Cowboy Fever. Joanna Wayne

was young, someone’s son, maybe even someone’s husband or father. He’d never make it home tonight, and their lives would never be the same without him.

      She’d majored in emergency medicine because she liked saving lives. More often than not, she did. But even one life needlessly lost to violence was too many.

      Her car was parked about a hundred yards from the E.R. exit nearest the ambulance entrance. The back parking lot was almost deserted this time of night. An uneasy feeling skirted her senses, probably due to too much talk of Hank Bateman. She scanned the area. All was quiet.

      When she reached the shiny black Acura that she’d purchased just last week, she pulled her keys from her handbag and unlocked the door. She was about to slide in when she sensed movement to her left.

      “Get in.”

      A man grabbed her left arm and shoved what felt like the barrel of a pistol into her side. Panic seized her, crippling her reflexes, deadening her senses. She was about to slide into the seat submissively when her survival instincts kicked in.

      If she got into the car with this brute, she might never escape alive.

      Her former self-defense instructor’s words came back to her in fragmented pieces. Use what you have. Cause a scene. Fight for your life.

      “Get in, bitch. Do what I say so that I don’t have to use this gun.”

      “If it’s money you want …” She slung her purse at his gun hand as she frantically fit the metal car key between her fingers, fashioning a weapon of sorts.

      He shoved her. She fell forward, no longer feeling the force of the gun. She punched the man, aiming for his left eye. The metal end twisted as it buried in his eye socket.

      He yelled and flailed, blindly knocking the keys from her hand. She hit the pavement running.

      She was almost back to the walkway when the heel of her shoe caught on a strip of uneven pavement. Her foot came out of it and she pitched forward, her right wrist twisting beneath her as she tried to catch herself.

      She heard the squeal of a car as it sped away. Please let it be the gunman.

      But a hand touched her right shoulder. Horror reached deep inside her and she threw back her head and screamed.

      The guy backed off. “Is there a problem?”

      The voice echoed through her mind. Familiar. Haunting. She started to shake. Heart hammering in her chest, she turned and looked at the man standing over her.

      “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I heard a yell and then spotted you running across the parking lot.”

      Her heart skipped erratically as she studied the man who’d come to her rescue. The same depths to the dark eyes she remembered so well. The same thick, unruly hair. Even the same worn Stetson—or one exactly like it.

      He stared at her as if she were a ghost.

      Her heart turned inside out.

      “Dakota.” It was the only word she could manage without totally falling apart.

       Chapter Four

      “Viviana.” Dakota muttered her name and stared at the woman who’d haunted so many of his dreams. He was reeling, so stunned at seeing her that he had trouble getting his mind around what had just happened or even why he was here. His memory was jolted by a dizzying stab of pain when he reached to pick up her shoe.

      “Who let the bulls out?”

      Jim arrived on the scene with his usual rodeo flair, still in his trademark oversize red-and-black jersey and loose shorts. A bit of the clown makeup was still smeared around his eyes, though he’d wiped it off as best he could on the way over with his dirt-smeared bandana.

      Viviana stiffened and her eyes signaled an increased anxiety level. “Who are you?”

      “He’s a friend of mine,” Dakota said quickly. “We were driving to the E.R. entrance when we heard the commotion and I spotted you racing across the parking lot.” Dakota did a second visual scan of the area. There was no sign of trouble now, yet she’d screamed hysterically when he’d knelt beside her. And a car had just burned rubber leaving the lot.

      “Name’s Jim Angle,” Jim said.

      “I’m Dr. Mancini.”

      Dakota steadied while she slid her foot back into her shoe. It was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and hold her tight. But too many months apart and the lingering sting of rejection made him hold back. Not to mention that it would start a barrage of questions from Jim.

      “What just happened out here?” Dakota asked. “Were you attacked?”

      “I was leaving work. When I got to my car, a man appeared from out of nowhere and pointed a pistol at me. He told me to get in.”

      “Then what?” Jim asked when she stopped talking and started looking around the parking area.

      “I threw my purse at him, punched him and started running.”

      “You must have delivered one hell of a blow,” Jim said. “Man yelped like you’d gutted him. That’s actually what got our attention.”

      “I rammed my key into his eyeball.”

      Jim grinned. “A woman after my heart.”

      She hugged her arms around her chest and shivered in spite of the warm summer air. Her gaze turned to the parking lot. “My car is gone. It was parked next to that SUV near the ambulance entrance.”

      “Cars are replaceable,” Dakota said. She could have been killed. If he ever got his hands on the thug …

      “Did you know the yellow-bellied bastard?” Jim asked.

      “I’ve never seen the man before, at least not that I remember. A lot of patients come through the E.R.”

      Dakota struggled to get his head around the emotions bucking inside him. In the best of circumstances, running into Viviana so unexpectedly would have been enough to throw him off his game.

      Finally, he let his eyes meet hers. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

      “I am now. I think you may have frightened off the gunman, except that I guess what he really wanted was cash and my car. Now he has both.”

      “Then lucky I made a wrong turn and came in the ambulance entrance,” Jim said.

      Dakota scanned the area again. “Don’t you have security around here?”

      “Yes, but they can’t be everywhere at once.”

      “They could see you to your car when you leave in the wee hours of the morning.”

      “I’ve never had any trouble before. This is normally a safe area.”

      “Security can’t do anything now,” Jim said. “Call the cops. They may be able to find the low-down thief before he clears the area.”

      “My phone is in my purse and I hurled that at the attacker. No doubt he took it with him.”

      “Most likely,” Dakota agreed. “But we’ll check.

      “I’ll take a look,” Jim said.

      “Where are your keys?” Dakota asked.

      “I’m not sure. They may have fallen to the floor of the car, or I may have just dropped them in my panic.”

      Which meant the attacker could have her keys and possibly her purse with her ID. If so, he’d know where she lived.

      Dakota’s muscles clenched. He took his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Viviana.

      Only instead of punching in 911, she made a call to a Detective Harry Cortez. Her conversation with the man was brief and