Читать книгу Rock-A-Bye Rancher - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 9

Daniela de la Cruz sat in her seventh-floor office in Houston, Texas, gripping the telephone until her knuckles ached.

“It’s not fair,” her fourteen-year-old sister complained to her over the phone. “I hate being cooped up in the house, babysitting, when all my friends have the whole summer to do whatever they want and have fun.”

Life isn’t fair, Dani wanted to snap back. Deal with it, Sara. I’ve had to.

At twenty-five, Dani was the youngest and newest associate of Phillips, Crowley and Norman, and she was working her tail off to build a career and make a name for herself. On the outside, it appeared as though the sky was the limit in terms of her upward mobility. But that wasn’t the case. Most attorneys in her position didn’t have to balance home and career the way she did.

“Marcos!” Sara shrieked at her brother, obviously not covering the mouthpiece. “Put that down. You’re going to break the lamp.”

Dani pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping to ward off the headache that began the moment Sara called. “What’s your brother doing?”

“He’s swinging a baseball bat in the house,” Sara said. “And he better take it outside right now, or I’m going to scream.”

“Sara’s mean,” the ten-year-old boy shouted in the background. “I hate being stuck with a couple of dumb girls.”

“I’m not dumb,” little Delia said loud enough to be heard through the receiver.

If Dani wasn’t at work and trying desperately to keep her turbulent home situation a secret, she’d pitch a fit that would rival any of Sara’s.

Couldn’t the teenager understand that Dani was trying her best to keep the kids fed, clothed and safe? Didn’t she understand that they all had to pull together?

Dani’s frustration level was at an all-time high, and she was beginning to feel inept when it came to solving the domestic disputes that were popping up regularly, now that it was summer and the kids were out of school.

Before she could respond to her squabbling brood, the intercom buzzed.

“Hang on,” she told her sister.

As the teenager continued to object to the unfairness of life, Dani silenced her with the punch of the hold button. Then she tried to morph into the career-minded attorney she’d professed to be during the job-interview process and connected with the senior partner who wanted to talk to her.

“Yes, Martin.”

“Daniela, can you please come into my office?”

“Certainly. I’ll just be a moment.” She switched lines, reconnecting with her teenage sister, who was still in mid-rant and hadn’t realized she’d been on hold.

“…and all my friends are going to the mall. But oh, no. Not me. I’m stuck here at the house babysitting a bunch of juvenile ingrates.”

Dani slowly shook her head and blew out an exasperated sigh. If anyone could relate to Sara’s complaints, it was Dani, who’d begun looking after her younger brother and sisters after her stepmother died. When her father passed away nearly two years ago, she’d really had to step up to the plate, accepting the role of single parent. There’d never been a question about what to do with the children. She’d taken custody and tried her best to make a home for them. Her only problem had come in learning how to balance it all.

Dani had been in her third year of law school and had almost dropped out to put the family back together again, but a professor had talked her out of it.

Somehow she’d pulled it off and had passed the bar.

She loved the kids, but now that she was on a partnership track, parenting them was proving to be more difficult each day.

“Listen,” she told her sister. “I’ll see what I can do about lining up someone to help with child care this summer. But right now, I need you to hang in there with me. I can’t come home and settle things in person, but I’ll try and leave work early today. Maybe I can take Marcos and Delia to dinner and a movie. Then you can have some time with your friends, okay? It’s the best that I can do.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about Marcos right now?” Sara asked. “He’s driving me crazy with that baseball bat.”

“Let me talk to him.”

When her ten-year-old brother answered the telephone, his aggravation came out loud and clear in the tone of his voice.

“Listen up,” Dani said, proceeding to make a deal with him to take him out this evening if he behaved himself.

Enthusiasm chased away his frustration. “Okay, I’ll go outside and play. But can we see Revenge of the Zombies?”

“That’s not a movie I want Delia to see,” Dani said. Actually, she didn’t want Marcos to see it, either. And God knew she didn’t want to sit through it.

“But the deal is off if we have to see one of those dumb princess cartoons,” he said.

Dani hated negotiating with a ten-year-old, but time and her options were running out. “I’ll find something we’ll all enjoy. Now take that bat outside and stop harassing the girls.”

“All right.”

When the line disconnected, Dani blew out an exaggerated sigh. She may have settled the dispute, at least temporarily, but she had a feeling there would be another crisis on the home front before the day was done.

