. Last night she’d made the most delicious salad for their dinner—with candied pecans, crumbled gorgonzola cheese and sliced chicken breast—but she refused to eat her own dessert. So Tyson had compensated by having two. He’d never tried homemade carrot cake before, hadn’t had homemade anything since his summers at the ranch, and didn’t want to leave something that good sitting on the counter going to waste while he was gone.

  “Da…da…DA…DA…” Braden’s babbling was beginning to turn into disgruntled yelling. The kid was probably hungry and standing in a wet diaper. Tyson wished Dakota would hurry, so he wouldn’t have to be faced with all the emotions he experienced whenever he looked at his son but—

  He listened for her tread on the stairs.

  Nothing.

  He didn’t want to go downstairs to get her. He knew she wouldn’t understand why he didn’t just bring the baby to her. He didn’t understand himself. He only knew he was overcome with a deep, almost sickening resentment whenever he encountered his son.

  But this was starting to look like one encounter he couldn’t avoid. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to let a child stay in there and cry….

  Finally, he went to Braden’s room and opened the door. He was going to leave it ajar, to make it easier for Dakota to hear him. But the moment Braden spotted him, he quit fussing, plopped onto his chubby bottom and offered Tyson a smile.

  They stared at each other from opposite sides of the crib slats. At last Tyson went inside and grabbed a diaper. “Okay. I’d hate to be so dependent on others, so I’ll make you a little more comfortable. But don’t think this makes us friends,” he grumbled.

  Amazingly, Braden didn’t fuss when Tyson laid him down. He clapped his hands, munched on his fingers and began to babble. Tyson figured he must be getting used to the cabin or the routine or both. Or maybe he was just happier all the way around. Dakota had his bottom so smeared with diaper rash ointment Tyson thought the kid could spend the day in a bucket of water and not feel the wetness. But it seemed to be working. There wasn’t a speck of diaper rash—nothing like the terrible sores Tyson had seen when he first got Braden.

  “She takes good care of you, doesn’t she?” he asked as he fastened the diaper tabs. “She takes good care of both of us.” He was thinking of that carrot cake, which was almost as good as sex. Sex with someone else would come in second. Not sex with her.

  The memory of kissing Dakota’s neck rose to his consciousness, but that created a different kind of happiness.

  Braden cooed at the mobile hanging over his head, and Tyson figured he might as well dress the baby now that he had him in a dry diaper. Digging a pair of mini-jeans and a T-shirt from the dresser, he held them up. “This okay?”

  Braden didn’t seem to have a preference.

  “Good. I like that about you,” he said. “See? We’re making progress.”

  Braden obviously agreed because he was holding out his arms, wanting to be lifted out of his crib.

  “Now you’re pushing your luck,” Tyson told him. He gave his son the evil eye. “But then I’m done.”

  Evidently, Braden didn’t know the evil eye was a bad thing, because his smile widened. But that didn’t make it any easier for Tyson to touch him, which only made Tyson feel worse. The kid was being good and he still didn’t want anything to do with him. He kept seeing Rachelle in the baby’s features, imagined her laughing at how easily she’d forced his hand and disrupted his whole life.

  What happened has happened. There’s no way to change it, he reminded himself and, fighting his own resistance, carried the baby downstairs. But he wasn’t able to pass Braden off as quickly as he’d hoped. Dakota wasn’t gardening or working out. She was in the shower. And the second he tried to put Braden in his walker so he could get some breakfast for the both of them, the baby twisted in his arms and clung to him.

  “Way to make this easy,” he said. But he managed to make a bottle one-handed. Then he used the bottle to encourage Braden’s cooperation, and when the kid was finally pushing his walker around the floor, he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Hey,” he said. “I did it.”

  A few minutes later, when he was sitting at the breakfast bar reading an old issue of Time, which he’d found in a stack of gardening and cooking magazines near the couch, Dakota called to him from the top of the stairs. “Tyson?”

  He handed Braden the crust of the toast he’d just buttered—because he’d seen Dakota do the same thing once before and knew it was okay. “What?”

  “Where’s the baby?”

  “Down here,” he said. “With me.”

  * * *

  DAKOTA FELT VERY CONSPICUOUS in Tyson’s Ferrari. But he’d told her to use it. He didn’t want the Bomber to strand her and Braden up in the mountains while he was out of town, and she didn’t want to run that risk, either—not after he’d specifically warned her against it.

  “That’s some car,” Booker Robinson had hollered from the open window of his truck as they both sat at the same intersection.

  “Girl, you’re livin’ large,” her old friend Tawny Cutter had exclaimed when they saw each other in the parking lot of Finley’s Market. “And you’re losing weight, too. Look at you!”

