Rock-A-Bye Rancher

“I need you, Dani.”

Oh, boy. He was talking about the baby. She knew that. But for a moment, she could almost imagine him meaning that in another way.

This was all about the baby, she reminded herself. So why the heated attraction?

She tried to conjure a platonic expression. “Okay. For a few days. Just long enough for you to hire someone else.”

His eyes locked on hers, and a smile spread across his face, turning her tummy inside out. “You won’t regret this.”

Clay Callaghan might be forceful and determined. But she was, too. She’d make sure he bonded with that child, then she’d pack up the kids and take them home.

It would be a walk in the park, she told herself.

But when he gave her hand a squeeze, setting off a flurry of butterflies deep in her feminine core, she wasn’t so sure about anything anymore.

Dear Reader,

I’m not sure how the months pass so quickly, but it’s October again, and the holidays are fast approaching. It’s easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of shopping, baking and decorating, not to mention the stress, but in the midst of it all, I hope you stop to count your blessings and to cherish the family in which you belong—whether you’re related by blood or created by love.

It’s also a time for reconciliation and renewal, for telling people you love them and offering long-overdue forgiveness.

In Rock-A-Bye Rancher, Clay and Dani create a family of their own and find love in the process.

If you’re facing the holidays alone, I encourage you to reach out to others through your church, synagogue or community service organizations. There are a lot of lonely people in the world, and this time is especially difficult for them.

May God richly bless you and your family this year!

Judy Duarte

Rock-A-Bye Rancher

Judy Duarte

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JUDY DUARTE

always knew there was a book inside her, but since English was her least favorite subject in school, she never considered herself a writer. An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy couldn’t shake the dream of creating a book of her own.

Her dream became a reality in March of 2002, when the Silhouette Special Edition line released her first book, Cowboy Courage. Since then, she has sold nineteen more novels. Her stories have touched the hearts of readers around the world. And in July of 2005, Judy won the prestigious Reader’s Choice Award for The Rich Man’s Son.

Judy makes her home near the beach in Southern California. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she’s spending time with her somewhat enormous, but delightfully close family. You can write to Judy c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279. You can also contact her at [e-mail] or through her Web site—www.judyduarte.com.

To the best critique partners in the world,

Crystal Green and Sheri WhiteFeather.

Words can not express my appreciation.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Prologue

Rio Seco, Mexico

“Pobrecita.” Padre Luis Fernando clucked his tongue and shook his head at the solemn-faced baby girl lying in a rustic, hand-woven basket. “Three months old and no name. But don’t worry, little one. I’ll find someone to take you home, someone to love you.”

The old priest reached out a gnarled hand to the child, waiting for her to latch on to his finger, to grasp the hope he offered. But the little girl merely lay there, lost, alone.

An hour ago one of the altar boys had come to him in confidence, mentioning the orphaned baby and the bitter, old woman who’d been caring for her.

“Padre,” the boy had said, “the church must do something. That baby isn’t safe.”

Manuela Vargas, a craggy-faced widow who donned dark clothing and lived alone, was considered loca by some of the other parishioners. And the children who lived in the community often called her la bruja, the witch.

Luis believed they were referring to her appearance and demeanor more than anything. Yet he had to admit that when he’d learned of the mother’s death he’d been a little uneasy knowing the baby would be living with a woman who rarely smiled or interacted with the community. He’d hoped the baby would be good for her, but maybe he’d been wrong.

In a hushed tone, the boy had told him, “Manuela said that God punished Catalina for her sins and let her die giving birth. She said the baby should have died, too.”

The padre hadn’t needed to hear more. He’d immediately gone to visit Manuela. When he’d seen the condition of the baby, he’d convinced the old woman to give the child to him.

There had been no argument. Manuela had placed the baby girl, as well as the personal effects of the girl’s mother, into the basket and gratefully passed her burden to the priest.

Luis wished he’d stepped in sooner. If he had, perhaps the young mother might still be alive.

Catalina Villa, a college student from a village nearly one hundred kilometers to the south, had shamed her family by getting pregnant. Embarrassed by her condition because she was unmarried, they had wanted her to bear her child in secret. So she was sent to live with her grandmother’s sister, Manuela.

