Baby’s Watch Page 9

  Ready to run in an instant, Ana peered out the window.

  And nearly screamed again. Instead she sucked in a breath of pure shock, the sound she made tiny and strangled.

  There was a man lying on the ground outside her window.

  She turned, starting to back away. She would grab Maria and go to Jewel. They would call for help, maybe Deputy Rawlings and—

  The man moved. She leapt back, out of any possible line of sight. He groaned again, and there was no mistaking the pain in the sound. And then something registered in her mind, something that made her frown.

  His movement had revealed his face. His features were oddly dappled in the light of an ebbing moon, but they registered.

  Instead of running, she leaned forward and took a second peek.

  It was her white knight, her rescuer, the tall, dark and handsome cliché who had appeared as if magically out of the night and disappeared the same way.

  And suddenly everything changed. She still did not trust him, but he had helped her when there was no one else to do it. He had helped bring Maria into the world, had been the first touch her baby had known, and then when she had asked him to, he had gone back the way he had come, no questions asked. That had to be worth something, if not everything.

  She had certainly not been able to put him out of her mind as she had hoped. Images of him had interrupted her days and haunted her nights. She had been filled with a strange sense of longing that, no matter how she tried, she could not seem to talk herself out of with any amount of common sense.

  She had wished more than once that he could have known who she really was, that she was not just looking for a handout, that she wanted to do things right, was trying to do it the legal way, that she was intelligent, educated, and had skills she could and was willing to put to good use in exchange for a safe life for her and her little girl.

  She had never imagined it could matter to her so much what a total stranger thought of her. But it did.

  She had tried to tell herself that it was because he had shared that most intimate of times with her, or that it was because he had been like a white knight in a fairy tale, appearing in the nick of time and then vanishing. But part of her new life was a determination to face honestly the realities of the people around her; seeing what was not there, or not seeing what was, had propelled her into this situation to begin with.

  And she had realized, during one 2:00 a.m. feeding in that chair, staring out into the moonlit night as Maria suckled, that this new resolution should include being honest with herself as well. That had been the moment when she had admitted that her feelings about her unknown rescuer were much more complicated than simply gratitude for his mysterious and timely help.

  And now, here he was, obviously hurt and needing her help in turn. Her need for fairness, her faith in balance and, in an old-fashioned way, her sense of honor demanded she provide it.

  She should still wake Jewel, she thought as she hurried around to the front door; opening the garage would make enough noise it might draw someone curious, something she did not want until she had the chance to assess the situation. After all, here was this strange man, on the grounds of her precious Hopechest Ranch. Although Ana did not think he was a threat, that was not really her decision to make.

  But first, she must see how badly he was hurt. If he needed medical attention, that would make the decision for her.

  Moments later she was crouching beside him, pushing the branches of the privet bush under her window aside to reach him.

  The moment she touched him he groaned again, and jerked slightly. His eyes opened, but looked oddly unfocused. Then they sharpened, and she saw that he recognized her.

  He smiled.

  Ana’s breath caught. Never in her life had a man smiled at her like that, in a way that made her heart leap in her chest. That this man would do so now, when he was so obviously in pain, stirred a feeling buried so deep inside her she could not name it, not now. There was no time anyway, things needed to be done, and as he had been for her, she was the only one here to do them.

  She leaned in closer, and smothered a gasp of shock when she realized that the discolorations on his face that she had thought were an effect of the moonlight coming through the leaves were instead patches of blood and swollen, reddened flesh. He looked as if he had been beaten, and badly.

  Very badly.

  “No, no,” she whispered when he moved as if he were trying to get up. “You are hurt, you must stay still until we know how badly.”

  “Walked…forever,” he said. “Can’t be…that bad.”

  At least he could speak, she thought. A moment later she wished he could not.

  “The baby…your baby.”

  Ana went still. “What about my baby?”

  “Tried…get her away from them.”

  The sense of what he was saying stabbed through her. “My baby is here. In her crib.”

  “Saw her…pink flowers.”

  The blanket, Ana realized. Maria’s blanket, that’s what he was talking about.

  Terror gripped her. Without another thought she leapt to her feet and raced back into the house. This time she hit the light switch the moment she ran into her room, thinking she would never be more grateful to hear Maria cry.

  Seconds later she was standing beside her baby’s crib, her hands clenched around the rail until every knuckle was white.

  Maria was gone.

  Chapter 12

  Ryder saw the scream forming in her throat.

  “Don’t,” he said.

  He’d been able to get up and follow her inside, feeling not quite so horrible after his unintentional rest outside her window. For a brief moment, he’d even allowed himself to hope he’d been wrong, that it hadn’t been her baby. How would he know, after all? Barring obvious differences, one baby looked pretty much like another to him.

  But he’d known. In his gut he’d known, with a certainty that stunned him almost as much as Mr. E’s first punch had.

  She whirled then, her dark eyes wide and full of panic. And accusation. She flew at him, her fists up. He held up his hands to ward her off; she might be more than half a foot shorter than he, but he knew her strength, and, coupled with her emotional state, she could do some real damage.

