Free Wild Borders by Cheyenne McCray

How would she manage to keep her hands off him during her stay at the ranch?
    She just had to keep in mind that she would only be here three weeks and she didn’t do short-term relationships.
    After showering, then dressing in jeans and a blouse, Lani tried not to think about Rick any longer and headed to the den. The country air certainly did relax her, as if there was no hurry in the world to get to work. That’s probably what Theresa had in mind when she’d agreed to giving Lani the assignment.
    With a sigh, she sank into a swivel chair in front of a roll-top desk. She slid on her glasses, then plugged her laptop into the phone jack and dialed her e-mail account. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the wagon-wheel shaped clock, and the click-clack of her laptop keys.
    Outside chickens clucked and Rainbird sprinklers went ch-ch-ch-ch . A wave of memories washed over Lani. The lazy sound of the sprinklers took her back to her childhood, when she and her sister Naya would run through the water in their underwear. Lani could smell fresh-cut grass and feel water splashing her legs.
    She rubbed the scar on her thigh as she stared out the window. How she missed Naya, and her mother. If only…
    A chime came from Lani’s laptop, indicating her e-mail account had come up, and she jerked her attention away from things that couldn’t be changed. She wanted to shut down the computer as soon as she saw the hundred plus e-mails that had accumulated in the two days since she’d last checked. Several were responses on her recent feature on the former California governor, a couple were from friends, and two from her editor, and the rest were SPAM. She deleted all the unsolicited mail and responded to the rest.
    After she finished her replies, Lani leaned back in the swivel chair and closed her eyes. Her thoughts turned back to Rick. His was a powerful presence, yet he was so gentle with her. Definitely a man she could lose her heart to, and it would make it all the harder when it was time for her to head back home.
     
    * * * * *
     
     
    “They’re not suffering, Rick,” Don Mitchell said. “Just a bit of dehydration.”
    Rick nodded and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The merciless sun cooked the desert as agents rounded up a group of thirty-three undocumented aliens at the Ford Ranch, at the foot of the Mule Mountains. Men, women and children made up the miserable group, but they were too beaten by the heat to do more than crouch in the dust and wait to be processed.
    Ford had reported the group when they stopped at his ranch for water. The rancher was a good man, and had allowed the UDAs to drink from his irrigation hose.
    The stench of sweat and body odor was almost unbearable, and the heat only intensified the smell. It was obvious they’d been on a long and difficult journey, not uncommon for illegals trying to cross the U.S. border. Rick was not usually called in on a routine process, but one of the UDAs had claimed to have information on a key smuggler Rick was after.
    In Spanish, Rick questioned Juan Dominguez, who’d insisted he knew the smuggler.
    “Gordo,” Juan said. He continued rattling in Spanglish, the border version of Spanish and English. The coyotes had left the UDAs to die, and Juan was angry. Gordo was the name the coyotes had called the smuggler. Juan gave Rick a description that matched what he knew of the man.
    “Gordo,” Rick muttered as he pushed his Stetson back and scratched his head. The name kept coming up, and in his gut he knew he was closer to tracking the bastard down.
    Sal Valenzuela strode toward Don, looking like he was sweltering in his rough duty uniform. “The kid on the end says an old guy couldn’t keep up and they had to leave him behind. I’ll call it in.”
    Don Mitchell radioed for a transport van after he and Sal determined that all the members of the group were indeed UDAs, advised them of their administrative rights, and took down their