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  In the room, Mary, her hair clean and shiny after her shower, was making a few calls of her own. Gabe slipped into the bathroom, which was still steamy with the lemony scent of her. He used the shower and shaved.

  When he emerged, she was looking very proud of herself. “I called my editor and got an extension on that article.”

  “Excellent.” He sat on the bed beside her, thinking how good she smelled.

  “I had a couple of projects due this week at other magazines. I got extensions for them, too.”

  “You’ve been busy, huh?”

  She nodded. “And I talked to Donna Lynn. Since I’m going home in a few hours, she’s just going to come and see me at the ranch, instead of trying to make time to drop in here.”

  “You call Ida?”

  “I did. No news there. She’s a little down, still not sure what day Johanna’s coming. But she said it would be soon. I told her not to worry. And then held the phone down to Ginny and she made the cutest little cooing sound right on cue.”

  “Bet Ida loved that.” He couldn’t help noticing how her skin had a glow to it after her shower. He had to resist the urge to reach out and run the back of his hand down her soft, pink cheek.

  Mary grinned. “She did love it. She laughed and said she felt better, just hearing her granddaughter’s voice—oh. And I found a doula. The nanny agency Ida had me call said they’d have someone at the ranch at two. It’s pretty short notice, they told me. Usually I would interview and everything…” She frowned to herself—and then brightened again. Her eyes, he realized, were not just brown. They had gold in them. And blue rims around the iris. She chattered on, “But I’m sure it will work out with her. And I figure we should be back home before two.”

  He got up and moved over to sit in the chair. It was safer that way. When he was close to her, he wanted to put his hands on her. Touching her had seemed perfectly acceptable yesterday, when she was having her baby. It had been like a different world then, a world with all the barriers down, where she needed his hand holding hers, his touch to calm and comfort her.

  But now, this morning, with Ginny safely born, they were back in the real world where the old rules of conduct applied all over again. He was here to help, not get all up on her.

  She was frowning at him from the bed. “Is something wrong?”

  He played it off. “Not at all.” And changed the subject. “Did Dr. Breitmann come by already then?”

  Now she looked puzzled. “No. Why?”

  “Well, he does have to release you before you can go home, right? Maybe telling the doula to be there at two was jumping the gun a little.”

  “No. I don’t think so. I feel terrific—I mean, considering that I had a baby yesterday. As soon as Dr. Breitmann gets here, he’ll be releasing me.”

  In the past twenty-four hours, Gabe had learned a lot about Mary. Things like how once she’d made up her mind, there was no point in arguing with her. Might as well just wait and see how it shook out.

  Maybe it would turn out as she predicted. He’d no longer be needed by two that afternoon. He could head on back to his own life, end up dropping in at BravoCorp today after all, getting back on top of his workload.

  That would be great, he tried to tell himself. That would be just great.

  By eleven-thirty, when Dr. Breitmann had yet to show up, Mary was getting a little worried. She really did want to get out of the hospital that day, if possible. Partly because she would prefer to be in her own house, and partly because she did worry that her insurance might give her trouble about paying for another day.

  Gabe didn’t seem the least bit worried. He’d gotten his briefcase from the house when he picked up the car seat and he was on his laptop on and off, answering e-mails and such. When he’d get a call, he’d leave the room to answer it, ever thoughtful not to disturb her or the baby. She stared at his golden-brown head, bent over his PDA thingy, thumbs flying as he replied to a text message, and she smiled to herself.

  What a great guy he’d turned out to be, at her side all yesterday and today, willing to hang around waiting to take her home.

  If she ever got to go home. At this rate, she was beginning to wonder.

  “Gabe?”

  He looked from his laptop with an absent-minded smile. “Hmm?”

  “You think maybe I should call that nanny agency back, tell them to send the doula later?”

  He shrugged. “Up to you.”

  “Maybe I’ll just call Dr. Breitmann’s office and see what the holdup is.”

  “Up to you,” he said again, kind of absently, already back on that text message he was writing, little keys clicking away.

  So she called Dr. Breitmann’s office and they said he was delivering a baby. But it was looking like he might make it in to see her by one. Mary thanked the receptionist and hung up.

  And then she worried. If he came at one, would that be time, with checking out and everything, to get to the house before two?

  Gabe glanced up from his PDA again. “What’s the matter?”

  What? Now he was interested? “Nothing’s the matter. I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come on. You’re huffing and puffing, flopping around in that bed like you can’t wait to get out of it.”

  “Well, I can’t wait. I’m sick of just lying here, wondering when my doctor’s finally going to show up.”

  “So go for a walk down to the nurses’ station and back. Walking’s supposed to be good for you, isn’t it?”

  How could someone so helpful and wonderful be so annoying? She made a shooing movement with her fingers. “Just…write another text message and stop telling me what to do.”

  Gabe shook his head and did just that.

  And by then she’d decided that the helper coming at two really was cutting it too close. She called the agency and told them not to send the doula until four. That should be plenty of time.

  They ate lunch mostly in silence, except for when his PDA vibrated and he went out to answer it.

  When he came back in, she sourly suggested, “I’m surprised you don’t have one of those phones that hook over your ear. Doesn’t everybody in the big-time business world have a ‘hands-free’ now?”