But considering Manuela’s attitude about sin and punishment, Luis wondered whether a midwife or doctor had even been called when Catalina’s labor started. Of course, there were some things only God knew.

The funeral had been solemn and private, with only Manuela and the baby in attendance. And sadly, the only one who had cried had been the infant.

The padre reached inside the basket that served as a crib and withdrew the prayer book that had been tucked inside. He opened to the page where the young mother had written the birth date and parentage of her child.

Catalina, he suspected, had died before entering the child’s name. If she’d uttered it to anyone, Manuela had not said.

He unfolded a sheet of paper, the start of a letter:

Dear Mr. Callaghan

You do not know me, but I loved your son Trevor very much. When he died, I did not think I could live without him. And when I learned I was carrying his baby, I was both pleased and saddened.

My parents are very strict and believe that I have failed them. They have sent me away in shame. So I write to ask if my baby and I can come to Texas and live on the ranch with you.

I know you and Trevor were not very close, but if you can find it in your heart to accept us into your family…

The letter was unfinished, unsigned.

The priest whispered a prayer for the mother who’d died, leaving her child at the mercy of a woman with a cold and bitter heart. Then he let out a pent-up sigh and studied the fair-skinned baby girl with a head of dark, downy hair. Her cheeks lacked that rosy, healthy hue one expected to see. And her eyes, a golden brown, showed no spark of life. No hint of love.

He surmised she’d been provided with an occasional bottle of goat’s milk, but nothing else. No warm embrace. No whispered words of love. Perhaps her father’s relatives would be more welcoming than her mother’s.

He picked up the telephone.

Twenty minutes and several calls later, he located Clay Callaghan at a ranch outside of Houston. A woman answered. Her clipped, professional tone suggested she was a servant of some kind. Luis introduced himself as a priest from a small village near Guadalajara, then asked to speak to Mr. Callaghan.

While he waited for the woman to summon the rancher, Luis again glanced at the basket and was glad to see the baby girl had fallen asleep. The sadness in her eyes haunted him in a way no other child’s had.

“Por favor, Dios,” the padre prayed. “Touch Señor Callaghan’s heart. This baby needs someone to love her, to bond with her. She needs a home.”

A deep, baritone voice sounded over a crackling telephone line. “This is Clay Callaghan.”

“Señor…sir, I am Father Luis Fernando, a priest from Rio Seco, a small village outside of Guadalajara. One of my parishioners gave me an orphaned baby girl. I have reason to believe her father was Trevor Callaghan.”

The line seemed to have gone dead.

“Sir? Señor Callaghan? Did you hear me?”

“Trevor died in a car accident nearly a year ago,” the man responded.

“Sí. I am aware of that. In Mexico, while attending the university in Guadalajara, no? But before his death, he and a young woman named Catalina Villa Montez conceived a baby. From what I understand, they planned to marry. But your son died before they could say the vows.”

“What about the child’s mother?” the American asked, his curiosity validating his interest.

The padre quietly released the breath he’d been holding. “Catalina was a bright young woman from a poor village. The townspeople and her parents pooled their money to send her to the university, in hope that she would return with an education and help the community. But when her family learned she was pregnant, they were angry and embarrassed. They sent her secretly to Rio Seco, where she bore her baby in the home of a distant relative. With your son dead, señor, I believe she feared there were no other options.”

“You said the baby was orphaned.”

“Sí. Catalina died after childbirth and left the newborn in the care of an elderly aunt who cannot keep the baby any longer. If you will not take the baby girl to live with you in Texas, I will be forced to deliver her to an orphanage.”

Silence filled the line, then the deep, graveled voice asked, “How do you know my son is the father?”

“There are blood tests that can prove it, but I was given the mother’s personal effects, including a photograph of the baby’s father, a handsome, blond-haired young man standing next to an airplane. I also have an engraved, black onyx ring.”

Again silence. Then a graveled clearing of the throat. “Where can I find the baby?”

The padre gave him directions from the airport in Guadalajara to the church.

