Читать книгу Rock-A-Bye Rancher - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 10

Thirty minutes later Clay and Daniela arrived at Hobby Airport in Houston, where Roger Tolliver, Clay’s pilot, had already filed a flight plan and was waiting to take off. Roger, a retired air force captain with thousands of hours of experience, was doing his final check of the twin-engine King Air, which Clay had purchased from the factory last year.

After parking his truck and unloading their luggage and purchases, Clay removed the baby’s car seat from the box so it would fit in the plane better. Then he juggled it and the heavier items, along with a briefcase, a black canvas gym bag that carried a change of clothing and his shaving gear.

“It’s this way,” Clay told Daniela, who carried her purse, a small brown suitcase and several blue plastic shopping bags, as he headed toward the plane.

The competent young attorney, who’d been leading the way through Spend-Mart and racking up a significant charge on Clay’s American Express, was now taking up the rear. Clay had a feeling it wasn’t the load she was carrying that caused her to lag behind.

He glanced over his shoulder and, shouting over the noise of a red-and-white Cessna that had just landed, asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” She carefully eyed his plane, as well as the salt-and-pepper-haired pilot.

“Don’t tell me you’re skittish about flying,” he said.

“All right. I won’t.”

Great. His traveling companion was a nervous wreck. Maybe, if she felt more confident about the man in charge of the plane, she’d relax.

When they reached the King Air, Clay greeted the pilot. “Roger Tolliver, this is my attorney, Daniela de la Cruz.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” The older man took the bags from her hands.

“As you can see,” Clay told Roger, “we’ve got quite a few things to take along. Daniela reminded me that we’d need supplies for the baby, so we bought out the infant department at Spend-Mart.”

“I had a couple kids of my own, so I know how much paraphernalia is needed.” Roger nodded toward the steps that would make it easy to board the plane. “Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable. I’ll pack this stuff.”

Before long, the hatch was secured, and they were belted in their seats. As they taxied to the runway, Clay couldn’t help but glance at the woman beside him, her face pale and her eyes closed. White-knuckled fingers clutched the armrests of her seat. She sat as still and graceful as a swan ice sculpture on a fancy buffet table. The only sign of movement was near her collarbone, where the beat of her heart pulsed at her throat.

Damn. She really was nervous.

“Daniela,” Clay said over the drone of the engine, thinking he’d make light of it, tease her a bit to get her mind on something else. But when she opened her eyes, her gaze pierced his chest, striking something soft and vulnerable inside. Without warning, the joke slipped away, and compassion—rare that it was—took its place. “Hey. Don’t worry. Roger was flying before you were even born. He’s got a slew of commendations from the air force. He’ll get us to Mexico and back before dinnertime tomorrow.”

“That’s nice to know.” She offered him a shy smile, then slid back into her frozen, sculptured pose.

According to Martin, the senior partner in the firm and Daniela’s boss, she was a bright, capable attorney. But she was clearly not a happy flyer.

Damn. This was going to be a hell of a long trip if she didn’t kick back a little and relax.

Moments later the plane took off, heading for Guadalajara. Once they were airborne, Clay offered her a drink. “It ought to take the edge off your nervousness.”

“I’m not big on alcohol,” she said.

“How about a screwdriver?” he pressed. “Orange juice with just enough vodka to relax you?”

She pondered the idea momentarily. “All right. Maybe I should.”

He got up and made his way to the rear of the plane—just a couple of steps, actually—and fixed her a drink from an ice chest Roger had prepared. He poured himself a scotch and water, too, then returned to his seat. “It’s a pretty day. Take a look out the window.”

She managed a quick peek, but didn’t appear to be impressed.

“How long have you been working for Phillips, Crowley and Norman?” he asked.

“A little over a year.”

He wondered what age that would make her. Pushing into the late twenties, probably. Hell, she wasn’t much older than Trevor would have been. And he suspected she was probably the same studious, bookworm type as his son. College-educated folks usually were.

Clay and his son hadn’t had a damn thing in common—other than a love of flying the King Air and the Bonanza they’d owned before that. And though there’d been a bond of sorts, the two of them had butted heads more times than not.

Maybe if Clay’s old man had stuck around long enough to be a father to him, it might have helped Clay know how to deal with his own son. But Glen Callaghan had been a drifter. Clay’s only other role model had been Rex Billings, a gruff and crusty cattleman who used to hang out at The Hoedown, a seedy bar on the outskirts of Houston where Clay’s mom worked as a waitress. When his mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer, the old cowboy took her and Clay in, letting them live at his place.

Never having a family of his own, Rex hadn’t quite known what to do with a ten-year-old boy, but he’d given it his best shot, teaching Clay how to be tough, how to be a man. There was never any doubt that Rex had come to love Clay, even though the words had never been said. And when Rex died, he left the Rocking B Ranch and everything he owned to the young man who’d become a son to him.