She stood, tugged at her skirt, checked to see that her blouse was tucked in, then adjusted her jacket.

One of these days she feared the transformation from frenzied guardian to competent professional would fail and she’d be exposed as the phony she was—at least when it came to running a household.

For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to be an attorney. And now that she’d made it, she wanted to excel in her new career. But something always interfered.

Something at home.

Get your mind back on work, she told herself as she entered Martin’s office.

Her boss wasn’t alone. Seated in front of his desk was a rugged, dark-haired man who looked to be in his forties, although it was hard to say for sure.

He was a big man, with broad shoulders and an imposing air. Instead of the typical garb of another attorney or most of their clients, he sported western wear—expensive black boots, denim jeans, a hand-tooled leather belt, a crisply pressed white shirt. Even seated, there was something commanding about him, something that drew her attention in a way that was more than professional curiosity.

He stood when she entered, and his presence seemed to take up the entire room.

“Clay,” Martin said to the client, “this is Daniela de la Cruz, our newest attorney. Don’t let her youth fool you. She’s a real go-getter.” Then he looked at Dani and grinned. “Daniela, this is Clay Callaghan. The firm handles all his legal affairs.”

Dani had never met Mr. Callaghan before, but from the first day she was handed a key to the front door, she’d made it a point to learn all she could about the firm’s major clients. Clay Callaghan was one of them.

He owned an impressive cattle ranch and was involved in several other business ventures—all successful and thriving. However, this denim-clad cowboy didn’t look at all like the successful businessman she’d imagined. No fancy suit, no flashy smile. Instead, he reminded her of a Marlboro man. An outdoorsman who would be uncomfortable in a board-room.

Yet it was she who was caught off guard, unbalanced by his presence.

As he reached out a hand to greet her, stunning eyes, the color of a mountain meadow, locked on hers.

He’d taken off his hat, but by the way his dark, unruly hair had been compressed, she doubted he went without it very often.

His hand continued to hold hers in a warm grip, his callused skin stimulating her senses and sending a shimmy of heat up her arm and into her chest, where it kicked her pulse up a notch.

“How do you do?” His voice, deep and gravelly, did a real number on her, too, intriguing her as much as his touch. Like his skin, it was weathered and sun baked.

As he loosened his grip and released her, she fought the impulse to clasp her empty hand to her chest and study him like a mesmerized child on a field trip to a Wild West museum.

Yet he hadn’t really let go of her. The intensity in his expression made it difficult for her to breathe, let alone speak, and she wasn’t at all sure why.

“Martin tells me that you speak Spanish,” Mr. Callaghan said.

She cleared the cobwebs from her throat. “Yes, I do. Fluently.”

He nodded, as though she’d passed some kind of hurdle. And it pleased her that she had. Working with one of the firm’s top clients gave her a bit of a professional rush.

Or was it the man himself?

There was something about Clay Callaghan that appealed to her, interested her. His cowboy demeanor, she supposed. The way he stood when a lady entered the room. The fact that he didn’t carry his wealth and success the way another man might.

He had fifteen or twenty years on her, she suspected. But it didn’t seem to matter at all—professionally, speaking, of course.

Martin pushed his chair back from his cherry wood desk, placed his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers. “Nearly a year ago, while participating in a semester abroad program in Guadalajara, Trevor, Clay’s only child, was killed in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her gaze lighting on the brooding client and recognizing it was grief that clouded his expression.

Mr. Callaghan didn’t respond, allowing Martin to continue.

“A couple of hours ago, he received word that Trevor fathered a child while in Mexico. He needs to fly out this afternoon and pick up his orphaned granddaughter. He’s going to need an attorney, as well as an interpreter, to go with him.”

She nodded.

Uh-oh. He’d also just asked if she spoke Spanish. Were they suggesting that she…?

Think fast, she prodded herself.

“How long will it take for you to pack?” Martin asked her.

Dani struggled to keep her reaction casual and like that of any other twenty-five-year-old, unmarried professional who didn’t have any pressing family obligations to consider.

She could think of a multitude of reasons why Martin should ask another attorney to make the trip. First of all, there was the issue of her anxiety—God, she hated to fly. Just the thought of taking off in a plane and heading to Mexico scared the liver out of her. Second, she couldn’t just up and leave the kids. She’d need to find a competent sitter, which wouldn’t be easy. Then there was the fact that she’d volunteered to take Marcos and Delia to a movie tonight. Even sitting through a whacky cartoon this evening, followed by Revenge of the Zombies, was more appealing than going on a business trip to Mexico.

