Kentucky Confidential (18 page)

He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Risa tried to relax, her body aching with overall weariness, beyond the physical ordeal of giving birth. She knew she was probably being overly anxious—the hospital was one of the best in the state, and everyone she’d talked to during her labor had assured her there was ample security in the neonatal unit as well as the nursery.

Connor was back a minute later. “Quinn is here.”

Risa frowned. “Why aren’t you with the baby?”

“They wouldn’t let me go into the neonatal unit, but Quinn brought Eric Brannon, so he suited up and went to stand guard. He has a license to practice medicine in Kentucky, so it’s sort of a professional courtesy thing, apparently.”

“Are you sure we can trust him?”

“Maddox Heller says yes, and I trust Heller.”

She caught Connor’s hand, tugging it up to her chest. “And I trust you.”

Connor pulled up a chair and sat by the bed, leaning closer. “I love you.”

“I love you.” She touched his face, relished the rasp of his beard growth against her fingers. “We have a daughter.”

His smile was like sunlight. “We do.”

“What do you want to name her?”

“I haven’t given it much thought,” he admitted with a soft chuckle. “I didn’t know I was going to be a father until a few days ago, and I was a little preoccupied with other issues.”

“I have to admit, I really thought she was going to be a boy.” She sighed. “So most of my best name ideas were boy names.”

“We could name her after your mother.”

She made a face. “Nazina? My mother doesn’t even like her name that much.”

“My mother?”

“You know I love Shirley, but...”

Connor grinned. “It’s a little dated.”

“One of the boy names I liked was Kyle,” she said, stifling a yawn. “Maybe we could feminize it. How does Kylie sound?”

He tried it out. “Kylie McGinnis.”

“Flows well.”

He smiled. “It does. Kylie Parisa McGinnis.”

Risa wrinkled her nose. “We’ll work on the middle name.”

He bent and kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep. Kylie will be back in here, looking for an early breakfast before you know it.”

Sinking a little deeper into her pillows, Risa closed her eyes and dreamed.

Epilogue

Christmas morning came complete with a light dusting of snow outside the Sunset Lodges cabin where Connor and Risa had returned after she and tiny Kylie were released from the hospital. She’d given two hours of testimony by video feed from the Meade Motor Inn to Senator Blackledge’s panel shortly after she and the baby had been cleared to leave the hospital, then joined a convoy of both Cooper Security and Campbell Cove Security Services agents back to the mountain cabin still booked through New Year’s Eve.

“Your apartment isn’t set up for a new baby,” Maddox had told Connor when he bundled them into the Durango for the trip back to Sunset Mountain. “Iris is going to go shopping for the things you’ll need back home. I think Evie Cooper’s got you covered until New Year’s Eve at the cabin. Just relax. Enjoy Christmas with your family.”

By family, it turned out, Maddox had meant more than just Risa and their newborn. Connor’s parents as well as Risa’s were waiting for them at the cabin. Nazina and Benton DeVille were in tears at their first sight of the daughter they thought they’d lost, but it didn’t take long for them to transfer a large chunk of their joy to their introduction to their first grandchild.

The past few days had been chaotic, if full of joy, but Connor was happy that he and little Kylie were the first ones up on Christmas morning.

He soothed the mewling infant as he carried her into the large living room, where the first glow of sunrise tinted the eastern sky. The Coopers had gifted them with more than just the baby gear they needed for Kylie while they were staying in the cabin. They’d also trimmed the tree with small, sparkling lights that glowed like stars in the gray morning light when he flicked the power switch.

“I don’t think you can see the twinkles yet, baby girl, but one day, when you see a big tree like this, decorated with lights and garland, you’re going to be overcome with happiness.” He kissed the fuzzy crown of her head. “And greed. But we’ll deal with that when it happens.”

“Life lessons with Daddy?” Risa’s raspy voice made him turn toward the doorway, where he found her mussed and sleepy-eyed, leaning against the wooden frame.

“Something like that.” He watched with sympathy as she hobbled toward him, still a little sore from the birth. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Yeah, I got some. You?”

“Some.” He rubbed his cheek against Kylie’s head. “I guess it’s Mommy time, baby girl. She’s the one with the milk.”

Risa settled in the padded rocking chair near the window and reached for Kylie. Connor handed her over and perched on the window seat beside the rocker while she unbuttoned the front of her nightshirt and guided Kylie to her breast.

With greedy grunts, the baby began to feed, and Risa lifted her gaze to Connor’s. “I’m trying really hard to relax, but it’s difficult to shake the feeling that I need to be running and hiding.”

“I know. You’ve been at it a long time. But everyone we talked to agreed that you should be safe, now that you’ve given your testimony. And Campbell Cove Security is going to give us protection for a few weeks, just to be sure.”

