Rock-A-Bye Rancher

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.

Chapter Two

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.