Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door: Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door
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The bed was gorgeous, an intricately patterned iron bedstead adorned with linens the soothing colour of a summer sky. A basket of towels and toiletries sat on a low dresser, the plush cotton the same blue as the bedspread. Right now all she wanted was to sink into the bed’s softness and let the stress of the day drain away.
She turned back to Tomas, suddenly aware that they were standing in what was now her bedroom. The silence stretched out awkwardly. There was nothing inappropriate about being in here with him. He was filling the role of concierge and apparently so much more. So why did she suddenly feel so self-conscious?
“What a lovely room.”
“I am pleased you like it.” The hard gleam in his eyes softened just a bit, as if her approval validated her in some way. As soon as she glimpsed it, the gleam disappeared.
What would it take to win him over? It was going to be a very long week if this was the extent of their conversation.
“It’s so peaceful. Listen.” She went to the window again, trying to escape his keen gaze. She pushed aside the curtain with a hand, looking out, leaning her head back so that the warm breeze caressed her throat. “Do you hear that?”
He came closer behind her, so close she could feel his presence by her shoulder even though he had to be several inches away. “Hear what?”
She laughed then, a carefree, feel-good laugh that she felt clear to her toes. The sound was unfamiliar to her ears, but very, very welcome. Suddenly the situation didn’t seem so catastrophic. She had no one to please but herself this week. “That’s just it. Nothing. I hear nothing, and it’s wonderful.” She closed her eyes and let the sunshine and wind bathe her face.
When she turned back around, the severe look on his face had disappeared. He understood, she realized. That took away the self-conscious part of being alone with him but left in its wake the flicker of attraction she’d felt when holding his hand. A flicker she wasn’t sure what to do with.
She needed to escape his gaze and the nearness of him, so she moved to the dresser to touch the towels and trail her fingers over the wood. It was slightly scarred and Sophia loved how the markings added character to the piece. This was no sterile hotel room without a wrinkle or scratch. It wasn’t about perfection. It had a level of familiarity and comfort that simply said home. The kind of home she’d secretly always wished for and had never had.
“That’s the idea,” he replied. “The city has its charms. But sometimes a person needs to get away to where things are …” he broke off the sentence, and Sophia wondered what he had been going to say. The impression she got was that big problems became small ones here. She found herself curious about him. Who was Tomas Mendoza? Why did this simple life hold such allure to him?
“Less complicated?”
Tomas stared out of the window as the moment drew on. “Yes, less complicated,” he confirmed, but Sophia didn’t feel reassured. Had his life been complicated once? For all his good looks, there was a wall around him, as though no matter what, he would keep people at arms’ length. He was impossible to read.
“Just leave the bags,” Sophia suggested. “I think I would like to freshen up and have a nap.”
Sophia shouldered her tote bag and was just reaching for one of her suitcases when the tote slipped off her shoulder, catching on her elbow and knocking her off balance. Her heel caught as her right toe snubbed the edge of her biggest case and she lurched forward.
Straight into Tomas’s arms.
He caught her effortlessly, his strong arms cinched around her as he righted her on her feet. Without thinking, she looked up. It was a mistake. Her cheeks flamed as she realized his hand was pressed firmly against her lower back. It was tempting, having her body pressed close to his, but the real trouble was the way their gazes clashed. She had not been held in such an intimate embrace for a long time, and never with the nerve-tingling effect she was suffering now. A muscle in Tomas’s jaw tightened and Sophia’s breathing was so shallow her chest cramped. For a breath of a moment she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. Really, truly kissed.
And behind that thought came the intimate realization that for the next several days, it was just the two of them here.
The thought tempted but also made her draw back. There was making a statement of independence by taking this trip alone, and then there was just being foolish. This was not why she had come. A holiday fling was not what she was looking for. She pushed away and out of his arms and straightened her blouse.
“In addition to poor fact checking, I think we can safely add klutz to my list of faults today,” she joked, but the quip fell flat as she saw the wrinkle between his brows form once more.
“I hope not,” he answered, pushing her suitcase into place at the end of the bed and straightening into that damnable rigid posture once more. “This is a working ranch, Miss Hollingsworth.” He’d reverted to her formal English name again, backing away. “The Vista del Cielo was established to give guests an authentic gaucho experience. Our guests live like the locals for the duration of their stay. In the absence of our other facilities, I do hope you take advantage of all the estancia has to offer.” Once again he looked at her shoes, then up at her tidy skirt and linen blouse, which was now wrinkled beyond recognition. “I hope you’ve brought other more … appropriate clothing.”
Sophia felt like an idiot. She’d been so sure and so blindly determined to soak up every entitled minute that she’d thrown her best things in her luggage and jetted off. Now this gaucho was issuing a challenge. She hated the indulgent way he looked at her clothes. She’d show him. She’d do everything on his damned list of activities!