  Dakota had never felt better. She was cooking and gardening and playing with Braden, which encompassed most of her favorite pastimes. She’d already dropped into a smaller pant size and was beginning to feel attractive again. Then there were the fantasies about Tyson, which were a completely new diversion but more exciting than anything she’d ever experienced. Almost in the blink of an ey
e, her life had changed from the drudgery and constant worry she’d known before to beauty and peace and romantic interest, as if she’d somehow stepped into one of her pretty magazines. She found herself smiling all the time.

  Except when she remembered her father, of course. Then guilt for being so happy without him dogged every footstep. He’d saved her life and nearly lost his own in the process. Where was her gratitude? Her determination to take care of him?

  It was there somewhere. And yet, when she thought of going home, she experienced such terrible dread. Before living at the cabin, she hadn’t realized just how dreary their trailer was or the trailers around it or the hard-packed weed-filled yards or the broken-down Chevy Impala with the cracked seats that never moved from the neighbor’s driveway. She’d grown too accustomed to those sights, had quit seeing them. Now that her eyes had been opened, however, her heart felt as heavy as lead every time she approached the park, beginning with the moment she dropped Braden off at Hannah’s. And today was no different.

  “Wow, Tyson’s letting you use his Ferrari?”

  Gabe’s wife smiled in appreciation as she held open the door to her photography studio so that Dakota could get both Braden and his car seat through. “Yeah. Can you believe it?”

  With long, thick brown hair and green eyes, Hannah was attractive in a wholesome way. Dakota had long admired her, but more for her poise than her looks. “What does he do, call you daily to make sure you haven’t wrecked it?” she asked with a laugh.

  Dakota smiled at the memory of her last conversation with Ty. “He checks on it every now and then, but not obsessively.” Probably because he had worse things to worry about. Although Dakota had yet to see anything about it in Dundee, he’d told her last night that the story of his supposed crime was starting to leak out to the press. According to Tyson’s agent, an L.A. paper had already printed something about it.

  “How’s the baby?” Hannah reached for Braden, but he scowled and leaned away from her. Now that he was becoming so attached to Dakota, he didn’t like it when she left him.

  “Hey, buddy, I won’t be gone long, remember?” Dakota gave Hannah a baggie filled with Cheerios to encourage him to go to her. Braden loved being able to dig into the bag and feed himself.

  “Are you enjoying the cabin?” Hannah asked.

  “I love it. Someday I hope to own one just like it. You should see how fast the garden’s growing.”

  Overcome with the temptation of the bribe, Braden succumbed to Hannah’s outstretched arms. “What have you planted?”

  Dakota wanted to slip out while Braden was preoccupied with his Cheerios, but she paused at the door long enough to give Hannah a quick list. “Carrots, tomatoes, zucchini, peas, squash. And there’ll be pumpkins for Halloween.”

  “Halloween?”

  “Even after Tyson’s gone, I plan on going up there every few days to weed and harvest, if that’s okay with you and Gabe,” she explained. And to spend a little time at the place she’d come to love. But she didn’t add that. It was silly to be so attached to the cabin.

  “Of course it’s okay, if you think it’s worth the drive.”

  “It’s worth the drive. I’ll bring you some of the produce when it’s ripe.” Unable to remember where she’d stuck her keys in the colossal amount of effort it required to carry Braden and all his paraphernalia from place to place, she dug through the pockets of her jeans before realizing she’d dropped them in her purse. “Thanks for your help,” she said as her fingers closed around the minifootball at the end of Tyson’s keychain.

  “No problem.”

  With a final goodbye, Dakota ducked out, climbed back into Tyson’s car and headed to the trailer.

  Almost everyone she passed gawked at the shiny red sports car, then honked and waved, as if they enjoyed seeing her drive it almost as much as she enjoyed driving it. She waved in return, her smile broad—until she reached the trailer park. Then, as she pulled into the rutted driveway of her father’s home, the sun dipped behind the clouds and her smile slipped away.

  * * *

  “THAT WAS AWESOME!” Greg said. “Rachelle’s going down. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Tyson couldn’t help but grimace. He and his agent had just come out of his attorney’s office, which was located above one of the expensive boutiques in the shopping district of Beverly Hills. Harry Andrews had talked pretty tough, and Greg was following suit. Greg wanted to keep going over their strategy, to recap the session and reassure each other of ultimate victory. But Tyson had had a hard time sitting through the meeting in the first place. He could take no pleasure in fighting a woman, even on paper. Thanks to Grandpa Garnier, treating the fairer sex differently, as something to shield and protect, was too ingrained in him.

  Which is what had gotten him into trouble in the first place, he supposed. Anyway, in this case, fighting had become a necessary evil. He couldn’t allow Rachelle to destroy his life, and she was attempting to do just that.

