Oh, boy. He was talking about the baby. She knew that. But for a moment, she could almost imagine him meaning that in another way.

This was all about the baby, she reminded herself. So why the heated attraction?

She tried to conjure a platonic expression. “Okay. For a few days. Just long enough for you to hire someone else.”

His eyes locked on hers, and a smile spread across his face, turning her tummy inside out. “You won’t regret this.”

Clay Callaghan might be forceful and determined. But she was, too. She’d make sure he bonded with that child, then she’d pack up the kids and take them home.

It would be a walk in the park, she told herself.

But when he gave her hand a squeeze, setting off a flurry of butterflies deep in her feminine core, she wasn’t so sure about anything anymore.

Dear Reader,

I’m not sure how the months pass so quickly, but it’s October again, and the holidays are fast approaching. It’s easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of shopping, baking and decorating, not to mention the stress, but in the midst of it all, I hope you stop to count your blessings and to cherish the family in which you belong—whether you’re related by blood or created by love.

It’s also a time for reconciliation and renewal, for telling people you love them and offering long-overdue forgiveness.

In Rock-A-Bye Rancher, Clay and Dani create a family of their own and find love in the process.

If you’re facing the holidays alone, I encourage you to reach out to others through your church, synagogue or community service organizations. There are a lot of lonely people in the world, and this time is especially difficult for them.

May God richly bless you and your family this year!

Judy Duarte

always knew there was a book inside her, but since English was her least favorite subject in school, she never considered herself a writer. An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy couldn’t shake the dream of creating a book of her own.

Her dream became a reality in March of 2002, when the Silhouette Special Edition line released her first book, Cowboy Courage. Since then, she has sold nineteen more novels. Her stories have touched the hearts of readers around the world. And in July of 2005, Judy won the prestigious Reader’s Choice Award for The Rich Man’s Son.

Judy makes her home near the beach in Southern California. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she’s spending time with her somewhat enormous, but delightfully close family. You can write to Judy c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279. You can also contact her at JudyDuarte@sbcglobal.net or through her Web site—www.judyduarte.com.

To the best critique partners in the world,

Crystal Green and Sheri WhiteFeather.

Words can not express my appreciation.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Rio Seco, Mexico

“Pobrecita.” Padre Luis Fernando clucked his tongue and shook his head at the solemn-faced baby girl lying in a rustic, hand-woven basket. “Three months old and no name. But don’t worry, little one. I’ll find someone to take you home, someone to love you.”

The old priest reached out a gnarled hand to the child, waiting for her to latch on to his finger, to grasp the hope he offered. But the little girl merely lay there, lost, alone.

An hour ago one of the altar boys had come to him in confidence, mentioning the orphaned baby and the bitter, old woman who’d been caring for her.

“Padre,” the boy had said, “the church must do something. That baby isn’t safe.”

Manuela Vargas, a craggy-faced widow who donned dark clothing and lived alone, was considered loca by some of the other parishioners. And the children who lived in the community often called her la bruja, the witch.

Luis believed they were referring to her appearance and demeanor more than anything. Yet he had to admit that when he’d learned of the mother’s death he’d been a little uneasy knowing the baby would be living with a woman who rarely smiled or interacted with the community. He’d hoped the baby would be good for her, but maybe he’d been wrong.

In a hushed tone, the boy had told him, “Manuela said that God punished Catalina for her sins and let her die giving birth. She said the baby should have died, too.”

The padre hadn’t needed to hear more. He’d immediately gone to visit Manuela. When he’d seen the condition of the baby, he’d convinced the old woman to give the child to him.

There had been no argument. Manuela had placed the baby girl, as well as the personal effects of the girl’s mother, into the basket and gratefully passed her burden to the priest.

Luis wished he’d stepped in sooner. If he had, perhaps the young mother might still be alive.

Catalina Villa, a college student from a village nearly one hundred kilometers to the south, had shamed her family by getting pregnant. Embarrassed by her condition because she was unmarried, they had wanted her to bear her child in secret. So she was sent to live with her grandmother’s sister, Manuela.

