worry she’d been pushing back since she’d learned of her pregnancy. Worry that she didn’t know how to have a baby.
“You’re not showing much for almost five months. But it’s different for everyone,” he told her, his words gentle, reassuring.
“You have children?” she couldn’t resist asking.
“No. But I lived out in the country as a kid. My grandmother was a midwife for half the babies born in Van Zandt county. I grew up listening to her stories.”
Memories of Oleda, the eccentric old midwife from Elisa’s village, flashed through her mind like a favorite movie. She had not asked Oleda about the sickness before leaving San Ynez; she had not been able to risk it.
She would not risk it when she returned, either. She would bear this baby alone, if she lived to bear it at all. Despite his gentle voice, this ranger was responsible for that.
She looked up at him. His wide shoulders bunched and released under his sports jacket. The light scent of soap and sandalwood wafted to her on a puff of a breeze. The corners of his mouth angled up hopefully, as if he wanted to smile at the newfound peace between them. She had never seen his smile, but could imagine it—warm and beguiling, pulling a matching grin from whomever it fell on. His would be the kind of smile women trusted. The kind they depended on. Wanted to wake up next to.
Suddenly he was too close, too male, too alive. All the things Eduardo had been and was no more.
Once again the ranger had made her forget her intentions. Made her forget who she was, and who he was—policía. Untouchable.
Dredging up the energy from deep inside, she rose on rubbery legs. He rose with her, still steadying her. She held the half-full water bottle out to him. He shook his head. “Keep it. You’re probably dehydrated.”
She dropped the bottle next to his expensive boots, and the smile that had been so close to breaking, died, unborn. His eyes hardened, as did his voice. “Tell me where you’re staying and I’ll drop you off and not bother you anymore.”
“I will go no further with you.”
“I just want to help you.”
“I do not need your help.” She shook free of his grip, took two steps down the road.
In one agile move, he stepped in front of her, blocking her way again. Containing a heavy sigh, she stopped short of plowing into him. Just short. They stood nearly nose to nose, close enough for her to see the beginnings of the stubble that would shadow his jaw in a few hours. Close enough for her to see the shadows in his eyes, too, though their source was less clear to her.
“Bull,” he said.
She tilted her chin up. “You are certainly acting like one.”
“Only because you’re being unreasonable.”
“Because I don’t wish to be helped by a man with my fiancé’s blood on his hands?”
The ranger’s face blanched, and at that moment she knew the source of the shadows in his eyes. Pain. Guilt. Shame. She would not have thought a policía capable of these emotions.
“You don’t want my help?” he said. “Give me the number of someone to call for you. A name. Anything.”
“No.”
“No, you won’t? Or no, you can’t? There isn’t anyone to call, is there? You have no one.”
Her face heated. “That is none of your concern.”
“Lady, right now that is my only concern. Because until I know you have someone to go to, I’m stuck with you. And you’re stuck with me.”
Sensing the turmoil in him, she could almost feel sorry for him. Almost, if the seedling sympathy sprouting inside her had not been quickly trampled by the stronger emotions she felt. Rage. Fear.
Hate.
She held on to the hate. It was the only emotion capable of keeping her on her feet. It gave her the strength to shoulder past him and start again down the blistering blacktop.
Behind her, his footfalls kept pace with her own. “Eduardo’s place has been sealed since the shooting. Where have you been staying?”
She ignored him.
“When was the last time you had a decent meal?” he called to her.
At the mention of food, her knees nearly buckled. The ranger’s hands were on her shoulders, holding her, as she swayed. For a moment the broad male chest behind her was the only solid in a fluid world. The kick of his heart against her spine was a beacon, guiding her from the stormy sea to firm ground.
When the ground stopped rolling beneath her, he turned her gently toward him, the way a parent would nudge a tired child. Instinct screamed at her to resist, flee or fight, but she had the strength for neither. Unable to meet his gaze this time, she stared at his chest. Weakness was so uncharacteristic for her. Pregnancy was doing wild things to her body, her stamina. She hated the feeling of helplessness that consumed her.
“Please let me go,” she said, humiliated by the pleading tone in her voice.
“Go where?” His words, like his hands, held her softly in place. “Back to San Ynez?”
Her gaze jumped to his, but before she could speak, he continued. “How do you plan on doing that with no plane ticket, no money, no credit cards? Nothing but your passport, some clothes, two bananas and a rosary to your name?”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “You searched my bag?”
“You left it in my car.”
“And this gives you the right to invade my privacy?”
He scowled. She’d caught him, and she knew it. She had studied American culture enough to know they had laws about these things. Search and seizure. But since when had the policía in any country cared about the law?
“I thought you might have some medicine to settle your stomach,” he said. “Or some crackers to nibble on.”
“Inside my passport?”
He looked chagrined but defiant. “I was curious. It’s not a crime.”
“Is it a crime to force me to go with you when I have said I do not want your help?”
“I’m not going to let you just walk away. Not when you have nowhere to go.”
Exasperation filled her voice. Had there ever before been such a stubborn man? “Where would you take me, Ranger?”
The question seemed to stump him for a moment, then he stammered, “I can help you get home.”
The laugh that welled up inside her felt hysterical. “Do you know much about San Ynez?”
“Just that it’s a small military dictatorship in South America.”
“You are a Texas Ranger.