She sniffed. It wasn’t as if she made a habit of falling down all the time, or worse, falling into men. She wasn’t incapable. But he had hit on yet another obstacle—her suitcases were packed with totally inappropriate clothing. Bathing suits for lounging around a pool, a selection of skirts and dresses, all with matching shoes for Michelin-starred dinners with a view. This wasn’t Tomas’s fault. It was hers, for not being more thorough. If she’d known what sort of establishment this was, she would have packed the proper things. Sometimes she felt as if she could do nothing right. She trusted in all the wrong things instead of relying on herself.
If she were determined to change, why not start now? She could fake it until she made it, right? She would show this Tomas that she could take on anything he dished out.
“I’m looking forward to it,” she replied, desperate to save face. Did helping out also mean horseback-riding? She felt herself go pale at the thought. She’d ridden a horse exactly twice in her life. The first time the mare had been led by her halter. The second time had been a few years later when a friend at school had asked her to an afternoon at a local stables where she took lessons. That time Sophia had held the reins. She’d managed a very choppy trot but had nearly panicked when the horse had broken into a canter. She thought she was probably twelve when that had happened.
But she wasn’t twelve any longer. She could handle herself better this time. She didn’t want to look like a fool in front of him. Not when he looked so very perfect.
“First I think I would like to rest,” she suggested, putting reality off a little while longer. When the time came, she’d go with him and she’d do just fine. “It has been a long flight and drive.”
“Very well. While you are resting, I’ll see what I can find out about this mistaken reservation.”
His insistence that she was wrong grated. “Mr. Mendoza …”
He paused by the door and looked back at her. “Yes?”
She gave him her sweetest smile. “I appreciate you accommodating me during an inconvenient time for you. I do apologize for the disruption.”
She tried a smile, an olive branch to smooth the way for the next few days. She knew that aggravating one’s host— especially a host who was already less than cordial—wasn’t the way to get the best service.
“Dinner is at seven,” he replied, unsmiling, and shut the door behind him.
In a fit of juvenile satisfaction, Sophia stuck her tongue out at the door before collapsing on the bed.
CHAPTER TWO
TOMAS had planned on a quick meal for one tonight but instead found himself making locro—a stew of beans, meat, corn and pumpkin. It was simple enough to make and something typically Argentinian for his guest.
Guest. He snorted, stirring the stew. What a mix-up. The first thing he’d done was check the books, but no notation had been made next to the name Antoine Doucette. Then he’d called Miguel’s number in Córdoba. Maria remembered the reservation, but couldn’t remember if she’d cancelled it. Tomas hadn’t pushed; Maria was still traumatized by the fire. When Miguel had suggested they visit, Tomas and Carlos had agreed it would be good for Maria to get away for a few days. Tomas wanted her to see things nearly as good as new when she came back. The spa building had to be reconstructed, but the other outbuildings were nearly repaired. If things went well, they could even have the pool refilled and working in another week.
But it was Maria’s words to him today that had caused him the most trouble. He’d explained the situation and Maria had instantly been sympathetic to Sophia’s plight. “Take care of that girl, Tomas,” she said firmly. Then she’d laughed. “She must be a real firecracker to take her honeymoon alone. She’s your responsibility now. You will see to things until we return.”
As if he needed reminding. He chopped into the pumpkin, scowling. Maria had been mothering him for so long that she sometimes forgot he was a grown man. He knew what his responsibilities were. They were impossible to forget.
“We’ll sort the rest out when Carlos and I come back. Maybe we’ll come Wednesday now.”
“There’s no need …”
But Maria had laughed. “She will be tired of your cooking by then. Wednesday. Just be nice, Tomas.”
“I would never …”
“Yes, you would.” Maria had laughed, but he knew she meant it. Maria and her family knew Tomas better than anyone else on earth. Too well.
Wednesday. That meant he had three days after today in which he not only had to do his work, but had to entertain Sophia as well. She’d put on a brave face, but he knew she had been expecting something totally different from what she was getting. He indulged in a half smile, but then remembered the look on her face when she’d thought he was going to send her away. She had been afraid behind all the lipstick and talk. And he had been just stupid enough to see it and go soft.
He turned down the heat and put the cover on to let the locro simmer. Going soft wasn’t an option for him right now. The estancia wasn’t due to reopen for another few weeks. There was still work to do—and lots of it. The boutique had to be restocked now that it was painted. The horses and the small beef herd Carlos raised still needed to be cared for. The storage shed behind the barn had been rebuilt since the fire, but the paint for the exterior was sitting in the barn, waiting for Tomas to have a few spare moments. As if. And the builders had had another job lined up, which was why it was taking longer for the pool house to be rebuilt.
With Carlos here, they could have muddled through just fine. But they’d agreed that getting Maria away for a few days—letting her visit her son—was a better course of action.
Tomas simply hadn’t counted on babysitting a spoiled princess and playing cook and maid. That was normally Maria’s area of expertise, and he and Carlos stuck to the outdoors. The estancia was a business that ran smoothly, just the way they’d planned, with everyone playing to their strengths. He could stay in the background, exactly where he liked it. He was polite and friendly to guests. They were only strangers passing through, asking nothing more from him than a trail ride and some local history. They made the same mistake Sophia had made today—assuming he was the jack-of-all-trades around the place. That was fine, too. He stayed a silent partner in Vista del Cielo and got the peace and isolation he craved. Carlos and Maria had their livelihood. Everyone was taken care of.