But considering Manuela’s attitude about sin and punishment, Luis wondered whether a midwife or doctor had even been called when Catalina’s labor started. Of course, there were some things only God knew.

The funeral had been solemn and private, with only Manuela and the baby in attendance. And sadly, the only one who had cried had been the infant.

The padre reached inside the basket that served as a crib and withdrew the prayer book that had been tucked inside. He opened to the page where the young mother had written the birth date and parentage of her child.

Catalina, he suspected, had died before entering the child’s name. If she’d uttered it to anyone, Manuela had not said.

He unfolded a sheet of paper, the start of a letter:

Dear Mr. Callaghan

You do not know me, but I loved your son Trevor very much. When he died, I did not think I could live without him. And when I learned I was carrying his baby, I was both pleased and saddened.

My parents are very strict and believe that I have failed them. They have sent me away in shame. So I write to ask if my baby and I can come to Texas and live on the ranch with you.

I know you and Trevor were not very close, but if you can find it in your heart to accept us into your family…

The letter was unfinished, unsigned.

The priest whispered a prayer for the mother who’d died, leaving her child at the mercy of a woman with a cold and bitter heart. Then he let out a pent-up sigh and studied the fair-skinned baby girl with a head of dark, downy hair. Her cheeks lacked that rosy, healthy hue one expected to see. And her eyes, a golden brown, showed no spark of life. No hint of love.

He surmised she’d been provided with an occasional bottle of goat’s milk, but nothing else. No warm embrace. No whispered words of love. Perhaps her father’s relatives would be more welcoming than her mother’s.

He picked up the telephone.

Twenty minutes and several calls later, he located Clay Callaghan at a ranch outside of Houston. A woman answered. Her clipped, professional tone suggested she was a servant of some kind. Luis introduced himself as a priest from a small village near Guadalajara, then asked to speak to Mr. Callaghan.

While he waited for the woman to summon the rancher, Luis again glanced at the basket and was glad to see the baby girl had fallen asleep. The sadness in her eyes haunted him in a way no other child’s had.

“Por favor, Dios,” the padre prayed. “Touch Señor Callaghan’s heart. This baby needs someone to love her, to bond with her. She needs a home.”

A deep, baritone voice sounded over a crackling telephone line. “This is Clay Callaghan.”

“Señor…sir, I am Father Luis Fernando, a priest from Rio Seco, a small village outside of Guadalajara. One of my parishioners gave me an orphaned baby girl. I have reason to believe her father was Trevor Callaghan.”

The line seemed to have gone dead.

“Sir? Señor Callaghan? Did you hear me?”

“Trevor died in a car accident nearly a year ago,” the man responded.

“Sí. I am aware of that. In Mexico, while attending the university in Guadalajara, no? But before his death, he and a young woman named Catalina Villa Montez conceived a baby. From what I understand, they planned to marry. But your son died before they could say the vows.”

“What about the child’s mother?” the American asked, his curiosity validating his interest.

The padre quietly released the breath he’d been holding. “Catalina was a bright young woman from a poor village. The townspeople and her parents pooled their money to send her to the university, in hope that she would return with an education and help the community. But when her family learned she was pregnant, they were angry and embarrassed. They sent her secretly to Rio Seco, where she bore her baby in the home of a distant relative. With your son dead, señor, I believe she feared there were no other options.”

“You said the baby was orphaned.”

“Sí. Catalina died after childbirth and left the newborn in the care of an elderly aunt who cannot keep the baby any longer. If you will not take the baby girl to live with you in Texas, I will be forced to deliver her to an orphanage.”

Silence filled the line, then the deep, graveled voice asked, “How do you know my son is the father?”

“There are blood tests that can prove it, but I was given the mother’s personal effects, including a photograph of the baby’s father, a handsome, blond-haired young man standing next to an airplane. I also have an engraved, black onyx ring.”

Again silence. Then a graveled clearing of the throat. “Where can I find the baby?”

The padre gave him directions from the airport in Guadalajara to the church.

Surely, the American grandfather would be more loving than the old Mexican caretaker had been.

The padre prayed that he would.