Clay had done his best to turn the cattle ranch into a multimillion dollar venture. And over the past twenty years, that’s exactly what he’d done. He’d become a hell of a businessman. But in the long run, he’d been a crappy dad.

He’d tried his damnedest to teach Trevor the things a boy ought to know, the things Rex had taught Clay: to be tough; to work hard; to suck it up without grumbling.

Trevor used to complain that Clay never had time for him. But hell, if the kid had gotten his nose out of those books he carried around and quit carping about his allergy to alfalfa, they might have gotten along as well as Rex and Clay had.

But that didn’t mean Clay hadn’t tried to reach out to the kid in his own way. He’d suggested a fishing trip when Trevor turned sixteen, but that idea had gone over like a sack of rotten potatoes. He’d also asked Trevor to accompany him to an auction, thinking they could hang out a few days afterward. But for some reason, you’d think Clay had suggested they go to the dentist for a root canal.

Clay wasn’t sure what the boy had expected from him. But instead of having the kind of relationship either of them might have liked, they merely passed each other in the hall.

Of course, he’d meant to remedy that when Trevor got a little older—and a little wiser—hoping that after his son graduated from college, they’d find some common ground. He’d kept telling himself that things would be better between them—one of these days.

But one of these days came and went.

Clay tried to tell himself he hadn’t failed completely. He’d tried to make up for things in other ways, like buying Trevor a state-of-the-art computer system, paying for out-of-state tuition and allowing him to go on that international study abroad program that landed him in Guadalajara, where he died.

And there it went again. Full circle.

Thoughts of Trevor led to thoughts of his shortcomings as a father and the load of guilt he carried for not doing something about it—whatever that might have been—when he’d had the chance. He did the best he could to shove the feelings aside, as Rex had taught him, forcing them to the dark pit in his chest.

What was done was done.

Clay may have failed Trevor, but he wasn’t going to let his granddaughter down—assuming the baby was a Callaghan. So he looked out the window, focused his gaze straight ahead. Shoved those feelings down deep, where they belonged.

Thirty minutes or more into the flight, Daniela had managed to finish her vodka-laced juice and had seemed to relax a bit—until they hit an air pocket. Then she paled.

“Sorry about that.” Roger glanced over his shoulder and caught Clay’s eye. “Better fasten your seat belts, folks. It’s going to be bumpy for a while.”

The pilot nodded toward the windshield at the dark gray sky ahead. Roger planned to fly around the storm. And he’d warned Clay earlier that it would be a bumpy flight, although there was no reason to suggest they would be taking any unnecessary chances. Clay was, however, determined to get the baby out of Mexico and back to the States as quickly as he could, so he would have agreed to any risk Roger was willing to make. Still, he hated seeing Daniela so uneasy.

Under normal circumstances, with any other attorney, he would have been annoyed. But there was something about Daniela that made her different. And it wasn’t just her gender and her youthful beauty.

Okay, maybe it was.

Clay had never been one to chase after younger women. He preferred someone with maturity, someone who wasn’t interested in settling down.

Hell, he’d never even married his son’s mother. He and Sally had met at the feed lot and had a brief but heated affair. There hadn’t been much emotion involved. Of course, there never was on Clay’s part, and he always managed to find a lover with the same no-strings philosophy. Sally hadn’t seen any reason to get married, either, which was a relief.

As the plane hit another rough spot, he stole a glance at his traveling companion. Distress clouded her expression, the contradiction of competent attorney and frightened passenger intriguing him. Hell, he couldn’t sit idly by and watch her come apart at the seams—no matter how much he enjoyed looking at her.

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Roger said.

The plane bounced again, causing Daniela to nearly drop her drink.

“Finish it,” Clay told her, and she quickly obliged. He wondered if she assumed his order had been due to safety reasons, but it didn’t matter. He was just hoping she’d consume enough alcohol to feel more at ease. So far, it didn’t seem to be working.

The next time the plane dipped, she reached across the aisle and grabbed his hand, gripping him tightly.

Her touch, as well as her vulnerability, struck an unfamiliar chord in him, and he found himself stroking the top of her wrist with his thumb, comforting her much the way he would a skittish filly.

“That should be the worst of it,” Roger announced.

Yet Daniela didn’t let go.

Her hand was small, her nails unpolished and filed neatly, her skin soft. Yet her grip was strong.

Clay had half a notion to draw her close, to offer her more than a hand to hold.

Now where the hell had that wild-ass thought come from?

Clay had never been one to mess with the touchy-feely stuff. And the fact that he’d let down his guard and nearly done so, didn’t sit well with him. So he did the only thing he could think of. He offered her another drink.

Interestingly enough, she agreed without much hesitation.

“A little turbulence is no big deal,” Clay told her. “Really. Think of this as a car going along a bumpy road.”

