Cowboy Delirium. Joanna Wayne

found a spot to stand against the side wall. He was too keyed up to sit.

      “Do you have the results of the tests, Doctor?” Becky asked.

      “We do, at least enough to make a few diagnostic assessments. The good news is there’s no significant blockage in the arteries that feed the heart and no sign of a blood clot.”

      “I don’t understand,” Bart said. “If there’s no blockage, what caused the coronary attack?”

      “The attack appears to have been caused by a sudden spasm, one so intense that it cut off the blood flow through the artery. That’s far less common than an attack brought on by cardiovascular disease or a clot, but it sometimes happens in otherwise heart-healthy individuals.”

      Langston set his coffee cup on the table in front of him. “Then you think her heart attack was brought on by stress?”

      “There are factors other than emotional or physical trauma that can cause a spasm, such as certain drugs or exposure to extreme weather conditions. But, yes, in your mother’s case, the evidence points to stress.”

      Becky clasped her hands in front of her. “How much damage was there to her heart?”

      “You can count your blessings there, too,” Dr. Gathrite said. “The permanent damage is minimal. The issue now is having her avoid any additional emotional trauma.”

      Which was basically impossible unless they were able to arrange Jaime’s safe return quickly. Zach only half listened to the rest of the doctor’s spiel and the details of treatment. Zach’s concern for his mother was a given, but the only way he could help her, or Jaime, was to acquire Jaime’s safe release.

      His cell phone vibrated and he checked the caller ID. Buerto. Zach excused himself and went into the hall to take the call.

      Langston followed him. “This is a family dilemma, Zach. Bart, Matt and I will be with you when you meet with Buerto.”

      He clapped his oldest brother on the back. “I never doubted for a minute that you would.”

      IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON BEFORE Jaime heard from either of her kidnappers again, though she could hear them talking through the thin walls. Occasionally she heard a door slam or Luke’s snorting laugh.

      She’d tried her door a couple of times, but it was locked tight. And the boards that had been nailed over the window wouldn’t budge. She’d need something on the order of a pickax to remove them. If she ever got outside this room again, she’d snoop to see what kind of tools she could find.

      Finally, Rio opened the door and ordered her out to eat. She followed him to the kitchen. Luke lay on the sofa, his bare feet hanging over the edge. His gun was on a homemade coffee table instead of tucked inside his shoulder holster. It was the only good sign.

      “I made you a sandwich,” Rio said, pushing a plate toward her. “It’s not much, but it will keep you going.”

      She washed her hands at the kitchen sink and returned to the table, choosing a chair that made it easy to watch Luke and the gun. It was almost as if he were taunting her with it, deliberately tempting her to steal it.

      The sandwich was a couple of slices of white bread smeared with a spicy mustard and wrapped around a piece of tasteless luncheon meat. She chewed and choked it down with a sip of lukewarm bottled water.

      The two men barely spoke to each other as she ate, but when they did, the growing tension between them crackled like flames in a pile of dry leaves. Had she caused or merely added to the friction? She suspected it was the latter.

      Luke looked disgustingly disheveled, his clothes wrinkled and stained from the breakfast she’d dumped in his lap. The underarms of his shirt were circled with perspiration. A glob of what looked to be dried mustard stuck to the stubble of whiskers on his chin.

      Rio, on the other hand, had apparently bathed in the lake. His hair was damp, raked back but with thick locks falling over his forehead. He was shirtless, revealing a muscled six-pack, a rock-hard abdomen. He wore his virility well.

      Luke rose, padded past her and stopped at the back door, staring out like a caged animal. “I need some whiskey.”

      Rio ignored the comment.

      “I’m serious, man. I need a drink.”

      “There’s water.”

      Luke uttered a string of vile curses, then walked back to the sofa and plopped down on the saggy, soiled cushions. “We got a car right outside. It wouldn’t hurt anything for me to drive into the nearest town and find a liquor store.”

      “You have a short memory. Poncho said the car was to be used only at his orders. I didn’t hear him order a whiskey run.”

      “Well, if I have to stay cooped up in this godforsaken place much longer without liquor, I’ll go nuts. How’s that for a friggin’ emergency?”

      “Suck it up,” Rio said.

      “Suck it up yourself, pantywaist. I got the key to that car right here.” He pulled a metal ring from his pocket and shook it. “You think you can stop me if I decide to take the vehicle?”

      Rio stood and glared down at Luke, his muscles flexed so that his forearms looked like balls of steel. “I could stop you if I gave a damn. I don’t. If you want to flout Poncho’s rules, go right ahead. In the meantime, I suggest you guard the prisoner.” With that he turned and strode out the back door, leaving her alone with Luke.

      Jaime pushed the rest of her sandwich aside and walked to the back door. Rio trod the path to the lake, and then stepped into a cluster of trees, disappearing from sight. A sliver of panic rode her spine—an unconscious, but stupid and dangerous reaction. If she started depending on Rio to save her, she was doomed.

      She was alone with Luke now. He had the car key and a weapon resting beside him in plain sight. If she could get her hands on the key and the gun, the power would switch to her hands.

      Her heart began to race as a plan took form. She smoothed her hair with her fingers and bit her lips to give them some color. There was nothing she could do about her bare feet or the less than pristine condition of her dress.

      Retaking her seat and turning toward Luke, she crossed her legs and kicked one seductively. “How do you stand Rio bossing you around all the time?”

      Luke looked her up and down, leering as his gaze settled on various parts of her body. She struggled to keep from retching.

      “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Did the macho Navy SEAL go limp on you this morning?”

      “Rio’s a SEAL?” She blurted out the question without thinking.

      “He was until they kicked him out. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. He thinks it makes him better than me.”

      It wouldn’t take much to be better than Luke. Still, it shocked Jaime to think that a former SEAL could be mixed up in a kidnapping at gunpoint.

      “I think you should go get that whiskey,” she said. “I know I could use some.”

      “Sure, go get the whiskey and leave you alone so you can try to escape again.”

      “You could take me with you.”

      “And have you yell out in the store that I’m holding you captive? I’m nobody’s fool, princess.”

      “I never said you were.” She walked over and sat down beside him. He smelled of garlic and sweat, making her stomach churn.

      He laid a hand on her thigh. “Now you’re getting smart, sweetheart. I’m the real man here. You be good to me, and I’ll be good to you.”

      “How good?” She forced a sultry tone to her voice and fought off another wave of nausea. The impulse to stare at the gun was almost overpowering, but she couldn’t do anything to make Luke suspicious.

      He pressed his