Rock-A-Bye Rancher. Judy Duarte

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