Rock-A-Bye Rancher

What was done was done.

Clay may have failed Trevor, but he wasn’t going to let his granddaughter down—assuming the baby was a Callaghan. So he looked out the window, focused his gaze straight ahead. Shoved those feelings down deep, where they belonged.

Thirty minutes or more into the flight, Daniela had managed to finish her vodka-laced juice and had seemed to relax a bit—until they hit an air pocket. Then she paled.

“Sorry about that.” Roger glanced over his shoulder and caught Clay’s eye. “Better fasten your seat belts, folks. It’s going to be bumpy for a while.”

The pilot nodded toward the windshield at the dark gray sky ahead. Roger planned to fly around the storm. And he’d warned Clay earlier that it would be a bumpy flight, although there was no reason to suggest they would be taking any unnecessary chances. Clay was, however, determined to get the baby out of Mexico and back to the States as quickly as he could, so he would have agreed to any risk Roger was willing to make. Still, he hated seeing Daniela so uneasy.

Under normal circumstances, with any other attorney, he would have been annoyed. But there was something about Daniela that made her different. And it wasn’t just her gender and her youthful beauty.

Okay, maybe it was.

Clay had never been one to chase after younger women. He preferred someone with maturity, someone who wasn’t interested in settling down.

Hell, he’d never even married his son’s mother. He and Sally had met at the feed lot and had a brief but heated affair. There hadn’t been much emotion involved. Of course, there never was on Clay’s part, and he always managed to find a lover with the same no-strings philosophy. Sally hadn’t seen any reason to get married, either, which was a relief.

As the plane hit another rough spot, he stole a glance at his traveling companion. Distress clouded her expression, the contradiction of competent attorney and frightened passenger intriguing him. Hell, he couldn’t sit idly by and watch her come apart at the seams—no matter how much he enjoyed looking at her.

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Roger said.

The plane bounced again, causing Daniela to nearly drop her drink.

“Finish it,” Clay told her, and she quickly obliged. He wondered if she assumed his order had been due to safety reasons, but it didn’t matter. He was just hoping she’d consume enough alcohol to feel more at ease. So far, it didn’t seem to be working.

The next time the plane dipped, she reached across the aisle and grabbed his hand, gripping him tightly.

Her touch, as well as her vulnerability, struck an unfamiliar chord in him, and he found himself stroking the top of her wrist with his thumb, comforting her much the way he would a skittish filly.

“That should be the worst of it,” Roger announced.

Yet Daniela didn’t let go.

Her hand was small, her nails unpolished and filed neatly, her skin soft. Yet her grip was strong.

Clay had half a notion to draw her close, to offer her more than a hand to hold.

Now where the hell had that wild-ass thought come from?

Clay had never been one to mess with the touchy-feely stuff. And the fact that he’d let down his guard and nearly done so, didn’t sit well with him. So he did the only thing he could think of. He offered her another drink.

Interestingly enough, she agreed without much hesitation.

“A little turbulence is no big deal,” Clay told her. “Really. Think of this as a car going along a bumpy road.”

Yeah, right, Dani thought.

When it came to aerodynamics, that was probably true. But it felt as though there were only clouds holding them up, and the waters of the gulf below were waiting to swallow them whole. That is, unless they’d already crossed over the Mexican border, in which case…

Oh, for Pete’s sake. Her fear of flying was as real as it was embarrassing.

She knew what Clay was doing. He was trying to make her feel better, and she appreciated his efforts.

“I don’t suppose we have to let Martin know about this, do we?” She took a sip of her drink, expecting to scrunch her face at the taste of the vodka and force herself to swallow. But this second screwdriver tasted better and seemed to be going down a lot easier than the first.

“Let Martin know about what?” the rugged rancher asked as if he hadn’t picked up on her distress.

“I had a bad experience a few years ago,” she admitted. “We almost crashed. Once we got back on the ground, I swore I’d never get in a plane again, at least not a small one.”

He took a swig of his scotch, then nodded at her glass. “Drink up. Then let’s share battle stories.”

“You had a frightening experience, too?” she asked.

“More than my share—on the land, air and sea. But I’ve always lived to tell about them.”

She took another big swallow, then decided to reveal her one-and-only adventure first. “When I was in college, some friends invited me to ski with them in Vail. Between them, they loaned me all the gear, and one of our classmates had a private plane and a brand-new pilot’s license.”

The memory alone was enough to bring on a shudder, but talking about it seemed to help, making her realize this trip wasn’t anywhere near as awful. Not yet, anyway.

“College students on their way to a party and a spanking-new pilot,” Clay said, sizing up her experience. “That sounds like a bad mix to me.”

“We weren’t going to a party,” Dani corrected.

She’d always been too responsible for that, too diligent with her studies to play. But it had been winter break, and she’d always wanted to know what the fuss was about snow skiing.

“So what happened?” Clay sat back in his seat, his legs extended, a long, lean cowboy completely at ease. His calm demeanor was reassuring, his presence comforting. As were the two drinks he’d fixed her.

So she settled, somewhat, into her seat. “The sky darkened, and lightning bolts shot all around us. The thunder was incredibly loud, and the turbulence was terrifying. We bounced around like a splatter of water on a hot griddle, and after what seemed like forever, we finally landed in Denver.”

“See?” he said, taking another drink, chunks of ice clinking against the glass. “You came out all right.”

“Yes, but I also left my friends in Colorado, purchased a bus ticket and went home before the weekend got underway.”

Without asking, Clay fixed them each another drink. Dani should have politely declined, but took it from him anyway. To be honest, the taste wasn’t so bad anymore. And the intoxicating effect had numbed her nerves to a tolerable level. Of course, the plane was also traveling smoothly now—or relatively, she supposed.

By the time she’d downed her third drink, she decided Clay Callaghan was not only a handsome older man, but he was also the nicest guy she’d ever met. He was very quiet, a great listener.

Or maybe the alcohol had loosened her tongue. Either way, she found herself babbling about one thing or another. After she’d told him about how hard she’d worked to pass Chemistry 103, Clay paused a beat, considering her.

“So you were the studious sort.” A slow grin deepened the lines around his eyes—green, with flecks of gold that glimmered—and brought out an interesting pair of dimples. “I thought all college kids liked to party.”

“Not me. I was practically born responsible. I had to be.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “My mom was a lot younger than my dad. I guess you could say she was flighty and irresponsible. When I was in kindergarten, she left us, so Dad and I had to fend for ourselves. Even as a five-year-old, I tried to do everything I could to make things easier for him. For us, actually.”

“At the age of five? That’s a mighty big chore for a little girl.”