by Cassie Miles
“Will she get here in time for the birth?”
He shrugged and rubbed his hand along his clean-shaven jawline. “Beats me.”
A man of few words, Tom Burton didn’t demand much attention. Quietly and efficiently, he managed RSQ Ranch and took care of the animals. His wife handled the people part of the business. Dylan considered himself lucky to have hooked up with the Burtons.
While talking to the vet, Jayne was clearly in her element. She wrapped up the conversation with a promise to contact the vet after the birth. Calmly, she approached the pen. “This doesn’t sound difficult at all.”
“Most species of giraffe reproduce well in captivity,” he said.
Dylan eased open the gate and stepped inside the pen with Jayne at his side. “Did the vet tell you anything we’re supposed to do?”
“She said labor seldom lasts for more than a couple of hours and mostly consists of pacing and groaning. No trouble at all.”
He didn’t believe for one minute that delivering the calf would be easy. The vet tended to oversimplify. “When the time comes, will Bibi lie down?”
“Not usually.”
Jayne stood very still while Bibi lowered her long neck and brought their faces close together. Jayne reached up and stroked the giraffe’s cheek. Gazing into each other’s eyes, they seemed to have a sweet and empathetic connection. Dylan took his phone from his pocket and framed a picture of Jayne’s dark curls and Bibi’s white face with the dark spots on her neck. The charm didn’t last for long. Bibi stuck out her long, dark purple tongue and coiled it around Jayne’s wrist.
To her credit, Jayne didn’t shriek. “Not expecting that,” she said. “It’s a little gross.”
Bibi raised her head and returned to her pacing. He wished the pen was bigger, but the vet had told him it wasn’t good for her to have too much room.
“Look!” Jayne pointed.
The scrawny calf’s legs were sticking out. Bibi paused to lick around the edges and went back to her pacing.
“You didn’t answer me,” he said. “If she doesn’t lie down to give birth, what does she do?”
“She spreads her back legs and gives a push and splat—the calf comes out.” She illustrated by stretching her legs apart and gesturing. “These are big babies, over six feet tall and over a hundred and twenty pounds. The umbilical cord snaps when the calf falls, and the bump is enough to get breathing started. All in all, it’s quite efficient. Bibi will groom her calf, and the little one should get up and walk within a few minutes.”
He saw the legs hanging from Bibi’s rear. It didn’t look at all normal. “That’s a long fall to the ground.”
“And that’s where you come in,” she said brightly. “Someone needs to catch the baby. At least, break the fall.”
Somehow, this had gone from “no problem” to him standing under the back end of a giraffe waiting to catch a 120-pound baby. He might have argued but doubted it would do any good. Dylan was the tallest and the biggest among them.
He heard Tom Burton chuckle and shot him a glare. “You think this is funny?”
“Indeed, I do, and I’m planning to take pictures.”
He entered the chain-link enclosure with Bibi and glanced over at his audience. There was Jayne, of course, and Tom. And a collection of barn cats, ferrets and goats. Several lop-eared bunnies stood at the edge of their large pen wiggling their noses. The cats formed two groups. Four of them perched in a row on a hay bale watching Bibi. Several others nudged Tom and meowed for food.
Jayne reached down and petted a fluffy gray cat that purred as loudly as a motorboat and wouldn’t stop rubbing against her legs.
“You’re a pushy one,” Jayne said. “And it won’t do you any good to kiss up. I don’t have food.”
Dylan hooked his fingers in the chain link and stared at her. “Did I just hear you talking to that cat?”
“Oh, my God, I’m turning into one of those people.”
“Kindhearted animal people,” he said. “Card-carrying members of PETA.”
“Okay, animal lover.” She pointed to the giraffe. “Here comes the head.”
The head and long neck joined the legs. A gooey-looking placenta peeled back from the baby’s face. Dylan saw the eyelashes flutter as Bibi took a stance. It was time.
“Go,” Jayne urged him.
“She seems to be doing a good job on her own.”
“This isn’t like the wild where she could find a soft spot to have her baby. The floor is a concrete slab. She needs you.”
He moved into position and held out his arms. Bibi swatted at him with her tail, and he batted it away. He tried to squat under the giraffe’s back legs.
When Bibi let out a moan and shifted her weight, the baby swung back and forth. More leg appeared. More neck. In a spurt, a long strange-looking creature slithered out.
Dylan managed to break the fall. He landed on the floor with a lapful of giraffe calf.
He scooted away from the calf. Bibi took over, licking her baby clean.
Breathing through his mouth, Dylan watched mama and calf. The gangly, adorable baby batted long eyelashes and nuzzled close to Bibi. Though he hadn’t done anything but catch, he was proud of the role he’d played. How many Colorado cowboys could say they’d birthed a giraffe?
Chapter Thirteen
Urging her to hurry, Dylan led Jayne down the hallway in the big cedar house to an office with an L-shaped wooden desk that was part computer station and partly for writing. A row of black file cabinets lined the walls that weren’t holding floor-to-ceiling shelves of well-worn books. The black plastic telephone on the desk looked like a piece of technology from years gone by that was being devoured by more modern equipment. He gestured toward the handset. “It’s for you.”