Surely, the American grandfather would be more loving than the old Mexican caretaker had been.

The padre prayed that he would.

Chapter One

Daniela de la Cruz sat in her seventh-floor office in Houston, Texas, gripping the telephone until her knuckles ached.

“It’s not fair,” her fourteen-year-old sister complained to her over the phone. “I hate being cooped up in the house, babysitting, when all my friends have the whole summer to do whatever they want and have fun.”

Life isn’t fair, Dani wanted to snap back. Deal with it, Sara. I’ve had to.

At twenty-five, Dani was the youngest and newest associate of Phillips, Crowley and Norman, and she was working her tail off to build a career and make a name for herself. On the outside, it appeared as though the sky was the limit in terms of her upward mobility. But that wasn’t the case. Most attorneys in her position didn’t have to balance home and career the way she did.

“Marcos!” Sara shrieked at her brother, obviously not covering the mouthpiece. “Put that down. You’re going to break the lamp.”

Dani pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping to ward off the headache that began the moment Sara called. “What’s your brother doing?”

“He’s swinging a baseball bat in the house,” Sara said. “And he better take it outside right now, or I’m going to scream.”

“Sara’s mean,” the ten-year-old boy shouted in the background. “I hate being stuck with a couple of dumb girls.”

“I’m not dumb,” little Delia said loud enough to be heard through the receiver.

If Dani wasn’t at work and trying desperately to keep her turbulent home situation a secret, she’d pitch a fit that would rival any of Sara’s.

Couldn’t the teenager understand that Dani was trying her best to keep the kids fed, clothed and safe? Didn’t she understand that they all had to pull together?

Dani’s frustration level was at an all-time high, and she was beginning to feel inept when it came to solving the domestic disputes that were popping up regularly, now that it was summer and the kids were out of school.

Before she could respond to her squabbling brood, the intercom buzzed.

“Hang on,” she told her sister.

As the teenager continued to object to the unfairness of life, Dani silenced her with the punch of the hold button. Then she tried to morph into the career-minded attorney she’d professed to be during the job-interview process and connected with the senior partner who wanted to talk to her.

“Yes, Martin.”

“Daniela, can you please come into my office?”

“Certainly. I’ll just be a moment.” She switched lines, reconnecting with her teenage sister, who was still in mid-rant and hadn’t realized she’d been on hold.

“…and all my friends are going to the mall. But oh, no. Not me. I’m stuck here at the house babysitting a bunch of juvenile ingrates.”

Dani slowly shook her head and blew out an exasperated sigh. If anyone could relate to Sara’s complaints, it was Dani, who’d begun looking after her younger brother and sisters after her stepmother died. When her father passed away nearly two years ago, she’d really had to step up to the plate, accepting the role of single parent. There’d never been a question about what to do with the children. She’d taken custody and tried her best to make a home for them. Her only problem had come in learning how to balance it all.

Dani had been in her third year of law school and had almost dropped out to put the family back together again, but a professor had talked her out of it.

Somehow she’d pulled it off and had passed the bar.

She loved the kids, but now that she was on a partnership track, parenting them was proving to be more difficult each day.

“Listen,” she told her sister. “I’ll see what I can do about lining up someone to help with child care this summer. But right now, I need you to hang in there with me. I can’t come home and settle things in person, but I’ll try and leave work early today. Maybe I can take Marcos and Delia to dinner and a movie. Then you can have some time with your friends, okay? It’s the best that I can do.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about Marcos right now?” Sara asked. “He’s driving me crazy with that baseball bat.”

“Let me talk to him.”

When her ten-year-old brother answered the telephone, his aggravation came out loud and clear in the tone of his voice.

“Listen up,” Dani said, proceeding to make a deal with him to take him out this evening if he behaved himself.

Enthusiasm chased away his frustration. “Okay, I’ll go outside and play. But can we see Revenge of the Zombies?”

“That’s not a movie I want Delia to see,” Dani said. Actually, she didn’t want Marcos to see it, either. And God knew she didn’t want to sit through it.

“But the deal is off if we have to see one of those dumb princess cartoons,” he said.

