The Baby Trail. Karen Rose Smith

asked.

      After hesitating a few moments, Reuben finally said, “She had long brown hair. He was a blonde.”

      “Did you notice what kind of car they were driving?” Garrett inquired.

      The boy shrugged. “It chugged pretty much when the guy started it. I looked outside. It was a brown pickup truck—small, pretty battered up.”

      “Anything identifiable on it?” Garrett asked.

      “Nah. I didn’t see it up close.”

      “Which way did they go?”

      “They headed north.”

      When Gwen exchanged a look with Garrett, he handed Reuben a business card. “If you remember anything else, give me a call, okay?”

      The teenager nodded, and Garrett motioned for Gwen to go outside.

      Next to a vending machine, she stopped. Garrett did, too, but he remained silent.

      Facing him, her arm brushed his. As a buzz of attraction hummed between them, she asked, “That’s our couple, don’t you think? What do we do next?”

      “What do you mean—what do we do next?” he asked warily. “You do whatever you do on Sundays and I’ll continue what I’m doing.”

      Maybe he was a loner, but two heads were better than one. “Are you going to take the case?”

      Though the nerve in his jaw worked, his tone was even. “I’m just doing some preliminary work to find out if there’s a reason to take the case.”

      “You only search for someone when you know you’ll be successful?” she challenged him.

      His splayed fingers ran through his hair as if he were frustrated with her beyond measure. “No, of course not.”

      “Then, Mr. Maxwell, why is this such a hard decision to make?”

      Although his penetrating stare might have made a lesser woman crumble, she didn’t crumble, not even under the appraisal of a tough-guy former FBI agent.

      Finally he replied, “It’s a hard decision to make because I’m one person and I have a limited amount of time.”

      She certainly understood that. “Did you see Amy?”

      His expression didn’t change but something in his eyes did. “Yes, I saw her.”

      “We can’t let that little girl go through life not knowing who her parents are.”

      “We?” he drawled again, his brows arched.

      “Mr. Maxwell—” she began.

      “It’s Garrett.”

      “Garrett,” she repeated, liking the sound of his name on her lips, liking the look of him, not liking the horribly exciting pull she felt toward him. “You wouldn’t have started asking questions if you didn’t want to help me with Amy.”

      “I wasn’t getting very far until you came along,” he acknowledged with a bit of chagrin.

      “Reuben thought you were a cop. Kids his age don’t rat on each other, not to someone in authority.”

      “I have a feeling you can get your way with the male species when you ratchet up the charm,” Garrett commented.

      How wrong he was about that! She hadn’t had enough charm to keep Mark. Over and over she’d asked herself what she’d lacked…where she’d gone wrong…what need of his she hadn’t satisfied.

      “And if charm doesn’t get you what you want, solid determination will,” he went on, not looking happy about it.

      “You’ve made this analysis when we’ve been in each other’s company a total of what? Fifteen minutes?”

      “Am I wrong?” he fired back.

      That he’d pegged her so well in such a short amount of time was unnerving. “No, you’re not wrong, but all my charm and all my determination won’t find Amy’s mother if I don’t know what questions to ask or where to look.”

      Blowing out a breath, Garrett gazed in the direction of the Painted Peaks. The blue-shadowed, rust, gray and red mountains chased each other higher on the outskirts of town. “Did you have lunch yet?” he asked.

      That question was unexpected. “No, I haven’t.”

      “Let’s go to The Silver Dollar, get something to eat and talk about this.”

      The hope that he was really going to help her almost made her feel giddy. “All right. That sounds good to me.”

      Afraid he’d change his mind, she was starting for her car when he reached out and snagged her arm. There it was again—that snap and crackle of heat.

      “Just because we look for Amy’s mom doesn’t mean we’ll find her. More often than not, leads turn into dead ends,” he warned her with the edge of experience in his statement.

      “And sometimes, leads turn into other leads,” she protested quietly.

      With a shake of his head, his mouth turned up slightly at the corners. “Are you a Pollyanna?”

      Because of the way she’d grown up, she was far from that. “No, but I make a conscious decision each morning to look at the brighter side of life and I think that pays off.”

      When he dropped his hand to his side, she felt its absence.

      “I’ll meet you at The Silver Dollar,” he said gruffly, then stepped down off the curb and climbed into his SUV. After waiting for her to start up her van, he followed her.

      She found herself smiling as she drove. Since when had lunch at The Silver Dollar seemed like a main event?

      Since Garrett Maxwell had extended the invitation.

      Not knowing what in the hell he was going to do with Gwen Langworthy, Garrett noticed her terrifically long legs covered by her deep violet slacks, the sway of her breasts and hips under her sweater. He spotted an empty table and they headed for it.

      The Silver Dollar was three-quarters full. It was a nice-sized restaurant decorated with ranch brands and lariats on the walls, alongside framed signed photographs of Roy Rogers and Gene Autry. But the western atmosphere barely registered as Garrett pulled out Gwen’s chair for her.

      Damn, she got to him in a way Cheryl never had. She was pushier than his ex-wife, franker, definitely more determined. In spite of himself, he wanted to know more about her and that was a big mistake. If he took this case, he’d just have to stay away from her.

      If he took this case? He was already hooked and he knew it.

      Stay away from Gwen Langworthy, he repeated to himself as if he had to translate the words from a foreign language. Standing behind her, looking down at her shiny auburn curls, all he wanted to do was sink his fingers into them. Well, that wasn’t all he wanted to do.

      Swiftly moving away from her perfume that smelled fruity and flowery all at the same time, he took the chair across from her and realized that his knees could too easily brush hers at the small table. It didn’t take Yoda shaking a spiny finger at him to warn him not to engage in physical contact. May the Force be with him.

      Before she opened her menu, her dark brown eyes met his. “How much do you charge?”

      “I don’t charge when I find children.”

      “As you pointed out, this isn’t a child.”

      He shrugged. “Same difference this time.”

      “I can’t let you—”

      He dismissively brushed her words away. “You’re not letting me do anything, and as I told you before, we might not find her.”

      “If this takes your time away from