on those heart-shaped lips, but the window shattered behind his head, and Dante yelled, “Down!”
“I don’t need this much excitement,” Ana said from the floorboard, checking the firearm Ash shoved at her from the glove box.
Dante slapped a clip into the gun he grabbed. “I read that women get pregnant more easily when they’ve been under stress.”
“Who told that lie?” Ash demanded, jacking the truck up to about eighty miles an hour. “And who’s getting pregnant?”
“No one,” Ana said. “I had a momentary lapse in judgment.” She glared at Dante before she fired a shot out the back window. A tire blew on the truck, and it veered off the road. A few bullets sprayed after them, but they were too far away for anything to hit.
“Nice,” Dante said. “I like a woman who can shoot straight.”
Ana looked at him, locked the gun and stored it away again. “Well, I prefer a man who isn’t crazy.”
“Ah, an impasse,” Ashlyn said. “I’m so glad love hasn’t come my way yet.”
“No, you’re not,” Dante said, and Ana said, “Who said anything about love?”
He grinned at her. “You know you want me. And I want you. We don’t have to bring up love just yet.”
“It won’t matter.” Ana turned back around. “You’re free to stay in the wild.”
She was miffed. He smiled. That was all right. She’d only stay miffed until he kissed her, and then his little baby-seeking darling would be only too happy to let him charm his way into her bed.
Guaranteed.
* * *
DANTE WAS CRAZY. Ashlyn had tried to warn her in the beginning, but blinded by—well, lust didn’t sound quite appropriate but definitely desire—what a sexy devil he was, and her hope to have a baby, she’d ignored his sister’s warnings.
Now that she’d learned just how wild ’n’ woolly Dante was, she realized the error of her ways. Such genes could only lead to her having a wild child of her own, and nothing good could come of that.
She went to the kitchen at Rancho Diablo and found Fiona frowning at a cookbook. Fiona looked up with a smile when she saw Ana.
“Just the person I wanted to see,” Fiona said pleasantly, snapping the cookbook closed. “And right in time to give me a break from trying to raise a Yorkshire pudding.”
“Raise a Yorkshire pudding?” Ana glanced over the assembled pots and pans Fiona had scattered around her kitchen. “I don’t know what that is.”
“I’m determined to have Yorkshire pudding for Thanksgiving. A roast with carrots and potatoes on the side, and an onion,” Fiona said, hustling her up the stairs. “But it takes the right touch to raise a pudding properly, and my concentration is shot these days. This will help.” She smiled as Ana followed her to a closet in the attic. The attic was a huge room, more of a well-loved storage area and extra living space if needed. There were shelves on practically every wall. Plump cushions sat on window seats. “Now,” Fiona said, sitting down, “what’s this I hear about you setting your cap for my nephew?”
Fiona tapped a velvet-cushioned seat and Ana reluctantly joined her. “I set my cap, but now it’s unset. So there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, now.” Fiona gave her a knowing smile. “A girl doesn’t unset her cap that quickly. Does she?”
“She does if the man in question is too much of a—”
Fiona smiled. “Gentleman?”
How could she tell this kindly soul that her nephew was a devil with an incurable wild streak? “I was thinking perhaps of a different word.”
“I know.” Fiona nodded. “A sweetheart. You feel like you’re taking advantage of him.” She patted her hand. “Dante is such a good boy. He’d make a fine husband, Ana. Don’t feel bad about setting the female trap to catch him. Men really love to be caught, even though they claim they don’t.”
“Oh, dear.” Ana hardly knew what to say. How to explain that since she’d been back to Rancho Diablo—they’d arrived late last night, and Dante had told his brothers of their highway adventure with no great sense of shame for luring their kidnappers right back to them, a story his brothers had enjoyed with great back-thumping and cocky admiration—she realized she’d made a mistake? “Here’s the thing, Fiona. Dante’s just not my type.”
“Not your type?” Fiona looked stunned. “But River says he’s been your type for over a year!”
Ana felt a little blush warm her face for the fib. She wasn’t about to say that had been all sexual attraction. “Two days in a truck with him changed my mind.”
Fiona sniffed. “Ana, don’t be scared of how much you care for my nephew. I know you’re trying to protect yourself, but he really does have a heart of gold.”
And the soul of a wild man. “I’m not looking for a husband. I just wanted a child of my own.”
Silence stretched between them for a second. “Dante will never settle for less than marriage, I feel certain, if a child is involved.”
“That’s completely understandable.” Secretly, she wouldn’t mind a wedding ring from that hunk. Yet with his reputation for staying wild and free, she wasn’t allotting any dreams for marriage.
“So, it’s not that my boy is too much of a rascal for you, it’s that you’re too gidgety for him. That’s a first, I must say.” Fiona rose, paced around the attic for a moment, then stopped and peered at Ana. “You don’t seem like a gidget to me.”
“I don’t know what a gidget is,” Ana said.
“A flighty girl. One who blows around at every wind.” Fiona sighed. “There’s only one way to know if Dante’s the man of your heart or not.”
“He’s not,” Ana assured her. “I mean, I’m not the right woman for him.”
“Pooh. You’d hate to throw away your soul mate just because you’ve got cold feet.” She smiled, her face gentle yet determined. “Now let’s just pop you into this dress and see what happens.” She opened a massive door, in which hung all kinds of plastic-wrapped clothes, and pulled out a white wedding gown.
Ana had heard all about the magic wedding dress. There was no way on the planet she was putting that thing on. She didn’t believe in charms or superstitions, but Callahan legend was thick around this place. “I better not, Fiona. I’m not looking for a husband.”
“Nonsense! Every woman wants a husband.” Fiona looked as if Ana had sprouted an extra head. “And especially a handsome devil like my nephew.”
“I don’t think—” Ana began, as Fiona dragged the gown from its sparkling wrapping. “I mean—”
“Now, then,” Fiona said, hanging the dress in front of a cheval mirror. “You go right ahead. Take your time.” She smiled. “I’m going to get back to my Yorkshire pudding.”
“But what am I supposed to do?” Ana was a bit cowed by the gown. No way was she putting it on—what if it was magic? What if she saw herself in it and decided she wanted to become a bride? Get married?
No. It was all about the baby. When a woman only had one ovary, she didn’t have the luxury of wasting her chances on marriage first, then wishing for a pregnancy. “I don’t think I—”
“That’s just the thing,” Fiona said. “You won’t have to think. Once you put it on, you’ll know for certain.”
“Know what for certain?”
“Who your dream man is.” Fiona smiled at her, a benign and yet somehow cagey fairy godmother with a lacy