Dani hated negotiating with a ten-year-old, but time and her options were running out. “I’ll find something we’ll all enjoy. Now take that bat outside and stop harassing the girls.”

“All right.”

When the line disconnected, Dani blew out an exaggerated sigh. She may have settled the dispute, at least temporarily, but she had a feeling there would be another crisis on the home front before the day was done.

She stood, tugged at her skirt, checked to see that her blouse was tucked in, then adjusted her jacket.

One of these days she feared the transformation from frenzied guardian to competent professional would fail and she’d be exposed as the phony she was—at least when it came to running a household.

For as long as she could remember, she’d wanted to be an attorney. And now that she’d made it, she wanted to excel in her new career. But something always interfered.

Something at home.

Get your mind back on work, she told herself as she entered Martin’s office.

Her boss wasn’t alone. Seated in front of his desk was a rugged, dark-haired man who looked to be in his forties, although it was hard to say for sure.

He was a big man, with broad shoulders and an imposing air. Instead of the typical garb of another attorney or most of their clients, he sported western wear—expensive black boots, denim jeans, a hand-tooled leather belt, a crisply pressed white shirt. Even seated, there was something commanding about him, something that drew her attention in a way that was more than professional curiosity.

He stood when she entered, and his presence seemed to take up the entire room.

“Clay,” Martin said to the client, “this is Daniela de la Cruz, our newest attorney. Don’t let her youth fool you. She’s a real go-getter.” Then he looked at Dani and grinned. “Daniela, this is Clay Callaghan. The firm handles all his legal affairs.”

Dani had never met Mr. Callaghan before, but from the first day she was handed a key to the front door, she’d made it a point to learn all she could about the firm’s major clients. Clay Callaghan was one of them.

He owned an impressive cattle ranch and was involved in several other business ventures—all successful and thriving. However, this denim-clad cowboy didn’t look at all like the successful businessman she’d imagined. No fancy suit, no flashy smile. Instead, he reminded her of a Marlboro man. An outdoorsman who would be uncomfortable in a board-room.

Yet it was she who was caught off guard, unbalanced by his presence.

As he reached out a hand to greet her, stunning eyes, the color of a mountain meadow, locked on hers.

He’d taken off his hat, but by the way his dark, unruly hair had been compressed, she doubted he went without it very often.

His hand continued to hold hers in a warm grip, his callused skin stimulating her senses and sending a shimmy of heat up her arm and into her chest, where it kicked her pulse up a notch.

“How do you do?” His voice, deep and gravelly, did a real number on her, too, intriguing her as much as his touch. Like his skin, it was weathered and sun baked.

As he loosened his grip and released her, she fought the impulse to clasp her empty hand to her chest and study him like a mesmerized child on a field trip to a Wild West museum.

Yet he hadn’t really let go of her. The intensity in his expression made it difficult for her to breathe, let alone speak, and she wasn’t at all sure why.

“Martin tells me that you speak Spanish,” Mr. Callaghan said.

She cleared the cobwebs from her throat. “Yes, I do. Fluently.”

He nodded, as though she’d passed some kind of hurdle. And it pleased her that she had. Working with one of the firm’s top clients gave her a bit of a professional rush.

Or was it the man himself?

There was something about Clay Callaghan that appealed to her, interested her. His cowboy demeanor, she supposed. The way he stood when a lady entered the room. The fact that he didn’t carry his wealth and success the way another man might.

He had fifteen or twenty years on her, she suspected. But it didn’t seem to matter at all—professionally, speaking, of course.

Martin pushed his chair back from his cherry wood desk, placed his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers. “Nearly a year ago, while participating in a semester abroad program in Guadalajara, Trevor, Clay’s only child, was killed in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her gaze lighting on the brooding client and recognizing it was grief that clouded his expression.

Mr. Callaghan didn’t respond, allowing Martin to continue.

“A couple of hours ago, he received word that Trevor fathered a child while in Mexico. He needs to fly out this afternoon and pick up his orphaned granddaughter. He’s going to need an attorney, as well as an interpreter, to go with him.”

She nodded.

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.