She opened her mouth to object, then realized refusing to go might jeopardize her career.

Martin cleared his throat in a way that made her realize he wasn’t pleased with her lack of enthusiasm. “Is there a problem with you leaving this afternoon, Daniela?”

Maybe her job didn’t hang in the balance, but her reputation as a career-minded employee did. So she swallowed her reluctance, as well as her anxiety about flying. “No, there isn’t a problem. But I’ll need a little time to…uh…ensure things are taken care of in my absence.”

“How much time?” the Marlboro Man asked. “I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

“An hour or two,” she said, thinking it wasn’t enough. “But I’ll do my best to hurry.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Martin asked. “Clay’s pilot is having the plane fueled right now and working on a flight plan.”

“If you’ll give me your address,” Mr. Callaghan said, “I’ll pick you up. Or better yet, why don’t I follow you home? We can leave from there.”

Follow her home? To her house? The one with the kite stuck in the tree out front? The one with the bent screen in the living room window, where Sara had climbed in after Marcos had locked her out? The house with the lawn that needed to be mowed? The one that at this very moment held a trio of squabbling children?

Over the past few months, she’d done her best to make sure her colleagues and clients thought of her as the girl wonder, not The Old Woman Who Lived in the Shoe. She’d be darned if she’d sacrifice her image now.

“Actually,” she said to the wealthy cowboy who looked as though he didn’t take no for an answer, “I’d much rather meet you here at the office.”

“I’m already packed,” he said, “so I’ll be waiting.”

Great. More pressure.

She’d be perspiring like a foundry worker in mid-July by the time she returned.

But if she didn’t get out of here and back in less than two hours, her carefully orchestrated career was in serious trouble.

Dani grumbled between cell phone calls, but by the time she’d arrived home, she’d managed to find someone to look after the kids while she was gone. And she’d also finagled a trip to Burgerland and a movie for Marcos and Delia.

Sofia Fuentes, the seventy-year-old widow who lived down the street, agreed to stay at the house and babysit for a day or two, but she had a weekend trip planned with her bridge group and was leaving on Friday morning.

Dani had no idea how long she’d be gone, but she’d have her cell phone, charger and address book in case she had to make alternate arrangements. The trip shouldn’t take more than a day or so—unless they were waylaid with paperwork in Guadalajara.

The first thing she did when she walked through the front door was snatch the newspaper and scan the movie listings, choosing one that the younger children and Mrs. Fuentes would appreciate. Then, with Delia hot on her heels, she rushed to her bedroom to pack.

She didn’t have a clue as to what the weather was like in Guadalajara, so she took twice as many clothes as she’d need. As she carefully placed her things in the old suitcase that had been her father’s, she realized it was pretty battered and not in the style of a career-minded professional. But that was too bad. She was doing the best she could, under the circumstances.

“How come you have to go away for the whole night?” Delia asked, as she peered into Dani’s room. “Who’s going to read me the next chapter of Charlotte’s Web when I go to bed?”

“I’m sure Mrs. Fuentes will read it to you,” Dani said.

Marcos, who stood in the doorway, asked, “Will you take me to see Revenge of the Zombies when you get home?”

Dani wanted to say no, but she felt terrible about leaving like this. Guilt was an amazing thing, wasn’t it? Especially when she suspected Marcos was using it to his advantage. But there wasn’t much she could do about that now.

“What’s the zombie movie rated?” she asked, as she took a quick inventory of her cosmetic bag, then packed it in the suitcase.

“It’s PG-13, but not because anyone gets naked or because they say bad words. It’s not even violent, because the Zombies have green blood and even a little kid knows that’s fake.”

Dani wasn’t in the mood to debate the fact that the Motion Picture Association had rated it PG-13 for some reason. Or that a movie can be violent in spite of the color of a victim’s blood and guts. “Okay, you and I can give it a try on Saturday. But if I decide it’s inappropriate for a boy your age, we’ll have to leave in the middle of it.”

“You won’t think that. I know ’cause my friends have all seen it. There aren’t even guns and knives, just lasers and that sort of thing.”

Yeah. Right.