  Especially when he was wobbly on his feet already.

  “You took her!” the frantic woman spat out, but she stopped in front of him without striking a blow. Lucky for him, he thought. “You are one of them, those despicable men who traffic in innocent babies.”

  “I’m not. I’m trying—” he had to stop to take in a breath that hurt his ribs “—to stop them. I’ve been working on cracking the ring.”

  She didn’t look much less suspicious. “I am going to call the sheriff.”

  Ryder swore inwardly. He was so close, and if she called the sheriff now, it would all be over. He’d be back in the slammer and Maria would be lost forever somewhere up the evil railroad these slimeballs had built.

  “We’ll lose her,” he said, desperate to get through to her but not knowing how. He didn’t know how to deal with this kind of fear and anger. This kind of love.

  “I will call Jewel’s friend, Deputy Rawlings. He will find out the truth.” Rage and fear boiled up in her eyes again. “But I already know it. You stole my Maria!”

  For an instant, his brain still too sluggish, all Ryder could absorb was what she’d named the baby.

  “Maria,” he said softly, trying it out. “Maria. It fits.”

  He wasn’t sure what happened next. Or why. But he knew her expression changed. She took a half step back, cocked her head at an angle as she studied him. He didn’t know what he looked like, but judging by the soreness of his face, it wasn’t pretty. He was confused when he realized that the suspicion, the accusation had faded from her eyes. All he’d done was repeat what she’d named her baby.

  He shook his head, trying to clear away the fog. Pain jabbed from his jaw up to his left temple, effectively sh
arpening his thoughts.

  “I didn’t take her—” He stopped, grimaced, before adding, “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Nor I yours,” she pointed out sharply, clearly not pleased with the distraction from the matter at hand.

  “Ryder,” he said. “Ryder Grady.” He was at least thinking clearly enough not to say “Colton,” not here in a house on Bar None land, run by a woman named Jewel who was connected to his brother, by business and by blood.

  Means she’s connected to you, too, a small voice in the back of his battered brain said, but he shoved it aside.

  After a moment, the woman finally returned the nicety, albeit tersely. “Ana Morales. Why should I believe you did not steal her? No one else even knew she was here.”

  Ana. He tried it out in his mind, aware that if he’d spoken it aloud his voice would likely have held the same wondering tone as Maria had.

  “Everybody in this house knew,” he said.

  “Children,” she said with a wave of dismissal. “You accuse children?”

  “There are adults here, too.” He was finding it a bit easier to talk, now that he was upright and not lying on his ribs.

  “Jewel? Macy? You think to blame them for this?”

  “I’m not blaming them. Or anyone here. I’m just saying…it’s natural they would talk. A new baby, delivered here at the ranch, they would talk. And anyone could have overheard them.”

  Ana Morales frowned at that. He could see that she was considering his words. For all her justifiable emotional upheaval, she was still thinking. He was grateful for that; otherwise she’d probably be hammering him with those small, hard fists. He knew her strength too well from that night, and didn’t doubt he’d have paid a price had she kept coming.

  “Ana,” he said, “I’m working with the government on this. I know who has her.”

  She went very still. “You are the police?”

  “I’m more of a…private contractor.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I knew some of the men involved. They approached me to help.”

  She studied him for a moment. “And what do you get in return?”

  He winced inwardly. It was the kind of thing he himself would ask, and he wondered what had happened in her young life to make her so cynical. Funny, it seemed only normal to him, but in her, it bothered him.

  She wound up pregnant and alone in a strange country, and you’re wondering what made her cynical? he asked himself.

  But he knew better than to lie to her. Not now, when her emotions were in full flood and her maternal instincts roaring; he sensed she’d know it instantly.

  “It was a deal,” he admitted, afraid if he told her the rest, she’d never believe him about anything else. “But that doesn’t change the facts. I know who has her, Ana. And I can get her back.”

  “Why should I believe you?” she asked again.

  Ryder let out a compressed breath. Even that simple act caused his bruised ribs to ache. And that added pain made him snap, “How about because I trekked halfway across freaking Texas, like this, to tell you?”

  He knew he sounded like a petulant child, wanting credit for one of the few noble things he’d ever done in his life, but he didn’t care. He was tired, he hurt all over, he thought a couple of those ribs might in fact be cracked, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a week.

  “What happened to you?”

  He frowned, which hurt nearly as much as a deep breath. “Told you. I tried to stop them.”

  “And they did this to you? If you work for the government, do you not have a gun?”

  “I did. They had more.”

  And one was aimed at Maria, by a man who wouldn’t hesitate to use it, he added silently. He wondered at himself for a moment. He knew instinctively that that, of all the things he could tell her, would stir her to his side. But he couldn’t tell her, and he didn’t quite understand why.

  She would completely lose it, he told himself.

  He even believed that. If he told her how close her baby had come to death, she might be unable to function, and right now he needed her thinking hard. It had nothing to do with protecting her—he had never cared about any woman enough to worry about that—nothing at all.

