He headed back out to the ranch to start another evening of surveillance and endless waiting. He made his usual circuit to check the tunnels suspected of being used by the ring, but his telltales—small things he’d placed that would be pushed aside or stepped on unknowingly by anyone who went through the openings—were undisturbed, as they had been for days now. This obviously wasn’t a high-volume operation.
Or he was on the wrong track altogether, which he didn’t like contemplating.
When he was done with his inspections, he settled in in a key spot and waited for full dark before moving in closer to the ranch.
Once more, Ryder found himself sitting and watching, with nothing to do but think. He tried all sorts of distractions, from taking Boots’s theory and trying to figure in his head what a six-pound baby would cost per ounce at the going rate, to deciding what approach to use on that cute waitress at the diner down the street from the motel. Nothing seemed to work very well. And he kept coming back full circle, thinking about the family who’d cut him off.
Although, to be fair, he’d done the same thing.
Was he luckier to know his family? Luckier than a kid who’d been sold, but at least to people who wanted him? Or worse, stolen, maybe from a parent who actually loved him? He wasn’t sure.
As darkness fell around him again, Ryder worked his way slowly down toward the new building that had been put up since he’d been gone, the building he suspected might be a stop on the smugglers’ route. How different his life might have been if he’d been stolen as a baby. Better? Maybe. Easier? Probably.
But then he felt a jab of guilt. Clay had sacrificed a great deal, trying to keep them all together. Ryder hadn’t ever wanted to admit that, but he couldn’t deny it any longer. Clay had tried harder than anyone had any right to expect. It wasn’t his fault that his little brother was a screwed-up mess. But knowing Clay, he probably blamed himself. Ryder grimaced inwardly.
The only language you seem to understand is trouble. And when it calls, you come running.
No sooner had the words formed in his mind than he heard it. A low, agonized whimper of sound.
He froze. Instantly his brain discarded the possibility that it had been a baby’s cry; this was someone older, an adult. He tilted his head, trying to triangulate the sound.
Inside the house.
It came again, harsher this time, a cry of pain and anguish that stabbed at him.
A woman. It was a woman.
Instinctively he took a step forward, then stopped himself.
The only language you understand is trouble. And when it calls, you come running….
His thoughts taunted him. Somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice told him to walk away, all the while laughing, knowing he wouldn’t.
Knowing he couldn’t.
Trouble was calling.
And, God help him, he was going to answer.
Ana knew she was in trouble. Jewel had taken the Hopechest children into town for a treat, a movie and then ice cream at Miss Sue’s. Although Jewel had asked her to accompany them, Ana’s back had been aching fiercely all day. She had seized the chance for some quiet in the empty house; with Macy Ward, the recreational therapist at Hopechest, away on her honeymoon with the sheriff’s brother, Fisher Yates, Hope chest was completely deserted—and peaceful—tonight.
She had dozed fitfully through the ache and awakened after an hour to the empty house. She had panicked, knowing now the reason her back had been aching so.
The baby.
When the first contraction ripped through her it caught her off guard and she screamed. The sound echoed off the walls of the deserted house, and she bit her lip in the effort to stop another cry.
As the pain ebbed, for a brief moment she allowed herself to hope it was only a false alarm. Surely she would not be so unlucky as to give birth at the worst possible moment, when she had no one here to help?
And why would this surprise you? she asked herself sternly. Your judgment in life has been so sterling thus far.
Slowly, she sat up, relieved when she was able to do so. Her water had broken, she couldn’t deny that, but perhaps the baby would wait at least until Jewel returned. She thought about calling the Bar None, but she was certain Jewel had mentioned that Clay Colton was out with his ex-wife.
It seemed like an odd thing to her; she could no more imagine going back to Alberto Cardenas than she could imagine stopping this baby from coming. Not now that she knew he was as bad as her father. But she knew not everyone was as unlucky—or unwise—as she was.
On that thought, a second contraction hit, shocking another cry out of her. This time she had the presence of mind to look at the clock; timing was important, was it not?
Tears brimmed in her eyes and she told herself it was the pain. She would not cower and whine, she simply would not. Determined, she tried to stand. If she could walk, perhaps she could stave this off until help arrived.
Her first steps convinced her of the folly of that notion. She made it to the chest of drawers a few feet away before another pain struck, sending her to her knees; she barely managed to cling to the heavy piece of furniture and keep from falling.
In the process she pulled over the small statue of a roadrunner Jewel had so kindly given her when she had arrived here. She had seen it in the library and exclaimed that it reminded her of home. Thinking that Ana was homesick, Jewel had offered the piece. Ana had accepted it, temporarily, thinking it would serve as a good reminder of all the reasons why she had left.
The statue shattered on the tile floor, having just missed the colorful rug in front of the chest. Ana barely had time to regret the miscue before another pain hit. She did not have to look at the clock to know it was too soon; the pains were too close together to pretend.
Her baby was coming.
She was alone.
She was going to have to do this herself. Somehow.
And she would, she told herself fiercely. She’d gotten her baby into this, it was up to her to handle it. She—
Her self-lecture broke off at a sound from the porch. For an instant she felt relieved until she realized she had not heard the ranch van pulling up the driveway, or heard the door open to the garage, which was next to her room.
It was not Jewel.
It was not anyone who had arrived openly by car. And while it was possible, even a frequent occurrence, that a visitor would arrive on horseback, she had not heard that either. And at this hour of night, that did not seem likely.
No answer she could come up with was good.
A tall shadow shot across the tile floor, hiding the gleam of the broken pieces of the statue. Ana choked back the scream that rose to her throat. She grabbed the largest, sharpest shard of the shattered roadrunner. It was not much, but it was all she had to protect herself and her baby.
As the shadow moved closer and she found herself staring up into the eyes of a tall, dark, menacing stranger, she thought she was going to have to defend the two of them.
Trouble, he’d expected.
A very pregnant woman, he hadn’t.
He’d done his homework on this place, this Hopechest Ranch. He’d been a little taken aback when he’d learned that the Hopechest Foundation that funded it was the pet project of Meredith Colton, who was his aunt. And potential first lady.
But he hadn’t heard even a rumor that the place