Judy Duarte - Rock-A-Bye Rancher

“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.