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.

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.

Upon arriving in Guadalajara and going through the port of entry check, Clay called the limousine service he’d lined up—a reputable company that had been recommended by a fellow cattleman who traveled regularly to Mexico on business. Then he, Roger and Daniela, who seemed to list to the side while walking, headed for the sleek, black luxury vehicle. The driver opened the door, and Clay held Daniela’s arm—more in an effort to steady her than to be polite.

She wobbled, then stumbled. “Oops.”

Clay reached for her, just as she lost her balance, and caught her, drawing her back against his chest. His arms rested under the fullness of her breasts, his cheek against her hair. It had been a while since he’d held a woman close. Too long, he realized.

“Sorry.” She glanced over her shoulder and tossed him a silly smile. “My foot slipped, and I almost fell. Thank you for not letting me.”

“My pleasure.”

“I’ll bet it was,” Roger said with a chuckle.

When they all got inside the car, the driver shut the door, then climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Daniela,” Clay said. “Tell him we’re going to El Jardin. It’s a hotel not far from here.”

When she didn’t respond, he turned and spotted her slouched in the seat, her eyes closed, her head tilted against the backrest.

“I think she passed out,” Roger said.

Damn. Roger was right. Quite frankly, Clay found it amusing. But if she remembered in the morning, she’d probably be embarrassed.

“Vamos al hotel El Jardin,” Clay told the driver.

“Sí, señor.”

“Your Spanish sounds pretty good,” Roger said.

“I can get by.”

Roger nodded at Daniela. “So why the interpreter?”

“I wanted her along just in case we have any trouble with the law or the authorities. If that happens, we’ll need someone with a better handle on the language than I have.”

“You think so?”

Clay chuffed. “I know so. When I was nineteen, a buddy and I went to El Paso on business. We finished early, then decided to celebrate across the border in Juarez. We had a little too much to drink, I had a run-in with a couple of the locals and ended up in jail for nine scary days. And Rex, my…well, I guess you would call him my old man…spent quite a bundle to get me out. So I don’t want to take any chances on this trip. We’ll be in and out of here before you can count to tres.”

“Do you want me to go with you to the church?” Roger asked.

“No. Wait for us here. Or we’ll drop you off at the airport. Whatever you’re comfortable with. Just have the plane fueled and ready to take off the moment we get back.”

“You don’t expect any problems?” Roger asked.

No. But there could be plenty. “I came prepared for almost everything.” Clay studied the woman seated beside him. Better make that “slumped” beside him. “At least, I thought I did.” A grin tugged at his lips. Damn, she was a cute drunk.

He’d only meant to see her relax, but he shouldn’t have plied her with so many screwdrivers. He’d overdone it. His lovely young attorney was a real jabberbox when she drank too much.

He wondered how much of this day she’d remember in the morning. Not that he’d tell Martin about her family situation. Or her feelings of inadequacy with the kids. Even if Clay was prone to idle chatter—and he wasn’t—who was he to cast stones at people with lousy parenting skills?

He’d raised Trevor for five years, and what did he have to show for it?

A couple of school pictures.

A roomful of books, clothes and things he’d yet to sort through.

An ache in his chest and a gut full of guilt.

Ten minutes later, the limousine pulled into the red-bougainvillea-lined drive of El Jardin, one of the nicest hotels in town. The white stucco building boasted Spanish tile floors, a hand-crafted stone fountain in the lobby and an Old-World charm that was hard to beat.

Roger sat in the car with Daniela, while Clay checked in. And after securing the keys to three separate rooms, he returned to the limo.

“Venga por nosotros mañana,” Clay told the driver, giving him instructions to return at the crack of dawn. “A las seis.”

“Muy bien,” the driver responded. “Hasta mañana, señor.”

As the bellman loaded their luggage and belongings, Clay studied the woman sleeping in the vehicle.

“How do you plan to get her to her room?” Roger asked.

“Throw her over my shoulder, I guess.” Clay shot the pilot a conspiratorial grin.

“No kidding? Like a sack of grain?”