Dani glanced at the clock on the bureau. Shoot. An hour and twenty minutes had already passed, and it would take fifteen minutes to get back to the office—unless she hit traffic.

The fact that Mr. Callaghan was waiting for her made her move faster, causing her hands to shake as she snapped the suitcase lid into place.

Then she kissed the kids goodbye, promising them treats if Mrs. Fuentes gave her a good report.

An hour and forty-two minutes after leaving the building, Dani returned with her suitcase in hand. She could feel the moisture building under her arms and along her scalp. But she mustered a smile and tried her best to act as though the errands she’d run had been similar to those of any single, twenty-five-year-old woman.

As she entered the reception area, Mr. Callaghan, who’d been waiting near the door, stood. The walls of the room seemed to close in on them, and she got a lungful of his musky, leathery scent.

“Ready?” The question slid over her like the whisper of a breeze on a sultry Houston night. Her heart, which was already pumping at a pretty good pace, began to beat erratically, which didn’t make a bit of sense. She’d never been attracted to the cowboy type before. Or to a man who was nearly old enough to be her father.

Clay Callaghan was so not her type.

If she were in the market for romance—and God knows she wasn’t—she would look for a successful young professional. Another attorney, maybe. Someone well-read, witty. Polished. Not a self-made man who couldn’t kick his cowboy roots and might be twenty years her senior.

But tell that to the suddenly active hormones she’d kept under lock and key for the past couple of years.

She smiled, hoping it hid the fact that she might appear to be ready, but she wasn’t eager to travel on a small plane with an important client, a man she didn’t know very well, a rugged outdoorsman she was oddly attracted to.

“Yes,” she lied. “Let’s go.”

As Clay took the suitcase from the pretty Latina’s hand, his fingers brushed against hers. Their eyes locked, and something sparked between them. Something he had no business contemplating, especially since it seemed to fluster the hell out of her.

Damn, she was young. And pretty. She wore her glistening black hair swept up in a professional twist, although a few strands had escaped. It had been neatly coiffed before, but not so anymore. He suspected her rush to get packed, run a few errands and race back to the office had rumpled her.

That was okay with him. He wasn’t attracted to women who wore business suits or who had to powder their noses and reapply lipstick all day long.

Not that he was on the prowl these days. Or that he had time to do anything more right now than fly to Guadalajara, pick up the baby and head home. They’d be gone one night and a day, best he could figure.

Of course, that was assuming the child was Trevor’s. But until he got her home and ran a DNA test, he wouldn’t know for sure.

And if she wasn’t his flesh and blood?

Then he’d talk to his foreman, “Hawk” Hawkins, whose brother and sister-in-law had been trying to conceive for years and were talking adoption.

Either way, he’d face that road when he came to it. Clay might have made a lot of mistakes with his son over the years, but he wouldn’t fail his granddaughter.

He opened the office door for Daniela, then followed her out into the hall.

She fingered the side of her hair, just now realizing she was falling apart, and a grin tugged at his lips. For an attorney who was supposed to be bright and capable, she seemed a little ill-at-ease to him.

She’d just passed the bar, he’d been told. And had a slew of recommendations from her professors at law school, not to mention she was second in her class.

That was impressive, he supposed, assuming someone was big on academics, which he wasn’t. The most valuable lessons were learned in the real world. That’s why going to college had never crossed Clay’s mind. Instead he’d prided himself on his ranching skills, his common sense and an innate head for business. He’d done all right for himself. Hell, he had more money than he knew what to do with.

At the elevator, Daniela punched the down button, then glanced up at him and smiled. She had to be closer to twenty than thirty, if you asked him. Of course, it might just be her size. She only stood a little over five feet tall and was just a slip of a thing.

The elevator buzzed, and when the door opened, they stepped inside.

“So tell me about your granddaughter,” she asked.

“There’s not much to tell. I’ve never seen her before.”

“How old is she?”

He shrugged. “I forgot to ask.”

She cocked her head, perplexed, he supposed. But he didn’t see what the kid’s age had to do with anything, other than prove that it was possible Trevor had fathered her.

“The baby has to be less than a year old,” he said, “but more than two months.”

As they continued their descent to the ground floor, the scent of her perfume swirled in the elevator. It was something soft and powdery. Peaches and cream, he guessed.

“Are you sure the child is your son’s?” she asked.

“Nope.” But the fact that it might be was reason enough to go to Mexico and bring her home.

“There are blood tests that can prove paternity,” she said.

