Midnight Rider. Joanna Wayne

haven’t eaten yet.”

      “I’d prefer to eat where the air doesn’t crackle with animosity.”

      She’d said too much. Her boss had warned her that if she gave her this case Brit would have to keep her emotions out of it. But she’d lost a sister she’d never gotten to meet, a sister who had left a precious baby behind.

      The waitress arrived with the meal. Great timing. The overflowing plate of ribs, fries and coleslaw had an immediate effect on Cannon’s demeanor.

      “I’m sorry for the last comment,” Brit said. “It was out of line. Stay and eat. Please.”

      Cannon sat back down and ordered another beer. After that, he gave the food his full attention.

      Brit waited until he bit the remaining shred of meat from the last rib before getting back down to business. This time she made sure to keep her tone nonaccusing.

      “Can we start over?” Brit suggested.

      He stared her down. “Will it make a difference?”

      “Yes. If I could ask you a few questions, it might help with the investigation. I promise to maintain a civil tone.”

      “That would be worth seeing.”

      Brit did her best to put aside the irritation toward Cannon she’d been nursing for almost a week.

      “I know you said you don’t remember much about the evening you met my sister, Cannon, but if I ask you a few questions, maybe it will trigger a memory.”

      “Worth a try,” he agreed. “I’d like to help you. No one deserves to be murdered, especially not a young mother minding her own business.”

      “Was Sylvie alone at the bar that night or with a friend?”

      “I don’t remember seeing her talking to anyone else. That doesn’t mean she didn’t come in with someone.”

      “Did she mention a boyfriend, maybe one that she was supposed to meet there or had recently broken up with?”

      He shook his head. “Not that I remember.”

      “Did she seem afraid or talk about being afraid?”

      He hesitated, his facial expression grim as if he really was attempting to remember a useful detail.

      “I’m sorry. I was dealing with some heavy stuff of my own that night. All I remember about your sister is that she was there, drinking beer and putting up with me. I’m not proud of this, but to be totally honest, I don’t even remember her being in the hotel with me.”

      “Then she wasn’t still in the room when you woke up?”

      “No. That I would have remembered. Did you question the bartender and waitresses who work there to see if they knew her?”

      “I questioned everyone,” Brit said. “No one remembered either of you. But then it has been a year. Some had moved on to other jobs, some to other parts of the country.”

      Cannon shifted in his seat, looked around until he caught their waitress’s eye and signaled for a check. Obviously he was eager to escape her and her questions.

      She wouldn’t push further tonight. Cannon was probably too bogged down with worrying over the paternity test results to think about anything else.

      Brit was convinced the test results would be positive. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen. But she had to admit that she could see why Sylvie had felt an immediate attraction to the sexy cowboy. He was a virile, rough and tough bull rider with a Texas drawl and a piercing stare that could shake a woman to her soul.

      Some women. Not Brit, of course.

      * * *

      BY THE TIME Cannon reached his hotel, he was dead tired and ready to crash. Even so, he doubted sleep would come quick or last long. He’d received bad news on top of bad news over the past twenty-four hours and the hits just kept coming.

      The murder of a lover he didn’t even remember being in bed with. A gorgeous homicide cop who thought of him as a disgusting rodeo bum.

      A baby who’d curled her short, stubby finger around his callused one. His heart twisted inside him at the memory. But it didn’t change anything. Definitely didn’t mean he could give Kimmie what she needed.

      Brit surely realized that. Or maybe not. He’d never been good at figuring out women. Brit was even thornier to figure than most.

      She had an intensity about her that most of the young buckle bunnies who hung around the arena in their short shorts, bulging cleavage and ready temptation lacked. But then she was older than most of them and a homicide detective.

      The kind of woman who either irritated the hell out of a man or turned him on to the point he couldn’t think straight. She had both effects on Cannon.

      He had an idea there was a real flesh-and-blood woman behind that tough detective veneer but doubted he’d get a chance to see it. He dropped to the side of the bed and pulled off his boots as he gave that thought more consideration.

      Brit in a more intimate setting, dressed in something skimpy and lacy. He imagined tangling his fingers in her shiny hair and gazing into those sky-blue eyes and seeing them glazed with passion.

      Enough, cowboy. He yanked off his shirt, then stood and wiggled out of his jeans. He tossed them over a chair and headed for the bathroom.

      He was about to step beneath the spray when his cell phone rang. He raced to grab it from his jeans pocket. The ID screen read R. J. Dalton. He resisted the temptation to ignore the call. Like it or not, R. J. Dalton and the Dry Gulch were in his life for the time being.

      “Hello.”

      “How’s it going?” R.J. asked. “Did you find out whether or not you’re Kimmie’s father?”

      Cannon explained that the testing would be done the following morning.

      “Did you get a chance to talk to Brittany Garner?”

      “I did.”

      “Is she Kimmie’s mother?”

      “No. Turns out she’s Kimmie’s aunt.” Cannon figured there was no reason to go into details about Sylvie’s murder until he knew for certain whether or not Kimmie was his daughter.

      “How are things going with the babysitting chores?” Cannon asked.

      “Hadley is loving every minute of it. She’s like a kid with a new doll. Went shopping today and bought Kimmie a whole wardrobe, like she needs to be gussied up at that age.”

      “Tell her not to get too attached yet.” Or ever, for that matter. Whatever happened, Cannon had no intention of making the Dry Gulch Ranch or R.J. part of his future.

      “Baby’s right here, kicking like a Rockette in training,” R.J. said. “Want to tell her good-night?”

      “No.” No way was he coochy-cooing over the phone.

      “I’ll hold the phone close to her,” R.J. said, ignoring his response.

      Soft cooing and gurgling sounds reached Cannon’s ear. His chest tightened. His stomach grew queasy. The tug on his emotions left his throat so dry he could barely manage a mumbled hello.

      “She’s smiling,” R.J. said. “Must know you’re her dad.”

      “Then she knows more than I do at this point.” Cannon said his goodbyes and broke the connection.

      Heaven help them all if he was Kimmie’s father.

      He was toweling off after the shower when he suddenly remembered something Sylvie had said that night they’d been drinking together. He rushed out of the bathroom in the nude, grabbed his jeans and dug Brit’s card from the pocket.

      He’d punched in all but the last