Yeah, right, Dani thought.

When it came to aerodynamics, that was probably true. But it felt as though there were only clouds holding them up, and the waters of the gulf below were waiting to swallow them whole. That is, unless they’d already crossed over the Mexican border, in which case…

Oh, for Pete’s sake. Her fear of flying was as real as it was embarrassing.

She knew what Clay was doing. He was trying to make her feel better, and she appreciated his efforts.

“I don’t suppose we have to let Martin know about this, do we?” She took a sip of her drink, expecting to scrunch her face at the taste of the vodka and force herself to swallow. But this second screwdriver tasted better and seemed to be going down a lot easier than the first.

“Let Martin know about what?” the rugged rancher asked as if he hadn’t picked up on her distress.

“I had a bad experience a few years ago,” she admitted. “We almost crashed. Once we got back on the ground, I swore I’d never get in a plane again, at least not a small one.”

He took a swig of his scotch, then nodded at her glass. “Drink up. Then let’s share battle stories.”

“You had a frightening experience, too?” she asked.

“More than my share—on the land, air and sea. But I’ve always lived to tell about them.”

She took another big swallow, then decided to reveal her one-and-only adventure first. “When I was in college, some friends invited me to ski with them in Vail. Between them, they loaned me all the gear, and one of our classmates had a private plane and a brand-new pilot’s license.”

The memory alone was enough to bring on a shudder, but talking about it seemed to help, making her realize this trip wasn’t anywhere near as awful. Not yet, anyway.

“College students on their way to a party and a spanking-new pilot,” Clay said, sizing up her experience. “That sounds like a bad mix to me.”

“We weren’t going to a party,” Dani corrected.

She’d always been too responsible for that, too diligent with her studies to play. But it had been winter break, and she’d always wanted to know what the fuss was about snow skiing.

“So what happened?” Clay sat back in his seat, his legs extended, a long, lean cowboy completely at ease. His calm demeanor was reassuring, his presence comforting. As were the two drinks he’d fixed her.

So she settled, somewhat, into her seat. “The sky darkened, and lightning bolts shot all around us. The thunder was incredibly loud, and the turbulence was terrifying. We bounced around like a splatter of water on a hot griddle, and after what seemed like forever, we finally landed in Denver.”

“See?” he said, taking another drink, chunks of ice clinking against the glass. “You came out all right.”

“Yes, but I also left my friends in Colorado, purchased a bus ticket and went home before the weekend got underway.”

Without asking, Clay fixed them each another drink. Dani should have politely declined, but took it from him anyway. To be honest, the taste wasn’t so bad anymore. And the intoxicating effect had numbed her nerves to a tolerable level. Of course, the plane was also traveling smoothly now—or relatively, she supposed.

By the time she’d downed her third drink, she decided Clay Callaghan was not only a handsome older man, but he was also the nicest guy she’d ever met. He was very quiet, a great listener.

Or maybe the alcohol had loosened her tongue. Either way, she found herself babbling about one thing or another. After she’d told him about how hard she’d worked to pass Chemistry 103, Clay paused a beat, considering her.

“So you were the studious sort.” A slow grin deepened the lines around his eyes—green, with flecks of gold that glimmered—and brought out an interesting pair of dimples. “I thought all college kids liked to party.”

“Not me. I was practically born responsible. I had to be.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “My mom was a lot younger than my dad. I guess you could say she was flighty and irresponsible. When I was in kindergarten, she left us, so Dad and I had to fend for ourselves. Even as a five-year-old, I tried to do everything I could to make things easier for him. For us, actually.”

“At the age of five? That’s a mighty big chore for a little girl.”

“It wasn’t so bad. I helped with laundry and cooking. By the time I was ten, I could fix a hearty meal.”

“So the attorney is a whiz in the kitchen, as well as the courtroom.”

“If you like Mexican food.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, I can fix a pretty decent casserole, as long as I have a box and all the fixings.” She tossed him a smile.

His lips quirked as though he found her entertaining, and it warmed her heart. It warmed her cheeks, too.

In fact, it was getting hot in here.

“Whew.” She fanned herself with both hands.

Clay chuckled as though he wasn’t at all bothered by the temperature or by her attempts to cool off. “Well, now that you’re a high-priced attorney, you ought to be able to hire a chef.”

“Yeah, right.” She took off her jacket and laid it on an empty seat. Then she kicked off her shoes and rubbed her bare feet along the carpeting. “With three kids to raise and student loans to repay?”

“You’ve got three kids?” His voice rose an octave and a decibel level, bearing evidence of his surprise. As his gaze roamed over her, it seemed to peel away her clothes, as well as her facade.