He nodded. “Yeah. I know that.” He’d have the test run after he got back in the States. “But let’s take this one step at a time.”

“And that first step would be…?”

“Getting that baby home.”

When they reached the ground floor, the elevator opened and they entered the spacious lobby.

Clay stepped ahead, then opened the smoky-glass double doors and escorted her outside and down the walkway to the parking lot. “My truck is in the second row. To the left.”

When they reached the stall where he’d parked his black, dual-wheeled Chevy pickup, he pulled the keys out of his pocket and clicked the lock. He tossed her suitcase in the bed of the truck and opened the passenger door. Then he removed his duffle bag and waited for her to climb inside.

She bit down on her bottom lip, as she perused the oversize tires that made the cab sit higher than usual. He couldn’t help but grin. She was going to have a hell of a time climbing into the seat with that tight skirt. An ornery part of him thought he’d stick around and watch the struggle. She placed a hand on the door, then lifted her foot and placed it on the running board.

Pretty legs.

“Need some help?” he asked.

“No, I can manage.”

Rather than gawk, which he had half a notion to do, he tossed his bag in the back of the truck. As she continued to pull herself into the Chevy, the fabric of her skirt pulled tight against her rounded hips. She might be petite, but she was womanly. And damn near perfectly shaped.

She slid into the seat, then glanced around the cab. “Where are the baby’s things?”

The baby’s things? Hell, he hadn’t given that any thought. All he’d wanted to do was talk to his attorney, fly to Mexico, get the kid and head home.

She crossed her arms, causing her breasts to strain against the fabric of her blouse. “Don’t tell me you don’t have anything packed for an infant?”

Okay, he wouldn’t tell her that. But he didn’t have squat for the kid. In fact, he wasn’t prepared to take on a baby at all, and in his rush to get to Mexico, he hadn’t given supplies any thought. Nor had he given much thought to what he’d do with the kid, once he got her home.

“I don’t know much about babies or their needs. Hell, I never even held my son until he was close to two.”

“Well then, like you said, we’ll need to take this one step at a time. I suggest you stop by Spend-Mart. It’s just down the street and ought to have everything you need.”

“I hope you have a few suggestions. I don’t have a clue what to get.”

“Believe it or not, I have a pretty good idea. But it won’t be cheap.”

Neither was the trip to Mexico. But money was the last thing Clay had considered. Not when he was still carrying a ton of grief over Trevor’s death.

The pastor who’d spoken at the memorial had told Clay it would take time. But so far the weight on his chest hadn’t eased up a bit.

Minutes later Clay and Daniela entered the crowded department store.

“Get a shopping cart,” she told him, taking the lead. For some fool reason, Clay, who never was one to follow orders, complied.

In no time at all, she had the cart filled with disposable diapers, wipes, ointments, lotions, pacifiers. Next, she threw in bottles, formula—both readymade in the can and powdered in packets—plus a couple of jugs of water. Then she zeroed in on receiving blankets, pajamas, undershirts and clothes.

“You already have one of those,” he said, nodding to the pink and white PJs. “But in purple.”

“We don’t know what size she wears, so we’ll keep the receipt and return whatever doesn’t fit.”

Clay merely nodded his head as he followed the pretty, dark-haired attorney through the baby section.

For a single woman, she sure was adept at knowing what things he was going to need. What an intriguing contradiction she was. On the outside, she seemed every bit as professional and competent as Martin Phillips had insisted she was. But there was obviously a maternal and domestic side to her, as well.

“This ought to get us started,” she said. “You can go shopping again, after you get her home.”

“Maybe you can do that for me,” he said.

She arched a brow. “My fees are $250 an hour. I’m sure you can find someone better qualified and cheaper.”

“But maybe not someone who knows as much about kids as you do.”

He meant it as a joke, as a way of telling her he didn’t give a damn about the cost. But she stiffened for a moment, then seemed to shrug it off.

“I did a lot of babysitting in the past,” she explained.

“Lucky me.”

As they headed for the checkout lines, he couldn’t help but watch her. She seemed to be counting each item she’d chosen, taking inventory. Making sure they had all they needed.

So she’d spent her early years babysitting. Maybe her beginnings had been as humble as his.

She was interesting. Intriguing.

And attractive.

Not that he’d ever chase after a woman who would have been more his son’s type. And one who was definitely more his son’s age.