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her stock-in-trade. She needed them to make a living as much as he needed to fly to make a living. And the spectacular way Dusty’s wife had died and given birth made him a prime target for the circling buzzards; he’d already turned down People and Redbook. Amber was almost two now, and he’d put his life back into some sort of order. The bleeding had stopped, the patient would live, but the scars would never fade. The pushy reporter wasn’t helping.
    The phone rang again, and he grabbed it. “Look, Miz LaBorde, what part of no do you not under—”
    â€œIt’s Ian Benning from across the lake.”
    â€œOh. Sorry, I thought it was someone else.” Dusty didn’telaborate on his troubles with the nosy journalist, but maybe he should. Benning was a lawyer; he might know what to do about a persistent newshound. “What can I do for you?”
    â€œI need to get to Huntsville tonight. Can you do it?”
    Dusty didn’t take long to consider. Immediate service was his stock-in-trade. “Can you meet me at the airstrip in an hour and a half?”
    â€œYou bet. Thanks.”
    Dusty was glad for the work. Benning had used his service a few times, and word of mouth on Matlock Aviation was starting to spread.
    â€œAy, mujer.” In the next room, Arnufo gave a low whistle. “Come and see what I have found.”
    Dusty walked into the front room facing the water. The elderly Mexican stood in front of a tripod that supported a telescope, peering through the eyepiece. The scope was aimed at the dock in front of a cabin across the lake.
    â€œLeave poor Mrs. Benning alone, you old cabra, ” said Dusty.
    â€œIt’s not Mrs. Benning. Take a look. I think La Roja has a sister.”
    Shading his eyes, Dusty could see a woman seated on the dock, her long pale legs dangling over the side. The lowering sun highlighted a head of red hair. At first glance, she did look like Benning’s wife. But at second glance…
    His gaze clung briefly, then shifted away. “I think I passed her on the road earlier.” He recalled a pretty, distracted-looking woman stopped at the side of the road, as though lost, in a late-model rental car.
    â€œYou should have introduced yourself.”
    He put the lens cap on the scope. “This is for looking at the stars, not spying on the neighbors.”
    Glowering, Arnufo straightened up. “We should bake a cake, go and introduce ourselves.”
    â€œRight.”
    A squawk from the playpen drew his attention. Amber was standing up, her little fists grasping the webbing. Both men hurried across the room to her, and she greeted them with her best five-toothed grin.
    â€œHey, short-stuff.” Dusty ruffled her white-blond hair. She reached up, opening and closing her hands in supplication. But her entreaty was aimed at Arnufo, not Dusty, which was just as well, judging by the smell of her. He stepped aside, saying, “She’s all yours, jefe. I bet she’s cooked up a little surprise in her diaper for you.”
    â€œYou are a man of no honor.”
    â€œI am a man who needs to get a weather briefing and a flight plan. I’m taking Ian Benning over to Huntsville tonight.”
    â€œI’ll fix you some tortas for supper.” Arnufo Garza was a good cook, having learned to rustle grub during his bachelor years as a ranch hand in San Angelo. He picked up the baby. “Come to Papacito. I will not be intimidated by a diaper.”
    The three of them were an unusual family. Arnufo and his wife, Teresa, had been employed by the Matlocks since Dusty was a boy, as caretakers of the big house in the Stony Creek section of Austin. Teresa had practically raised him, because his mother stayed busy with his high-maintenance sisters.
    When both Dusty and Arnufo were widowed in the same month almost two years before, Dusty had proposed the current arrangement. Now the old gentleman spent his days looking after