But for some reason she didn’t care. In fact, she felt compelled to confide in him. “I’m not their birth mother, if that’s what you think. My dad remarried when I was ten. And my stepmom wanted a family of her own. So pretty soon the babies started coming, and I helped out with them, too.”

“You sure took on a lot of responsibility in your family.” His voice returned to normal, that deep, graveled drawl that seemed to suit him so well. A pleasurable sound a woman could get used to. “When did you manage to find time to study?”

“In the late evenings, when the house was quiet.” She smiled. “But it wasn’t that bad. Academics came easy for me and I did very well in high school. College, too. I even received a partial scholarship to Rice University.”

“I bet your family was proud.”

“They were. My dad and stepmom were struggling financially, but they managed to supplement the scholarship. They only asked that I provide financial assistance for the younger children’s college education.”

“Sort of a pay it forward thing, huh?”

“Well, that was the idea.”

The agreement they’d made had fostered her desire to excel first in school, then in her profession—and quickly. But she hadn’t counted on the unexpected. “During my first year of law school, my stepmom died in a car accident, and I nearly dropped out. My younger brother and sisters needed me. And so did my dad.”

“Obviously, you didn’t quit.”

“No. Somehow, I managed to make it through. Believe it or not, having a goal on which to focus made it easier to deal with the grief.”

“No one understands that more than I do,” Clay said. “You’re a strong young woman, Daniela.”

She leaned forward. “You think so?” Then she blew out a sigh, along with all the secrets she kept shoved into the bottom or her heart. “It’s been a struggle sometimes. Especially after my dad died.”

“That’s too bad.” His concern was touching, and the sound of his voice was growing on her moment by moment. It was nice. Rough yet soft. Sympathetic and supportive.

“Did your father pass away recently?” he asked.

“Yes, last year. He was fishing with some friends in the gulf and was killed in a freak boating accident.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the rugged, sexy drawl a balm.

“That’s okay. I’m doing fine. Really.” Yet tears welled in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but they soon overflowed and slid down her cheeks. She swiped at them, struggling to keep up with the flow.

“Darn it. I don’t understand why this is happening. I haven’t cried in a long time and can’t understand why I’m so weepy and emotional now.” She sought his gaze, hoping he wouldn’t hold her display of tears against her.

“Tell me about the kids,” he said, as though maneuvering around the subject.

“They’re a handful. Sara, my fourteen-year-old sister, constantly complains about having to help me keep an eye on the others. And Marcos, who is ten, never fails to let me know what a pain it is to be the only boy in a family full of girls. Little Delia, who truly is a sweetheart, cries at the drop of the hat.”

“That’s gotta be tough.”

“It is. And I’m doing a poor job of it.” Dani blew out a weary sigh. “I love them. I really do. But it’s tough trying to support them, both emotionally and financially, by myself.”

He didn’t respond, but she sensed his understanding, his sympathy.

She reached across the aisle, placing her hand on his muscular forearm. “But don’t feel sorry for me. I’m going to make a name for myself at Phillips, Crowley and Norman.”

“I bet you will.”

“Do you know what?”

He shook his head no.

“Martin and everyone else at the firm think I’m a single, career-minded woman with no other responsibilities but my job.” So far she’d had them all fooled. But she feared her secret wouldn’t last long.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said.

“I try not to be.” But if truth be told, sometimes, late at night, when the kids finally went to bed and the house was quiet, seeds of resentment sprouted—when she let them. She was forced to admit to herself that the responsibility she’d inherited was overwhelming.

She opened her mouth to reveal that to Clay, as well, but for some reason, she clamped her jaw shut. Something told her she might have said too much already.

What all had she told him?

Clay glanced at his watch. “We ought to be getting pretty close to Guadalajara now.”

Dani peered out the window. Oh, wow. It was really dark outside.

“How much longer will it be?” Clay asked Roger.

“See those lights ahead?” the pilot asked. “We’ll be landing in about fifteen minutes. Are you planning to go to the church tonight?”

“No,” Clay said. “From what I’ve been told, the road to the village isn’t that easy to find in the daylight. So we’ll get a couple of hotel rooms. Then we’ll hire a driver to take us at the crack of dawn.”

What a day this had proven to be, Dani thought. She’d flown to Mexico and was going to a hotel to spend the night with a client.

Well, not exactly with him…

She stole a glance at Clay, marveling at his chiseled features, the commanding way he had about him. Earlier today she’d thought him brooding and dark, but that was before she’d gotten to know him.

When she’d first met him, she decided that, for an older man, he was attractive, but now she was beginning to see that age had nothing to do with it.

Clay Callaghan was a hunk, plain and simple.

The plane veered a bit to the right, then the left, as it descended, and a wave of dizziness struck with a vengeance. Her tummy turned inside out.

Whew.

Thank goodness they wouldn’t be going after the baby tonight.

Dani wasn’t feeling very well, but if her luck held, no one would be the wiser.