“I wonder if my testimony is enough to stop whatever Garrett Leland and his cohort were planning for Kaziristan.” Risa frowned. “Every time things seem to be going the way of the democratic reformers, something always happens to set them back.”

“Rebecca Cameron told me she’s going to be heading a task force at Campbell Cove Security to look a little deeper into what happened with Akwat. She asked me if I thought you’d like to be part of that task force.”

“You mean work for them?”

“It’s a good place to work. We’re doing important things there.”

She looked down at Kylie. “I can’t make that decision right now. All I can think about is our little family.”

“There’s time.”

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears. “I’m really happy our families are here to share this Christmas with us, but I sort of wish it was just us. We have so much to talk through.”

He didn’t pretend he didn’t know what she meant. “You know, I think we could get ourselves tangled up in all the mistakes and all the choices we made, right or wrong. We could turn this whole thing into a bigger mess without much trouble.”

Risa made a face. “I don’t want that.”

“So let’s not. I just need to know one thing. Do you love me?”

She touched his hand where it lay on his knee. “God, yes.”

“And I love you.”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “I know.”

“We want to be together as a family. You, me, Kylie and whatever children we might have in the future, yes?”

She smiled, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Yes.”

“Then let’s make it happen. Whatever it takes.” He leaned over and kissed her, then brushed his lips across Kylie’s head. “It’s always been how we do things, isn’t it?”

She touched his face, her fingers soft but strong. “Yes.” Then she pulled him toward her for a longer, deeper kiss.

The sound of stirring down the hall filtered through Connor’s haze of happiness. The rumble of his father’s voice made him smile and groan at the same time. “Grandparent alert.”

Risa laughed softly. “Don’t complain. We might be glad to have them hovering around once the sleep deprivation starts to kick in.”

Giving Risa one more swift kiss, Connor turned to wish his parents happy Christmas.

The best Christmas ever.

* * * * *

Campbell Cove Academy is just heating up!

Look for THE GIRL WHO CRIED MURDER,
the newest book in award-winning author
Paula Graves’s miniseries
CAMPBELL COVE ACADEMY
,
available
next month.

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Every cowboy has a wild side—
all it takes is the right woman to unleash it...

Keep reading for a sneak peek of

BLAME IT ON THE COWBOY
,

part of
USA TODAY
bestselling author
Delores Fossen’s miniseries

THE McCORD BROTHERS.

Available in October 2016
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Blame It on the Cowboy

by Delores Fossen

L
IARS
AND
CLOWNS
.
Logan had seen both tonight. The liar was a woman who he thought loved him. Helene. And the clown, well... Logan wasn’t sure he could process that image just yet.

Maybe after lots of booze though.

He hadn’t been drunk since his twenty-first birthday, nearly thirteen years ago. But he was about to remedy that now. He motioned for the bartender to set him up another pair of Glenlivet shots.

His phone buzzed again, indicating another call had just gone to voice mail. One of his siblings no doubt wanting to make sure he was all right. He wasn’t. But talking to them about it wouldn’t help, and Logan didn’t want anyone he knew to see or hear him like this.

It was possible there’d be some slurring involved. Puking, too.

He’d never been sure what to call Helene. His longtime girlfriend?
Girlfriend
seemed too high school. So, he’d toyed with thinking of her as his future fiancée. Or in social situations—she was his business associate who often ran his marketing campaigns. But tonight Logan wasn’t calling her any of those things. As far as he was concerned, he never wanted to think of her, her name or what to call her again.

Too bad that image of her was stuck in his head, but that was where he was hoping generous amounts of single-malt scotch would help.

Even though Riley, Claire, Lucky and Cassie wouldn’t breathe a word about this, it would still get around town. Lucky wasn’t sure how, but gossip seemed to defy the time-space continuum in Spring Hill. People would soon know, if they didn’t already, and those same people wouldn’t look at him the same again. It would hurt business.

Hell. It hurt
him
.

That was why he was here in this hotel bar in San Antonio. It was only thirty miles from Spring Hill, but tonight he hoped it’d be far enough away that no one he knew would see him get drunk. Then he could stagger to his room and then puke in peace. Not that he was looking forward to the puking part, but it would give him something else to think about other than
her
.

It was his first time in this hotel, though he stayed in San Antonio often on business. Logan hadn’t wanted to risk running into anyone he knew, and he certainly wouldn’t at this trendy “boutique” place. Not with a name like the Purple Cactus and its vegan restaurant.

If the staff found out he was a cattle broker, he might be booted out. Or forced to eat tofu. That was the reason Logan had used cash when he checked in. No sense risking someone recognizing his name from his credit card.

The clerk had seemed to doubt him when Logan had told him that his ID and credit cards had been stolen and that was why he couldn’t produce anything with his name on it. Of course, when Logan had slipped the guy an extra hundred-dollar bill, it had caused that doubt to disappear.

