“We can’t make it to the hospital before the highway is flooded out. Is the baby going to be all right? Will you manage?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” he mumbled.
“What’s the baby’s name?”
“Uh, I don’t…Ricardo…Ricky,” he finally stammered.
Maybe Manny was as flustered by the circumstances as she was? Nope. Not the gritty and unswerving male who’d helped her and the baby off the slick minivan in the middle of the storm.
“And I think he’s going to be fine. He stopped shivering a few minutes ago.” Manny glanced down at the top of the toddler’s head, then peered out the window into the dark night. “I would like to get him dried off, though.”
“Right. Looks like we beat the water. We’re almost there.” As a matter of fact, at that moment the rusty gate bearing the Running C brand came into view.
Randi threw the car into Park and jumped out to open the gate—which turned out to be not an easy task with all the mud flowing across the gravel road.
She groaned internally at the thought of how rutted and pocked her road would be after the rain. And she didn’t have enough money to have it graded this time, either.
Gritting her teeth with frustration, Randi shoved at the heavy gate and then plowed her way back to the truck. The darn thing could just stay open. She didn’t care. No way was she getting out of the truck again to close it in this downpour.
Back in the driver’s seat, Randi could feel icy water dripping on her neck. The droplets didn’t stop there, but ran under her collar and slithered down her back. She started to shiver involuntarily but pressed her lips together and kept driving.
Only another half a mile to go.
It seemed like an hour’s drive, but actually within a few minutes she pulled up in the yard. Ignoring her usual parking spot under the tree, Randi drove as close to the back porch as she could manage.
“This is it. Let me put on a light and then I’ll come back out and help with the baby.” She ducked her head as she opened the truck door against the heavy rain and wind.
Just inside the door to the house, Manny stomped his boots and tried to shake the bulk of the water from his body, without much luck. He was soaked clean through.
When Randi had turned on the porch light, he’d caught a glimpse of her ranch house through the pouring rain. It hadn’t made much of an impression. From what Manny could see, the porch stairs leaned precariously to one side and the back door could obviously stand a new coat of paint.
Now he found himself in an old-fashioned mud room, with thirty-year-old linoleum on the floor and yellowing wallpaper on the walls. He clutched the baby to his chest, not wanting him to get a chill. Manny could still see his breath in the air even though they were inside the house.
“That’s all of it.” Randi came back through the door, carrying two bags full of groceries. “Come into the kitchen, while I light the stove. It’ll only take a few minutes to warm up.”
She dragged off her slicker, shaking it as she hung it on a peg. Leading the way through the mud room and into the kitchen, she turned on lights as she went.
Without the raincoat, she looked like a drowned rat. Well, actually, more like a drowned mouse. Thin and pale, her long, straight hair had almost dried, and he noticed only that it was the color of dishwater. She had on a dark pants outfit that appeared to be permanently wrinkled and stained by the rain.
The only memorable things about her were her eyes. In the light he saw their magical color. Hazel, he supposed they’d call them on a rap sheet. But one minute they were pale green ringed by steel blue, the next minute they were a deep gold with bronze flecks. The vulnerability he’d found within them haunted him more than the interesting colors.
Suddenly conscious of what a wet mess he was making, Manny stepped onto one of the braided rugs covering the wooden plank floor. Holding the baby against his shoulder, he silently apologized to the child for having to make up a name and for continuing to drag him along during an investigation. He stayed at the far end of the room and let his eyes adjust to the dim light.
He slowly focused, staring into the wide-open area that served as a kitchen and looked as if it had been furnished in the forties. His gaze took in all the details of the room: the propane-powered icebox with the fan on top, the floor-to-ceiling, free-standing breakfront, used as a pantry, and the two-foot thick, butcher block table in the middle of the room.
The out-of-date feel to the place reminded him of Mexico. Everything here was well-worn but also well cared for and spotless.
Randi busied herself shoving chopped wood into a cast-iron stove, the kind that had become very trendy in some areas of the West. Manny seriously doubted if she’d bought the thing to be fashionable. It looked ancient, but usable.
She lit the fire and fiddled with a damper. “It won’t be long now.” Her gaze caught his and flicked away. “Let me get some towels and a blanket for your baby.”
When she disappeared down a hall, Manny was shocked to realize he’d been studying her with more than just the professional eye of an undercover special agent. He found he’d been sidetracked once again by those amazing hazel-green eyes.
As she spoke, she’d looked like a timid fawn. Her skin was pearly with a dash of freckles across the nose. Only average height and a little too thin, as well, he thought. But her hips did curve rather seductively in the dressy slacks she wore.
All in all there wasn’t a reason in the world for the lick of desire he’d felt when their gazes met. He’d most assuredly felt it, though. And was, in fact, still trying to recover from the jolt.
Randi came back into the room with an armful of linens. “Here, let me have Ricky. You get out of that jacket and start drying off.”
After she set the pile of towels and blankets on the counter, he handed her the little boy and peeled off his soggy leather jacket. Manny was surprised to find the room considerably warmer than it had been just a few minutes earlier. He didn’t bother trying to figure out whether the warmth was related to the temperature or came from the nearness of the woman.
He took a deep breath and smelled a heady combination of mesquite smoke, dried herbs and tangy oranges. Reaching to pull off his boots, he had the weird sensation of being here before, of feeling at home. Maybe it was because the place felt like a safe haven, reminding him of his grandmother’s house in Mexico.
Manny stood transfixed, with a water-filled boot in each hand, watching as Randi undressed the baby and towel dried his hair. She was easy with Ricky, warm and motherly, and she turned Manny’s senses to mush.
Son of a gun. This innocent couldn’t possibly be involved with the baby smugglers. It wouldn’t be fair.
For the first time since he’d taken the oath, he hated what he did for a living. Hated having to pretend to be something he wasn’t. Hated having decent people be afraid of him.
But the truth was, when push came to shove, if Randi was involved with the smuggling ring, he’d do his job and take her down. The ruthless, international baby snatchers deserved no mercy. He just had to pray this guileless