  “I don’t like them,” he said, and took another bite of soupy-looking Swiss steak.

  It wasn’t important. She should have left it alone. But she was getting fed up with waiting for Dr. Breitmann and poor Gabe was the only one there to torture. “Why not?”

  He set down his fork. “You really want to know?”

  She didn’t care in the least. “Yeah. I do.”

  “When you use them, you look like you’re talking to yourself. That turns people off. It’s my job not to turn people off.”

  “You mean, while you’re making them an offer they can’t refuse?”

  He picked up his fork again. “Mary. Be quiet and eat your lunch.”

  She opened her mouth to say something really angry and vile. But sanity returned at the last possible second. She shut up and let a huffy glare suffice for a reply.

  Yes, she knew she was acting like a spoiled brat. She really did have to watch it or she’d say something unforgivable to Gabe who in no way deserved such crappy treatment. If only Dr. Breitmann would come and tell her she was doing fine and she could go.

  But then what if he said she had to stay?

  No. Why would he do that? She felt pretty good, physically, considering. But her whole body still hurt. When she tried to walk, she shuffled along with all the spunk and agility of a very old, sick woman. And she had cramping. And there was still some bleeding. Both the cramps and the bleeding were normal. She knew that. So were the stiffness and the other pains.

  Still, what if there was something wrong? Would she be stuck here while they worked her over some more, at Lord knew how many hard-earned dollars a day?

  By the time they’d finished their silent lunch, Gabe must have noticed how stressed she was getting. He tried to kid her out of it. �
�You’re going to lose those molars if you don’t stop grinding them.”

  She leveled a glare on him. “Do not get cute with me. Not now.”

  He arranged his incredibly handsome face into an expression of great seriousness. “Mary. I give up. Wear your molars down. Grunt and groan and make ugly faces. You’re on your own with it. I won’t say another word to try and cheer you up.”

  “Good. See that you don’t.”

  Dr. Breitmann finally showed up at one-thirty. Gabe, probably only too happy to get away from her and her terrible attitude, left them alone for the exam.

  Twenty minutes later, after the doctor left, Gabe tapped on the door. Mary called to him to come in.

  He stuck his head in. “Well?”

  She confessed, softly, “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been snippy.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “You’re right. I’ve been just awful. And I’m sorry. Truly.”

  “It’s okay. You just had a baby. You’re entitled.”

  “No, I’m not. But the good news is it’s safe to come in now. I’m fine. The baby’s fine. And we get to go home.”

  Mary sat in the backseat with Ginny when Gabe drove them home.

  She stared out the window at the rolling, dry land and the wide Texas sky where a hawk wheeled, high up, seeking prey, and tried not to think that in a couple of hours, he would be gone. She reminded herself that she’d have a helper until Ida got back, a woman trained to take care of new mothers and their babies. She and the doula would get along great.

  And Gabe had done more than she ever would or could have asked of him. Done it willingly. Eagerly, even. With a whole bunch of patience and a sense of humor to boot.

  Now she was going to need to let him go. And she would. She would thank him for the hundredth time and smile as he went out the door.

  In no time, he was pulling to a stop in front of her house. Brownie ran out to greet them, sitting down like a good dog, her tongue hanging out as she panted with happiness.

  It took a while to get the baby and the car seat and all the other stuff inside. Then Gabe asked where the baby’s room was and she told him it was upstairs.

  He gave her a look. “Maybe for a few weeks you should just move her bed down here, in your room, with you.”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I’d planned to do. I was going to take care of that a week or so before the baby was due…”

  “Tell me what you need,” he said. “I’ll bring it down for you.”

  “Oh, no. Really. You’ve done way too much already. The doula can take care of it when she gets here.”

  “Mary.” He waited until he was sure she was listening. Then he repeated, “Tell me what you need from up there.”

  She gave in and told him. He brought it all down: the bassinet and changing table, along with stacks of receiving blankets and onesies—most all of the stuff Mary had collected for Ginny’s layette. They set up a baby station in a corner of the master bedroom and put the bassinet on the far side of the bed, in easy reach at night.

  By the time they had it all properly arranged, it was quarter after four with no sign of the doula.

  “Give her fifteen more minutes,” Gabe suggested. “Then I guess you’d better call.”

  Mary blew out a breath. “All right—and really, there’s no reason you have to stay until—”

  He put up a hand. “Stop.”

  “But you don’t have to—”

  “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “But I’m—”

  “Give it up. It’s out of the question. I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

  So they waited. No doula. At four-thirty, Mary called. The agency said they’d been just about to call her. The woman they’d sent had checked in a few minutes before to say she had a family emergency and wouldn’t be available that day or the next after all. They had no one else they could send on such short notice. But if she still needed someone on Thursday, they should be able to help her then.

  Mary said she’d get back to them. And then she got out the phone book and started making calls. It took over an hour, but she finally found a domestic agency that said they could send someone the next morning.

  When she hung up, Gabe was waiting, one eyebrow raised. “A domestic agency? So you’re just getting a maid?”