“Come on, Roger. I’ll be a gentleman.” Then Clay stooped and reached into the car. “Hey…Daniela. Wake up.”

She mumbled something and tried to scoot forward, but her efforts weren’t especially effective. With his help, she managed to climb from the car, then swayed on her feet.

Not again, Clay thought as he caught her. But this time he scooped her into his arms.

Her eyes, the color of melted caramel, locked on his, and she grinned. “You’re stronger than I expected.”

“Nah, not really. You’re just a lightweight.” He meant her alcohol-tolerance level as well as her size.

“Think so?” She slipped her arms around his neck. “I haven’t been carried by anyone in a long time.”

“Oh, no? Then it’s my lucky day.” He took her into the lobby and waited for Roger to summon the elevator.

He juggled his lovely load, while handing the keys to Roger. “Take these. I’ve got my hands full.”

As the lighted numbers indicated the elevator was slowly coming down to the lobby level, Daniela nuzzled her head against Clay’s cheek and whispered, “You smell good.”

“Thanks.” So did she.

He savored the faint, powdery scent of her body lotion, a peach blossom scent, and the silk of her hair.

As the elevator doors opened, they stepped inside.

“Which floor?” the pilot asked.

“Third and fourth.”

Roger studied the keys, taking the one that was engraved with 406 and returned the others to Clay. “You two can take the rooms on the third floor. I think it’s best if you stay close to her. She may need a babysitter tonight, and that’s a better job for you.”

“Why?”

“For one reason, it looks like you’ve already got her under control.” Roger chuckled. “And for another, my wife would turn me every which way but loose if she thought I’d put a pretty, drunken woman to bed when I’m supposed to be working.”

When the elevator made the first stop, Clay got out. “I’ll get her settled and wait for the bellman to bring her things.”

Roger nodded, a wry grin pulling at his lips. Then the doors closed, leaving Clay and Daniela alone in the hall.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“To bed.”

Her eyes fluttered, and her gaze met his. “Oh, no, that isn’t a good idea. I don’t think Martin would approve.”

Clay chuckled. Martin was a straight shooter and would undoubtedly come unglued. Even if Clay would let himself succumb to that kind of temptation, he wouldn’t take advantage of her inebriation. He liked his lovers to be willing participants.

“I wouldn’t approve of it, either,” he told her.

“Approve of what?”

That was the point. She wasn’t in any condition to be truly willing.

When he reached room 312, he set her feet on the floor, then unlocked the door and let her inside.

She was walking now, without help. But she immediately kicked off her shoes and removed her jacket. Next she began to unbutton her blouse.

“Hang on there, Daniela.”

“You keep calling me that, but now that we’re friends, you should call me Dani.”

“All right. But why don’t you wait to get undressed until the bellman brings your bag up here?”

“Okay. Good idea.” She plopped down on the bed. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“I have a room down the hall.”

When a knock sounded at the door, Clay let the bellman in, pointed out which suitcase stayed and which things went to the other rooms. Then he gave the young man a generous tip.

If the bellman—Paco, according to the badge on his shirt—wondered where the baby was who went with all the stuff going to Clay’s room, he didn’t ask.

“Gracias,” Paco said, giving a slight bow before leaving.

Clay ought to leave, too, but he wanted to make sure Daniela—Dani—was settled in for the night and safe. “I’ve got a wakeup call scheduled for five o’clock. Are you going to be okay with that?”

She nodded. “I’m an early bird.”

“Yeah. A little mockingbird.” When she scrunched her face, obviously a bit perplexed, he chuckled. “You’re a real jabberbox, Dani.”

She titled her head. “I am? Do you mean that in a bad way?”

“No,” he said. “Why don’t you go into the bathroom and get ready for bed. I’ll turn down the covers for you, okay?”

She slid him a grin. “Thanks, Clay. You’re really a nice guy. A true gentleman.”

Oh, yeah? Well he didn’t feel so nice. Or even remotely like a gentleman.

“Thank you so much,” she said.

For what? Taking her away from kids who probably needed her? Putting her on a plane when she was afraid of flying? Plying her full of alcohol, just to keep her from becoming troublesome?

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