Rock-A-Bye Rancher

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?