Coulda Been a Cowboy. Brenda Novak

to screw up and we get a false positive, we’d be done for. That’s a risk we can’t take.”

      There had to be something they could do. “I know if we check her background, we’ll find she’s no virtuous saint.”

      “Doesn’t matter. Just the claim will drag your reputation through the mud. You’ll lose your endorsements. Strive Athletic Equipment is already acting funny after that newspaper article. I had to send Howard the private investigator’s report that made you decide to take Braden in the first place.”

      “What’d he say?”

      “That he wasn’t happy. And he told me what we already know—with endorsements, the truth doesn’t really matter. It’s the public’s perception of an athlete, that’s all. You can’t be perceived as a womanizer or a jerk or a man who has no kindness for the mother of his baby, no feelings.”

      Just because he refused to wear them on his sleeve didn’t mean he didn’t have them. Rachelle had cut him to the quick. Even Greg didn’t understand how betrayed Tyson felt. “So what’s the bottom line?”

      “We’ve got to stop her.”

      “How? I don’t even know why she’s doing this!”

      “You’re kidding me, right?”

      Tyson jumped to his feet. “She got the money she wanted.”

      “But she didn’t reach her true objective; she wasn’t admitted to your world.”

      Tyson knew Greg would understand that. The man had been trying to fit in since he started agenting. “She expected me to marry her?”

      “I’ll bet that was her fondest dream. Now that she knows she’s not going to get it, she wants the money and the baby.”

      Turning the slats of the wooden blinds to protect his eyes from the glare, Tyson began to pace. “She’s not getting the baby. That’s bullshit.”

      “You’re committed to ‘no’?”

      “To the tune of $1,000,000, remember?”

      “This could cost you your career, Tyson. And that’s worth a lot more than a measly one mil.”

      He gripped the phone that much tighter. “You’re telling me to give the baby back?”

      “Having you step in scared her. She knows we’re watching now. Maybe she’ll take better care of him.”

      Tyson didn’t believe it for a minute. He’d never met anyone more self-serving than Rachelle Rochester, no one more coldly calculating. That she came off so sweet and innocent made her all the more dangerous.

      Even if she took better care of Braden’s physical needs, how would it be to have her for a mother? Tyson had always thought his own mother was too consumed with building her title and escrow company to be a good parent. He’d become nothing more than a painful reminder of the only man she’d ever really loved. This would be worse. Braden would fall second to mere vanity and greed. And Rachelle would use him shamelessly until he turned eighteen.

      Tyson wouldn’t allow it. “Tell her she can go to hell.”

      There was a long pause. Obviously his agent wasn’t happy with his response. “Tyson, with your knee the way it is…”

      “What are you saying, Greg? What does my knee have to do with this?”

      “I’m saying you need to be cautious. You’re not as young as you used to be. I don’t know if you can afford this kind of fight. Maybe it’s better to concede this round.”

      Concede? To a crook and a phony? Never. If there was one thing his mother had taught him, it was to fight when he felt he had to. “Whose side are you on?” he asked and slammed down the phone.

      There was a rattle of plates, and he turned in time to see Dakota hurrying away from the open doorway. She’d obviously been bringing him breakfast—but had changed her mind when she heard him screaming into the receiver.

      Damn. She’d caught him at a vulnerable moment.

      He considered calling her back so he could smooth over his temperamental display. He didn’t want her whispering about him to the locals. Who knew what might leak out? The press would follow him here eventually. The last thing he needed was to do anything that could be interpreted as supporting the terrible things Rachelle was saying about him.

      But he was too angry to pretend he wasn’t.

      Besides, he no longer felt like eating.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      Grandpa Garnier: Never kick a cow chip on a hot day.

      AFTER TYSON’S PHONE CALL, the house fell silent, except for the television, which was tuned to Good Morning America, and an occasional squeal from Braden as he crawled around the living room. While Dakota did the dishes, she wondered what kind of news the man Greg Higgins had delivered to Tyson. Clearly, her employer wasn’t pleased with whatever he’d heard.

      A few minutes later, a creak on the stairs alerted her that he was coming. Then he appeared wearing basketball shorts, a Stingrays T-shirt and tennis shoes.

      He still hadn’t shaved. Maybe he was trying to make himself less recognizable. He obviously didn’t want to draw any attention, or he wouldn’t be staying by himself in a friend’s cabin way out in the boonies.

      “Hungry?” she asked, trying to pretend she hadn’t just tried to bring him a tray.

      “No.” He jerked his head toward the baby. “How’s he doing?”

      “Good. He ate some cereal and mashed banana for breakfast, with a bottle of juice.”

      Braden gave his father a beaming smile. But Tyson, who was already wearing a scowl, didn’t acknowledge it or respond.

      “And what about you?” he asked.

      Dakota had been doing her best to keep her face averted when possible. She knew her lip and the bruise on her cheek looked worse than they would if she’d had the chance to shower and use the cover-up that came in handy when she needed to hide the remnants of her and her father’s fights. “Better,” she said, rinsing off another dish.

      “Let’s see.”

      She kept working. “There’s nothing to see.”

      “Look at me. How bad is it?”

      Again she tried to shrug him off. “It’s fine.”

      He didn’t respond, but he stood in the center of the room watching her—she could feel his attention—so she finally relented and turned.

      His eyes zeroed in on her lip. “Damn, he clipped you pretty good.”

      “It’ll be better tomorrow.”

      “And that bruise on your cheek?”

      “I’ve got something I can put on it. You won’t be able to see it.”

      “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

      What could she say? She was getting used to hiding the worst of her injuries. The cut on her arm still hadn’t healed. She was afraid it was getting infected.

      “I’m going out for a jog,” he said and took a water bottle from the cupboard above the fridge.

      Dakota put another plate in the dishwasher. “It’s about to rain. You might want to run inside. Gabe’s got two different treadmills back there.” The workout room took up as much square footage as the living room, dining room and kitchen combined, and was better equipped than most professional spas. Dakota had already wandered through it, admiring the expensive equipment and imagining how she could look if she had access to that every day.

      “I don’t care about a little rain. Running in