Joanna Wayne - Midnight Rider

“Then we finally agree on something.”

Brit glanced at her watch. “Do you mind if we talk over a sandwich? I haven’t eaten since breakfast and I need some food and decent coffee.”

“Fine by me, as long as I’m not riding to the restaurant in the back of a squad car.”

Her full lips tipped into a slight smile. “Not this trip. There’s an informal restaurant with quick service just around the corner. We can walk.”

“Lead the way.”

Actually he had few hunger pangs growling in his stomach, as well. He’d driven straight through, grabbing snacks for munching when he’d stopped for fuel and bathroom breaks.

Snippets of that night in Marble Falls kicked around in his mind as they walked to the café. He hated that his memories of that night were lost in a whiskey fog. Weird considering he wasn’t even that much of a drinker. A beer or two every now and then. A six-pack on a bad night.

The night in Marble Falls had been far worse than bad.

Right now he figured he wasn’t the only one with questions. And, in spite of Brit’s assurances, he figured he was one wrong answer away from becoming a suspect.

That still didn’t mean she had her facts right about his being Kimmie’s father.

Chapter Five

So this was the rodeo cowboy Sylvie Hamm had found irresistible. Brit had to admit he wasn’t the sort of a man who’d go unnoticed in a bar or most anywhere else.

His skin was tanned. His eyes were penetrating—caramel colored with gold flecks that made them almost hypnotizing when his gaze locked with hers. His hair was a sun-streaked brown, unruly, thick locks falling rakishly over his brow.

He needed a shave, but the rough growth of whiskers only added to his blatant masculinity, as did the angry, skinned blotch on his left cheek.

Worn jeans that fit to perfection, white Western shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. And a sauntering charisma and Texas drawl that left no doubt he was the real deal.

Put that package of screaming virility in a cozy bar with a steamy country ballad for background. A few drinks. A belly-rubbing dance or two. Then a burning kiss that rocked your soul...

Brit swallowed hard and shook the sensual images from her mind. Her relationship with Cannon Dalton was strictly business. She’d been angry with him since the day she’d learned that he was Kimmie’s missing-in-action father.

But he was also the only link to Sylvie. Aggravating him or making him defensive would not help her cause. Sylvie could have said or done something the night they’d been together that would lead Brit to the killer. She also needed enough information to decide if he would be a fit father for Kimmie.

If not, biological rights or not, Brit would do whatever it took to keep him from getting custody of her niece.

That move would be a last resort. Brit knew more about the rodeo than she did about taking care of a baby—and that was absolutely nothing.

“Jodie’s Grill and Deli. Is this the place?” Cannon asked as they approached the green awning that shielded the entrance from the elements.

“Yes. It’s larger than it looks from the outside and mostly a lunch spot, so it shouldn’t be too crowded tonight.”

He hurried ahead to get the door. Their shoulders brushed as she stepped past him. A jolt of unexpected heat surged through her. She stepped away quickly.

What was it about this man that was getting to her?

“Would you like a booth or a table?” the hostess asked when they stepped inside.

“How about that back booth?” Cannon suggested, nodding to one that the busboy was wiping down.

“Certainly, sir.”

“Okay with you, Brit?” he asked after the fact.

She nodded, surprised he’d called her by the shortened version of her first name. Rick was the only male in Homicide who did. To everyone else she was Garner.

It was as if she and Cannon had just skipped a few steps of the introductory stage. Perhaps part of the cowboy way, like his swagger and virility.

They followed the hostess past a cluster of occupied tables to the back corner of the dining area. Brit took the seat that let her see the door. It was a cop thing to always be able to watch and assess what was going on in any situation.

Cannon slid onto the padded bench seat opposite hers and opened his menu. “Any recommendations?” he asked as the hostess walked away.

“Salads are excellent,” Brit said. “My favorite is the Greek salad with a side of hummus and pita bread.”

“You mean for starters?”

“No. They’re large portions.”

“To you, maybe. Show me the beef.”

“In that case I hear their ribs and burgers are great.”

“That’s more like it.”

When the waitress showed up, he ordered the rib platter with two sides and a beer on draft to wash it down.

Brit ordered her usual with coffee.

The waitress returned quickly with their drinks. Cannon took a hefty swig of the beer, wiped his mouth on the white cotton napkin and plunged right into the reason they were there.

“I enjoy a good mystery as much as the next guy, but not when I’m playing a supporting role. So let’s get to the nitty-gritty of this. What makes you think I’m Kimmie’s father?”

“I don’t just think it. I’m reasonably certain. When we searched her apartment after Sylvie’s murder, I found a file that contained a legal document that she’d downloaded from the internet. It wasn’t notarized, but nonetheless, it was still clearly her intent that her written wishes be upheld.”

“And this document mentioned me by name?”

“Yes. It specified that in the case of her death or an injury that left her mentally or physically incapacitated, Cannon Dalton, the biological father of her daughter Kimmie, should be notified that he had a daughter.”

“There must be more than one Cannon Dalton in Texas.”

“Not one whose father owns the Dry Gulch Ranch.”

“She put that in there, too?”

“Yes, either you told her the night she got pregnant or she did some research to make sure Kimmie ended up in the right hands.”

“So you’re just relying on a computer document that anyone could have printed out and Sylvie never mentioned my name to you while she was pregnant?”

“The form was filed with other important papers. I have no reason to believe it was false.”

“Whose baby did you think she was carrying?” A husband’s? A fiancé’s? A current lover’s?

“It’s a very complicated situation, but the truth is I had never met Sylvie. I didn’t even know she existed until she was murdered.”

Brit stirred a packet of sweetener into her coffee and then took a sip before meeting Cannon’s penetrating gaze.

“How is it you didn’t know your twin sister?”

This was getting sticky. She’d rather not delve into her personal life with Cannon. On the other hand, he was Kimmie’s father. She had to tell him something.

Brit explained as succinctly as possible about being called to the morgue, glossing over how intensely disturbing it had been to see what looked like a waxed copy of herself laid out on the metal slab.

“A simple DNA test proved that we were twins,” Brit said, “and that Sylvie was Kimmie’s biological mother. By the time that was verified, I was neck-deep in the murder investigation.”

“That’s tough. I wish I could be more help,” Cannon said, “but this came at me from out of the blue. Right now I’m drawing a blank about that night.”

“I think the appropriate next step for you would be to have DNA testing to determine for certain that you are Kimmie’s father.”

“I agree. Any suggestions as to how to best go about that?”

“We have a lab here in town that handles the overflow from the police department. That would be the quickest bet. I can call now and find out if they can see you in the morning.”