  “We’ll do what we have to,” he muttered, shoving a pair of sunglasses on his face with the hope that, along with the goatee he’d grown eight days ago, he wouldn’t be recognized.

  “We’ll sue her for defamation of character, that’s what we’ll do. You heard Andrews. If she’s not careful, she’ll lose whatever she’s got left of that million, even what she bought with it. Then she’ll be sorry, huh? You’ll have the money and the baby.”

  “No one wins in this kind of thing.”

  Greg frowned. “I thought Andrews was encouraging, didn’t you? That meeting was absolutely cathartic.”

  “Cathartic?”

  “Emotionally cleansing.”

  “I know what it means.” Tyson palmed the keys to his black Mercedes. “Let’s go,” he said, but then he caught sight of something that promised to be a much more positive diversion than dealing with his hyped-up agent and his past mistakes.

  “Where are you going?” Greg demanded when Tyson started for one of the fancy shops facing the street.

  “I want to look at something.” He pulled his ball cap a little lower as he entered the store.

  Reluctantly following at his elbow, Greg rose up on his toes to see over racks that were nearly as tall as he was. “Are you crazy?” he whispered. “If someone happens to snap a picture of you in here, it’ll be plastered all over the papers, right next to Rachelle’s allegations.”

  “This won’t take long.”

  “But everyone has a camera on their cell phone these days. Especially in Beverly Hills.”

  “I said I’ll only be a minute. If I don’t do this she won’t have anything to wear. She’s not the type to buy it for herself.”

  “She? Are you seeing someone I don’t know about?”

  Greg nearly stepped on the back of Tyson’s heel as Tyson turned to respond. “No. I’m setting a friend up with Quentin Worrack.”

  “And you’re buying this friend lingerie?”

  “Just a bra and a pair of pretty panties.” He started thumbing through the racks. “There’s nothing kinky about that.”

  “You don’t think sexy lingerie is an odd gift, Ty?”

  “No, and you wouldn’t, either, if you could see where this woman lives. I can’t imagine she owns anything remotely like this.” Especially because, from the sounds of it, there had never been anyone in her life to appreciate it. But Tyson was about to change all that. If he found Dakota a good husband, he wouldn’t have to worry about the cut on her arm or leaving her behind when he started the season.

  “How do you know her size?”

  “I have a good eye.”

  Greg toyed nervously with the goatee he’d been trying to grow ever since Tyson started his. “Can’t you give her the money and tell her to go out and buy her own?” he asked.

  Tyson remembered the response Dakota had given him when he’d suggested she get birth control. “I told you, I don’t think she’d have the nerve to buy it. Even if she did, I doubt they have anything this nice in Dunde
e. I’d have to drive her to Boise.” And she’d be there to argue with him. This kind of purchase was too sexual for her to buy before she’d even met someone, but Tyson wanted to cover every contingency. By the time he returned to the cabin, he’d have only five weeks. Five weeks wasn’t a lot of time to work with.

  “Then drive her to Boise,” Greg said. “At least you’d have a woman with you when you went shopping for panties. You’re killing me here.”

  “There’s not much time. The party’s the weekend after I get home.”

  I’ve already contacted everyone, he’d told her on the phone last night.

  Your friends? Can’t we wait one more week?

  Why?

  I’ve lost six more pounds, which puts me at twelve, total. He smiled at the pride he’d heard in her voice. But I have another eight or so to go before I’m really ready to meet anyone.

  You’re fine the way you are. How’s that cut on your arm?

  Gone.

  The antibiotics came through?

  Thanks to you.

  Greg snapped his fingers, yanking Tyson out of the memory. “Hey, I don’t want to be a pain in the ass or anything, but can you possibly hurry so we could get the hell out of here?”

  Tyson hated that he couldn’t be caught in a lingerie store, even a classy one like this, without it serving as some kind of proof that he was a lecher. He hadn’t done anything wrong—other than getting involved with a cheat and a liar. “I won’t let Rachelle dictate what stores I can frequent,” he said. “I won’t let anyone do that.”

  Greg rolled his eyes, muttering something about not knowing what was good for him.

  Tyson didn’t ask him to repeat it. Ignoring his agent’s discomfort, he picked out a sheer black bra and panty set. “What about this? It’s really hot but classy.” He nodded in approval. “I could see Dakota wearing something like this.”

  Greg’s eyebrows shot up almost to his receding hairline. “I thought you were setting this girl up with someone else.”

  “I am,” he retorted. “I’m just saying that this looks like something she’d choose.”

  “You said you could see her in it. There’s a difference.” The bell jingled over the door and Greg sent a nervous glance toward the entrance, relaxing only slightly when the woman who entered didn’t seem particularly interested in them. “Who is it we’re talking about, anyway?” he asked, lowering his voice again. “Who is this Dakota?”