Why couldn’t she just relax and accept his protection?
But she couldn’t relax around him. The memory of their time together was too potent, the attraction between them still far too dynamic.
She got out of the truck and watched as Dakota removed their daughter from her car seat. The baby dropped her head to his shoulder as if it were natural for this cowboy with a smile that matched her own to be carrying her into the house.
Viviana hurried to unlock the door. She noticed the doll almost at once, at the edge of the walkway next to a flower pot. It wasn’t her daughter’s.
Apprehension made her palms clammy as she stooped to pick it up. The back of the doll’s head had been crushed. Fake blood dripped down the collar of the dress.
She started to slam it back to the walk and spotted a square of paper tucked inside the clothing. As she read it, the words blurred. Her hands began to shake. And then she felt the earth moving beneath her feet and the walkway rushing to her face …
About the Author
JOANNA WAYNE was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from LSU-Shreveport. She moved to New Orleans in 1984, and it was there that she attended her first writing class and joined her first professional writing organisation. Her debut novel, Deep in the Bayou, was published in 1994.
Now, dozens of published books later, Joanna has made a name for herself as being on the cutting edge of romantic suspense in both series and single-title novels. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list for romance and has won many industry awards. She is also a popular speaker at writing organisations and local community functions and has taught creative writing at the University of New Orleans Metropolitan College.
Joanna currently resides in a small community forty miles north of Houston, Texas, with her husband. Though she still has many family and emotional ties to Louisiana, she loves living in the Lone Star State. You may write Joanna at PO Box 852, Montgomery, Texas 77356, USA.
Cowboy Fever
Joanna Wayne
MILLS & BOON
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To our good friends the Mitchells. Always nice to have
you two around to catch a movie with when I need a
break from the computer. And a hug to Wayne
for enduring my deadlines.
Chapter One
Dakota Ledger was back in Texas and the heat was on. Sweat rolled down his back and pooled at his armpits, staining his lucky red Western shirt. The smell of livestock and manure permeated the still air. “All My Ex’s Live in Texas” blared from an aging sound system. The edgy excitement of competition was electric in the stifling June air.
“Gotta love bull riding in San Antonio.”
Dakota turned to the youthful cowboy who was grinning like a puppy with a new bone. “What’s so special about San Antonio?” Dakota asked.
“I qualified for the competition.”
“That’ll do it.”
Dakota didn’t know the rider’s real name, but even though he was relatively new to the Professional Bull Riders Association circuit, he’d already earned a nickname. “Cockroach” stemmed from the way he scurried out of the reach of a bull’s kicking hooves. It was a great talent to have if you wanted to keep living with all parts working.
Cockroach rubbed his palms against his chaps. “This is my first year to compete in PBR-sanctioned events, so I’m a little nervous.”
“The adrenaline will take care of that once you drop onto the bull’s back.”
“I’m counting on that.” Cockroach adjusted his hat. “One day I hope to be the PBRA world champion, just like you were two years ago. A million-dollar purse. I could use that. Not to mention all those endorsements you have.”
“Bull riding’s not about the money.”
“I know.” Cockroach toed the dirt as if putting out a cigarette. “It’s a long, hard ride from the bottom to the top, but I plan to be one of the few who make it.”
“Persistence is a large part of the battle,” Dakota agreed.
“And skill is the rest,” Cockroach said.
“Skill, passion and luck,” Dakota corrected. “You gotta love what you’re doing. And you gotta stay alive to keep doing it.”
Cockroach reached down and adjusted his right spur. “Have you ever been seriously hurt?”
“Never met a bull rider who hasn’t. I’ve had cracked ribs, concussions, a broken right wrist and bruises probably on every inch of my body.”
“Hey, Dakota. Looking good.”
Dakota turned toward the railing that separated the paid attendees from the competitors. A group of young women were leaning over the railing, probably not a one of them over twenty years old. Not that he was all that much older at twenty-five, but he sure felt it.
Still, he tipped his hat and smiled.
“Your friend’s cute, too,” one of the females called.
Cockroach beamed, turned a tad red and tipped his hat to his vocal admirer.
“What’s your favorite rodeo town?” Cockroach asked when he turned back to Dakota.
Dakota nudged his worn Stetson back from his forehead. It damn sure wasn’t San Antonio or any other town within five hundred miles of here, but he wasn’t getting into that.
“Doesn’t really matter where you are. It always comes down to just you, the bull and the clock.”