“My dad?”
He lowered his voice. “I called my brother at the TST office and you-know-who was there. He’s insistent about talking to you.”
Reluctantly, Jayne slid into the swivel chair behind the desk and picked up. “Hello, Dad.”
“Where did you disappear to? I thought I was taking you back to Texas with me.”
It was typical for him to make up a scenario that he hadn’t discussed with her. She was utterly certain that she’d never given any indication that she’d return with him to Dallas. “I need to stay in Denver. It’s where I work, where I live.”
“I’ve had a chance to look at that little fixer-upper house you bought. It’s not as much of a mess as I thought.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Her father didn’t make concessions lightly. Every other time he’d referred to her house, it was the “dump” or the “hovel.” Saying it wasn’t a total mess counted as a compliment from him. Buttering her up? He must want something really bad.
“I could stay at the house with you until this is over,” he said in a reasonable tone. “I could bring in some contractors and finish up some of the repair work.”
As if they’d ever worked together on a project without being at each other’s throats? He was dangling a carrot, and she wanted to know why. “What do you want, Dad?”
“Tell me where you are?”
“In the mountains.”
“Where, exactly, in the mountains?”
She repeated a version of what Dylan had said about hideouts. “A safe house isn’t very safe if other people know where it’s located.”
“At least, give me a phone number.”
“I’m not sure how this works.” She looked across the home office to Dylan, who was leaning against the doorjamb. “Can we put this call on speaker?”
He extended his long arm and pressed a button on the computer attached to the phone. “Hello, sir. Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear.”
Her dad didn’t sound happy about talk
ing to Dylan, probably because he thought he could convince her to do what he wanted if no one else interfered. When was he going to learn that she made her own decisions and was stubborn as hell?
“Dylan,” she said as she swiveled toward him, “can explain the telephone situation to you. Okay, Dad?”
“First I’ve got a bone to pick. Dylan, you gave me a burner phone and told me I could use it to contact you.”
“Yes, sir,” Dylan said. “And I’d appreciate if you keep that cell phone with you in case we need to make contact.”
Her father’s voice went loud. “Doesn’t work, the damned cell phone doesn’t work. The only place I can call is the TST Security office.”
“Which is how you reached us this morning,” Jayne pointed out. “Please continue, Dylan.”
“As I’m sure you are aware,” he said, “cell phone signals and technology are linked to GPS and can be tracked. Records for landlines are also accessible. If you had a phone number for Jayne and called it, anyone monitoring your phone could locate her.”
“Of course, I know that. Everybody knows that.”
“I’ve developed an ironclad firewall to protect the cyber-interconnections between the phone at the TST Security office—the one you’re talking on—and my phone at the safe house. The signal bounces all around the globe before it’s relayed. If a third party gets close, our words shred into binary code.”
“Our government could use technology like that.”
“Yes, sir, they already use it.”
Her father’s voice took on a huffy tone. “Are you saying that our government uses your technology?”
“I’d never be allowed to say that.”
She studied him as he sat on the edge of the desk and delivered his explanation. Which variation of Dylan was this? He was dressed like a cowboy in jeans and a plaid cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. But his tone and his mannerisms seemed more like the professor. And his words were as confident as a business mogul and had resulted in a sly put-down of her dad, which Jayne, of course, cherished.
Her mind was still digesting the information she’d learned from Betty about Dylan being a child genius. His field of interest was far different from hers, and he’d already hinted that he didn’t do well in school...maybe because his parents were schoolteachers? And she sensed the loneliness inside him, similar to her experiences.
“Jayne, what do you say?” her father asked. “Come back to Denver and we’ll stay at your house. I’ll hire more bodyguards. If Koslov dares to show his ugly face, we’ll grab him.”
Dylan shook his head. On a legal pad, he wrote, “Using you as bait.”
Aloud, she said, “That sounds like you’re setting a trap for Martin Viktor Koslov, and using me to lure him in.”
“I’d never do anything to hurt my girl,” he said.
“Excuse me.” The smooth, lightly accented baritone of Javier Flores interrupted. “I would be honored if you both stayed with me until the danger had passed.”
Dylan’s head shaking became emphatic. In huge letters on the legal pad, he wrote, “NO!”
Flores continued, “I already have top-notch security and a full-time contingent of bodyguards.”
“Why do you need so much protection?” she asked.
“My father made enemies when he established our family business. Even a legitimate entrepreneur such as myself runs into conflicts with the likes of Diego Romero. In the past, I have been targeted.”
“What about your wife and kids?”
“Ex-wife,” he corrected. “And I have not been blessed with children of my own.”
The fact that he hadn’t settled down and started the next generation of Flores offspring made her think he might be younger than she’d presumed. “I couldn’t impose. The search for Koslov might take weeks, and it doesn’t seem right for me to move into your house.”
“I’d appreciate the opportunity to learn more about you,” he said. “And you wouldn’t be alone at my house. Your father would be a chaperone.”
