Judy Duarte - Rock-A-Bye Rancher

“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?