“Drinking your troubles away?” a woman asked.

“Trying.”

Though he wasn’t drunk enough that he couldn’t see what was waiting for him at the end of this. A hangover, a missed 8:00 a.m. meeting, his family worried about him—the puking—and it wouldn’t fix anything other than to give him a couple hours of mind-numbing solace.

At the moment though, mind-numbing solace, even if it was temporary, seemed like a good trade-off.

“Me, too,” she said. “Drinking my troubles away.”

Judging from the sultry tone in her voice, Logan first thought she might be a prostitute, but then he got a look at her.

Nope. Not a pro.

Or if she was, she’d done nothing to market herself as such. No low-cut dress to show her cleavage. She had on a T-shirt with cartoon turtles on the front, a baggy white skirt and flip-flops. It looked as if she’d grabbed the first items of clothing she could find off a very cluttered floor of her very cluttered apartment.

Logan wasn’t into clutter.

And he’d thought Helene wasn’t, either. He’d been wrong about that, too. That antique desk of hers had been plenty cluttered with a clown’s bare ass.

“Mind if I join you?” Miss Turtle-Shirt said. “I’m having sort of a private going-away party.”

She waited until Logan mumbled “suit yourself,” and she slid onto the purple bar stool next to him.

She smelled like limes.

Her hair was varying shades of pink and looked as if it’d been cut with a weed whacker. It was already messy, but apparently it wasn’t messy enough for her because she dragged her hand through it, pushing it away from her face.

“Tequila, top-shelf. Four shots and a bowl of lime slices,” she told the bartender.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only person in San Antonio with plans to get drunk tonight. And it explained the lime scent. These clearly weren’t her first shots of the night.

“Do me a favor though,” she said to Logan after he downed his next drink. “Don’t ask my name, or anything personal about me, and I’ll do the same for you.”

Logan had probably never agreed to anything so fast in all his life. For one thing, he really didn’t want to spend time talking with this woman, and he especially didn’t want to talk about what’d happened.

“If you feel the need to call me something, go with Julia,” she added.

The name definitely wasn’t a fit. He was expecting something more like Apple or Sunshine. Still, he didn’t care what she called herself. Didn’t care what her real name was, either, and he cared even less after his next shot of Glenlivet.

“So, you’re a cowboy, huh?” she asked.

The mind-numbing hadn’t kicked in yet, but the orneriness had. “That’s personal.”

She shrugged. “Not really. You’re wearing a cowboy hat, cowboy boots and jeans. It was more of an observation than a question.”

“The clothes could be fashion statements,” he pointed out.

Julia
shook her head, downed the first shot of tequila, sucked on a lime slice. Made a face and shuddered. “You’re not the kind of man to make fashion statements.”

If he hadn’t had a little buzz going on, he might have been insulted by that. “Unlike you?”

She glanced down at her clothes as if seeing them for the first time. Or maybe she was just trying to focus because the tequila had already gone to her head. “This was the first thing I grabbed off my floor.”

Bingo. If that was her first grab, there was no telling how bad things were beneath it.

Julia tossed back her second shot. “Have you ever found out something that changed your whole life?” she asked.

“Yeah.” About four hours ago.

“Me, too. Without giving specifics, because that would be personal, did it make you feel as if fate were taking a leak on your head?”

“Five leaks,” he grumbled. Logan finished off his next shot.

Julia made a sound of agreement. “I would compare yours with mine, and I’d win, but I don’t want to go there. Instead, let’s play a drinking game.”

“Let’s not,” he argued. “And in a fate-pissing comparison, I don’t think you’d win.”

Julia made a sound of disagreement. Had another shot. Grimaced and shuddered again. “So, the game is a word association,” she continued as if he’d agreed. “I say a word, you say the first thing that comes to mind. We take turns until we’re too drunk to understand what the other one is saying.”

Until she’d added that last part, Logan had been about to get up and move to a different spot. But hell, he was getting drunk anyway, and at least this way he’d have some company. Company he’d never see again. Company he might not even be able to speak to if the slurring went up a notch.

“Dream?” she threw out there.

“Family.” That earned him a sound of approval from her, and she motioned for him to take his turn. “Surprise?”

“Crappy,” Julia said without hesitation.

Now it was Logan who made a grunt of approval. Surprises could indeed be crap-related. The one he’d gotten tonight certainly had been.

Her: “Tattoos?”

Him: “None.” Then, “You?”

Her: “Two.” Then, “Bucket list?”

Him: “That’s two words.” The orneriness was still there despite the buzz.

Her: “Just bucket, then?”

Too late. Logan’s fuzzy mind was already fixed on the bucket list. He had one all right. Or rather he’d had one. A life with Helene that included all the trimmings, and this stupid game was a reminder that the Glenlivet wasn’t working nearly fast enough. So, he had another shot.