  “They?” she finally asked, looking him up and down.

  “Four of them,” he said, strangely unwilling to let her think he’d been beaten by merely one or two. Thinking his brain must be scrambled, he strove to take charge. Time was wasting and the trail was getting colder by the second. “I need a phone. I have to call my—” He hesitated on the word handler. “My contact,” he said instead.

  She hesitated.

  “Ana, please. The longer we wait, the less chance we have of finding Maria.”

  Again, her daughter’s name seemed to turn the tide. “Jewel gave me a cell phone when Maria was born, in case of emergencies,” she said, and walked quickly to the dresser and dug into an outside pocket on a large canvas bag. Pink, Ryder noticed, girly again.

  She handed it to him. He checked the phone readout for the number. At this hour chances were he’d have to wait for a call back, he explained to Ana. He dialed, keyed in his code and the cell number, then disconnected.

  “How long?” she asked.

  “A few minutes has been the longest, before.”

  She stood for a moment, rubbing her arms with her hands as if she were chilled, despite the hot August night. Ryder felt the ridiculous urge to hold her, to take her in his arms and warm her with his own heat, to comfort her…

  He even took a step toward her, stopping only when he realized the foolishness of the thought, and realized he was in no shape to comfort anyone.

  “Wait here,” Ana said, and turned.

  Was she going to call for help anyway? “Ana, don’t—”

  She waved him to silence. “I will not do what you are thinking. There is a first aid box in the children’s bathroom.”

  He’d asked her to trust him, so he guessed he had to trust her as well. He let her go. He heard the distant sound of water running. Moments later she was back, with a wet washcloth, a large towel, and a well-stocked plastic case of bandages, antiseptics and various other implements. He supposed that was a necessity with lots of active kids running around. He should be grateful.

  He’d thought she would simply hand it to him and leave it at that, but instead she directed him to sit on the edge of the bed. He did, warily, the movement tugging on bruised rib muscles. He bit back a grunt of pain, telling himself he had no right to complain about a few twinges, not here in this room where she had gone through such agony to bring her baby into the world.

  The intimacy of the memories unsettled him.

  She began to work without comment, and he noticed with a little surprise that she’d used warm water on the washcloth; he’d expected the shock of cold. Or maybe it was just August in Texas, he thought wryly, and the water never really did get cold.

  She was amazingly gentle, her touch soft and compassionate. It still hurt, but he did his best not to show it. When he couldn’t manage that, she apologized. He sat there for what seemed like endless minutes, his awareness gradually shifting from the pain to her closeness, and another sort of forced intimacy was suddenly upon him.

  She leaned toward him to reach his split lip with the warm cloth. Her breast brushed his arm, and while she didn’t react, it took all his focus for him not to jump. An image shot through his mind, of the picture she’d made, sitting in that rocking chair by the window, nursing Maria. In the late-night hour and the privacy of her room, she hadn’t covered up, and he’d known even then that he would remember the sight for the rest of his life, the baby’s tiny fists kneading that soft, generous curve.

  As she moved again, he realized that even through his bloodied nose he could smell a faint scent of soap or shampoo.

  Had she been out on a date?

  The idea made him frown, which made her apologize. He let it go; he c
ertainly didn’t want to explain that it was his thought, not pain, that had caused the expression.

  But then a vague, hazy memory came to him, of lying outside her window, safe in the shadows of the house, and hearing first the ranch’s van, then the excited laughter of children for a brief moment before the garage door had settled heavily into place.

  She’d been out with the children, not a man. And he didn’t like how relieved that made him.

  “This needs stitches,” she said as she swabbed at the most painful spot, on his left temple, about even with his eyebrow.

  “It’ll keep. Just use those,” he said, gesturing at the small packet of butterfly bandages in the first aid kit.

  To his surprise she didn’t argue with him, just did as he asked. Then he realized he shouldn’t be surprised; she was likely only doing this to keep herself distracted when everything in her must be screaming to go after her baby.

  It hit him, the enormity of the trust she had put in him. He didn’t know if it had been the weight of his government connection, or if she simply trusted him to help her as he had the night Maria was born. It was hard to believe that much faith could be built in so short a time, but he had to admit it had been transforming even for him.

  And if it convinced her…

  “Your ribs are hurt,” she said.

  He grimaced. “My dramatic exit was a bit…costly.”

  He explained to her how he’d faked a fall into the gully, and played dead when they’d peered over at him. He didn’t say it was likely the only reason he was still alive, but he saw in her eyes that he didn’t have to; she might be young, but she wasn’t a fool. He hadn’t mistaken the keen intelligence there.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  He blinked. Then connected it, belatedly and feeling foolish, to her comment about his ribs.

  “There’s nothing to do about them.”

  “But you are bleeding there as well. It should be cleaned, stopped. You will do Maria no good if you collapse.”

  She had a point. He took off his shirt. And closed his eyes, telling himself it was so she couldn’t see the flash of pain in his eyes, not so that he could concentrate on the feel of her fingers on his bare skin.