“It almost sounds like you’re thinking of this as a date.”
“And if I am...”
His hints drifted on waves of sensuality. Since her dad wasn’t objecting, she figured that Dad approved of Flores as a suitor. Many times, he’d told her how he wished she’d find a man, settle down and do her doctoring part-time.
“I’ll consider both offers,” she said. “Today and tonight, I’m staying right where I am. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Goodbye, Señor Flores.”
“Please,” he said, “you must call me Javi.”
Short for Javier, it was a very breathy name. “Very well, Javi, goodbye. Same to you, Dad.”
“Before you leave the TST office,” Dylan said, “it might be wise to set up a calling schedule. We’ll make sure we’re close to the phone at the right time.”
As soon as the connection was severed, he came around the end of the desk and blocked her way so she was trapped in the swivel chair.
“Here’s why,” he said, “it’s a bad idea to stay with Javi. He has enemies in Venezuela. He even mentioned Diego Romero who we know is connected to Koslov. Before you even consider the possibility of staying at his mansion full of bodyguards, who might be disloyal to Javi and working for Romero, let me do a full background check on him to make sure he’s one of the good guys.”
She recognized the rush of words and the nervous tension. “You’re jealous.”
“Of him?” He pulled a face. “I don’t care one way or another about Javi. I’m just doing my job, guarding your safety.”
She stood behind the desk, reached out and pushed lightly against his chest. “I haven’t decided what I’ll be doing or where I’ll be staying.” She gave another little push, and he stepped back. “Rest assured that it will be my decision. I call the shots when it comes to my life.”
She pushed again. This time he didn’t move back. He caught her hand and held it. “I have something to ask of you.”
His voice was low and compelling. When she looked up into his warm gray eyes, she felt warmer and somehow safer. “Go ahead, ask.”
“Don’t put yourself in danger.” He squeezed her hand. “I never want to see you hurt again.”
With the many distractions of RSQ and the birth of the giraffe calf, her ordeal had faded from her mind. It seemed like a very long time ago that she had been drugged and captured by Koslov. Her hand rose to touch the swollen bruise on her cheek—her injuries could have been so much worse.
Dylan was right to remind her. She wasn’t here on vacation. This wasn’t playtime.
She promised him, “I’ll be careful.”
* * *
AFTER HIS CALL to Detective Cisneros, Dylan decided to spend the rest of the day with Jayne, mostly outdoors because the crisp September weather was idyllic and shouldn’t be wasted. He found an old pair of glasses to replace the contact lenses that had been lost when he was being the giraffe’s midwife. He had more contacts, but he preferred the glasses. From the way Jayne looked at him, he could tell she liked the glasses, too.
Gauging how she felt about him wasn’t easy. Most of the time, she seemed to lump him in with everybody else who had given her a hard time. Occasionally, he really made her laugh. Or growl like a tigress. Once or twice, he’d looked at her and felt the heat. There was chemistry between them, but how much? He wanted to take a little stroll down that path.
As her bodyguard, he knew it was unprofessional to make a move on the woman who hired him. It wasn’t as though they were on a date. He didn’t even know if she’d agree to go out with him, and she must have told him a hundred times that she was the one who called the shots. She was the boss, and he needed to get a grip.
After lunch, they rounded up a couple of horses from the corral and went for an easygoing walk. Following
a narrow creek, they rode into the wide Arkansas River Valley.
Jayne leaned forward in her saddle and patted her chestnut horse. “Why would anyone want to get rid of this fine mare? She’s got plenty of spark left in her.”
“You’ve got a good eye,” he said. “That pretty lady is an American quarter horse, only five years old, and she’s partly trained for rodeo. Her family ran into financial problems and left three horses with us until they get back on their feet.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Are you letting these people take advantage of you?”
“That’s not how I like to think about it. I’m just lending a nice family a hand. Someday, I might have to sell these ponies. But not right now. For now, RSQ is like their foster home.”
At the base of the hill was a half acre of aspen trees with their round leaves turned bright yellow. He directed her along a path that led across the sloping hillside and into the forest. Their horses picked their way through the white trunks. With aspen leaves shimmering around her dark hair, Jayne looked like a golden goddess.
Back at the barn, they took care of their horses and then visited the enclosure to admire the calf. Wobbling around on its long legs, the six-foot-tall baby was adorable.
Tom Burton joined them. “The vet stopped by. She checked out Bibi and baby. Both are fine.”
“Did you show her?” Dylan asked. “Did you show the photos you took on your phone?”
“She particularly liked the picture of you sprawled on your bottom.” He chuckled under his breath. “You might have a future as an ob-gyn.”
“Yeah, yeah, did you tell her the calf’s name?”
“She liked that, too.”
“What name?” Jayne asked. “What did you call her?”
“The giraffe calf is named in your honor.”
“Jayne?” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s an okay name for a person, but for a giraffe?”
He agreed, but he’d wanted to do something that would forever link her to the event of the baby’s birth. “I used your last name. The baby is Shack, short for Shackleford, and reminiscent of a very tall former basketball star, Shaquille O’Neal.”