Julia had one as well. “Sex?” she said.

Logan shook his head. “I don’t want to play this game anymore.”

When she didn’t respond, Logan looked at her. Their eyes met. Eyes that were already slightly unfocused.

Julia took the paper sleeve with her room key from her pocket. Except there were two keys, and she slid one Logan’s way.

“It’s not the game,” she explained. “I’m offering you sex with me. No names. No strings attached. Just one night, and we’ll never tell another soul about it.”

She finished off her last tequila shot, shuddered and stood. “Are you game?”

No way, and Logan would have probably said that to her if she hadn’t leaned in and kissed him.

Maybe it was the weird combination of her tequila and his scotch, or maybe it was because he was already drunker than he thought, but Logan felt himself moving right into that kiss.

* * *

L
OGAN
DREAMED
,
AND
it wasn’t about the great sex he’d just had. It was another dream that wasn’t so pleasant. The night of his parents’ car accident. Some dreams were a mishmash of reality and stuff that didn’t make sense. But this dream always got it right.

Not a good thing.

It was like being trapped on a well-oiled hamster wheel, seeing the same thing come up over and over again and not being able to do a thing to stop it.

The dream rain felt and sounded so real. Just like that night. It was coming down so hard that the moment his truck wipers swished it away, the drops covered the windshield again. That was why it’d taken him so long to see the lights, and Logan was practically right on the scene of the wreck before he could fully brake. He went into a skid, costing him precious seconds. If he’d had those seconds, he could have called the ambulance sooner.

He could have saved them.

But he hadn’t then. And he didn’t now in the dream.

Logan chased away the images, and with his head still groggy, he did what he always did after the nightmare. He rewrote it. He got to his parents and stopped them from dying.

Every time except when it really mattered, Logan saved them.

* * *

L
OGAN
WISHED
HE
could shoot out the sun. It was creating lines of light on each side of the curtains, and those lines were somehow managing to stab through his closed eyelids. That was probably because every nerve in his head and especially his eyelids were screaming at him, and anything—including the earth’s rotation—added to his pain.

He wanted to ask himself:
What the hell have you done?

But he knew. He’d had sex with a woman he didn’t know. A woman who wore turtle T-shirts and had tattoos. He’d learned one of the tattoos, a rose, was on Julia’s right breast. The other was on her lower stomach. Those were the things Logan could actually remember.

That, and the sex.

Not mind-numbing but rather more mind-blowing. Julia clearly didn’t have any trouble being wild and spontaneous in bed. It was as if she’d just studied a sex manual and wanted to try every position. Thankfully, despite the scotch, Logan had been able to keep up—literally.

Not so much now though.

If the fire alarm had gone off and the flames had been burning his ass, he wasn’t sure he would be able to move. Julia didn’t have that problem though. He felt the mattress shift when she got up. Since it was possible she was about to rob him, Logan figured he should at least see if she was going after his wallet, wherever the heck it was. But if she robbed him, he deserved it. His life was on the fast track to hell, and he’d been the one to put it in the handbasket.

At least he hadn’t been so drunk that he’d forgotten to use condoms. Condoms that Julia had provided, so obviously she’d been ready for this sort of thing.

Logan heard some more stirring around, and this time the movement was very close to him. Just in case Julia turned out to be a serial killer, he decided to risk opening one eye. And he nearly jolted at the big green eyeball staring back at him. Except it wasn’t a human eye. It was on her turtle shirt.

If Julia felt the jolt or saw his one eye opening, she didn’t say anything about it. She gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, moved away, turning her back to him, and Logan watched as she stooped down and picked up his jacket. So, not a serial killer but rather just a thief after all. But she didn’t take anything out.

She put something
in
the pocket.

Logan couldn’t tell what it was exactly. Maybe her number. Which he would toss first chance he got. But if so, he couldn’t figure out why she just hadn’t left it on the bed.

Julia picked up her purse, hooking it over her shoulder, and without even glancing back at him, she walked out the door. Strange, since this was her room. Maybe she was headed out to get them some coffee. If so, that was his cue to dress and get the devil out of there before she came back.

Easier said than done.

His hair hurt.

He could feel every strand of it on his head. His eyelashes, too. Still, Logan forced himself from the bed, only to realize the soles of his feet hurt as well. It was hard to identify something on him that didn’t hurt, so he quit naming parts and put on his boxers and jeans. Then he had a look at what Julia had put in his pocket next to the box with the engagement ring.

A gold watch.

Not a modern one. It was old with a snap-up top that had a crest design on it. The initials BWS had been engraved in the center of the crest.

The inside looked just as expensive as the gold case except for the fact that the watch face crystal inside was shattered. Even though he knew little about antiques, Logan figured it was worth at least a couple hundred dollars.