  “No, I’m getting a ‘home care specialist.’ She’ll be here tomorrow at nine, to do light housekeeping and help with the baby.”

  “Well, good,” he said. “I can call the office and tell them I’ll be in a couple of hours late tomorrow. No biggie.”

  Her heart lifted at the thought. He wouldn’t go, after all. But no. It just wasn’t fair to him. “Oh, Gabe. I couldn’t…”

  “Sure you can. It’s nothing. I’ll stay.”

  “I could…ask Donna Lynn. And if she can’t do it, I know a couple of other friends in Wulf City who might be willing. Someone will be able to come, I know it.”

  “Forget it. I’m here. I know the drill. You’re used to having me around.”

  Oh, and she was! More than she should have let herself be. She should just put her foot down on this, now.

  But he took the phone from her and set it on the table. And she let him.

  “Just till the morning, then,” she said, trying to sound firm and ending up sounding strangely breathless.

  “That’s right. Till the home care specialist arrives.”

  Chapter Seven

  That evening, Gabe met Donna Lynn, the clerk from Hofstetter Hardware.

  He also met three other women, a neighbor and two of Mary’s girlfriends from Wulf City. They all came bearing casseroles, enough food to feed a small army, so Mary wouldn’t have to worry about cooking for the next few days.

  The women were nice. They did the usual things women do—talked baby talk to Ginny and said she was “just gorgeous. The prettiest little girl in Texas,” and took turns holding her, each one sighing and going on about how tiny she was, and how sweet.

  They treated him politely and said how great it was that he was there to help when Mary needed a friend. Mary joked that he’d come to buy her ranch—and when she wouldn’t sell, he’d stayed to help her have her baby. If they thought it odd that a man she’d only met the day before was playing nursemaid to Mary and her newborn, they never let on.

  Donna Lynn, a pretty, plump fifty-something with big hair and long red nails, did tease him. She said she’d seen pictures of him in San Antonio Living magazine, some ball or event he’d attended. “I mean to tell you, Gabe. You look mighty fine in a tux.”

  Mary sent him a warm smile. “And he’s got the patience of a saint, too. I’m a fortunate woman that he showed up when he did.”

  If he’d been sitting next to her at that moment, he might have pulled her close and kissed her without thinking twice about it. But he wasn’t. He stood across the room. Which was a lucky thing. He wasn’t there in Mary’s house to kiss her, and he needed to keep that fact clearly in mind.

  Later, when all the women had left, Garland came by to feed the livestock. Mary asked the old guy in to see the baby and he let her talk him into eating some of the food her friends had brought.

  When he went back out to the barn, Gabe went with him to help out. Together they tended the scruffy chickens, the two old horses and that family of ornery Nubian goats.

  By the time Garland left, it was after nine. And dark out, the sky so clear that even the quarter moon gave enough light to see by. In fact, Gabe thought, as he paused on the back deck, Mary’s spread looked pretty good by moonlight. You couldn’t see how badly the barn needed paint and a new roof, or the way the ironwork posts that held up the raggedy patio cover were rusting.

  It was nice. Quiet. Gabe gave into the temptation to sit for a few minutes and enjoy the night air. He dropped into a plastic chair, thinking how he wouldn’t mind at all if Mary joined him.

  And then he heard the storm door creak.

  Sure enough. “Gabe?”
>
  “Right here.” He turned in the chair and saw her standing in the open door to the kitchen, holding the storm door wide, the light from inside making a halo around her hair. “What do you need?”

  “Not a thing.”

  Still, he made a move to rise.

  “Just sit back down,” she insisted. And then she asked, kind of hesitantly, “Mind if I sit with you?”

  The other plastic chair scraped the patio’s concrete floor as he pulled it closer to his. “Come on.”

  So she came out, her dog at her heels, and sat next to him, wincing a little as she lowered herself into the chair. The dog walked in a circle and lay down at her feet. Mary wrapped the lightweight zip-front hoodie she wore a little tighter around her. They stared at the sky together.

  “Nice night,” she said.

  “Yeah. Ginny…?”

  “Sleeping.” Mary tipped her head toward the house. “And the bedroom window’s right there. I left it open a crack, so I’ll hear her if she starts crying.” Another silence between them. The good kind of silence. The kind friends can share, easy and comfortable.

  After a while, she spoke again. “Talk to me, Gabe.”

  He laughed low. “Well, all right. What do you want to hear?”

  “I’m thinking that since you already had detectives find out all there is to know about me, it’s only fair you should tell me a little about you.”

  He shrugged. “I’m thirty-two. Got a business degree from UT and a law degree from Baylor. Never been married and no serious entanglements.”

  She sent him a grin. “You say that with such pride.”

  “I like the single life.”

  “Your mom and dad?”

  “My mom’s name’s Aleta. Randall was her maiden name. It’s an old San Antonio family.”

  “You love your mom. I can hear it in your voice. That’s good. A man should love his mom.”

  “What’s not to love? She had nine kids and somehow she manages to make each one of us feel like we’re the favorite. She’s a kind woman—good at heart, you know? And smart. With a great sense of humor. Bluebonnet eyes, my dad always says. And still good-looking, even now, after all these years and all those kids.”