He heard a noise from down the hall and guessed that the princess was waking from her slumbers. He imagined briefly what she would look like asleep on the blue coverlet, her hair spread out in a great auburn curtain around her. He shook his head and reached for a pair of bowls from the cupboard. There was no denying she was beautiful. Stunning, actually, with her dark red curls and roses-and-cream complexion. Maybe she had a sense of entitlement about her and was used to getting her own way, but he could see why. She’d turned her dark eyes on him and said she was tired and he’d left her to nap without a word. Now he was finishing dinner and setting the table when the whole purpose of this place was for everyone to work together. It was one of their biggest selling points. A feeling of family.
And that was something he had no desire to feel with Sophia Hollingsworth.
“Something smells delicious.”
He nearly dropped the bowls when she appeared in the doorway behind him.
Her hair was down but slightly tousled from sleep, the curls falling softly over one shoulder. Heavy lidded eyes blinked at him and she was several inches shorter, thanks to the fact that she’d left her shoes in her room and appeared in bare feet. That was why he hadn’t heard her approach. His gaze stuck on ten perfectly painted coral toenails. She had extraordinarily pretty feet, and even without the shoes he could tell she had a great set of legs hiding beneath her straight skirt.
It was the princess, unwrapped, and he swallowed, realizing he found her very appealing indeed. At least physically.
That was the last thing he needed.
“Did you sleep well?” He turned away from her, putting the bowls on the table.
“Yes, thank you. I feel very refreshed.”
Her voice was soft and Tomas felt it sneak into him, down low.
“I didn’t mean to sleep so late,” she apologized, and he swallowed as the husky tone teased his ears. “Whatever you’ve cooked smells wonderful.”
“It’s nothing fancy.” He turned back to her and steeled his features. He would not be swayed by a pretty face and a soft voice. Damn Carlos and Maria. If they were here, they could handle Miss Princess and he would be in the barn where he liked it. “I do not usually do the cooking.”
“I’m not used to a man cooking for me at all, so that in itself is a treat.” She blessed him with a shy smile.
His pulse leapt and he scowled. His physical response to her was aggravating. “I expect you’re more accustomed to five-course meals and staff to wait upon you, right?”
A look of hurt flashed across her face and he felt guilty for being snide. He was just about to apologize when the look disappeared and she furrowed her brow. “What makes you say that?”
“Oh, querida.” The apology he’d toyed with died on his lips and he reached into a drawer for cutlery. “You practically scream high maintenance. It is clear you are used to the best. Which makes your presence here alone all the more intriguing.”
“High maintenance?” A pretty blush infused her cheeks. She really was good, he thought. An intriguing combination of innocent ingénue and diva. Maybe a few days mucking around a ranch would be good for her. It had certainly done wonders for him.
She stepped forward, the soft, injured look gone. “I see,” she said. “You think I’m some sort of pampered creature who lives to be waited upon.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Not even close.”
“Oh, come on.” He finished setting the table and turned to face her. “Designer clothes, perfect hair … You expected to arrive at some retreat or spa, didn’t you? Not a working estancia. Admit it.”
Her cheeks blazed now, not with embarrassment but with temper. “Okay, fine. Yes, this is not what I expected. You are not what I expected.”
He smiled with satisfaction. “No, I am not. If you’re not up to it, say so now. I’ll arrange for you to return to Buenos Aires tomorrow.” There, he decided, he’d given her a perfectly legitimate out. The few hours it would take to drive her back to the city would be worth it to have the rest of the week free to work. Better yet, she’d be gone before Maria and Carlos got back. Maria would get ideas into her head. She’d been prodding lately about Tomas getting away more. That he needed to stop hiding. That he should find a nice girl.
Not that a woman like Sophia, on her solo honeymoon would qualify in Maria’s eyes, but it would be better all around if the potential were erased altogether. Tomas didn’t want a nice girl. He didn’t want to get away more. He wanted the life he’d chosen here on the pampas. Simple and uncomplicated. He’d chosen it to help him forget.
His insides twisted. Some days now he tried to remember. Forgetting seemed so very wrong. Disloyal.
“And you’d like that, wouldn’t you.”
Her saucy tone turned his head. “¿PerdÓn?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me, Mr. Mendoza? Get me out from under your feet? This wasn’t my mix-up. You think by threatening me with some honest work I’ll run and hide away somewhere where staff will wait on me hand and foot?”
“Isn’t that what you want?”
She paused for a moment, then leveled him with a definitive glare. “No.”
“No?” He raised an eyebrow.
“No. I want to stay.”
“I checked the books and spoke to Maria, by the way.”
“And?”
“And the refund isn’t notated in the regular spot and Maria doesn’t remember. She said she will straighten everything out when she comes back on Wednesday.”
“And then Wednesday you will see,” Sophia replied confidently.
“You realize what I’m saying, right? People who stay at the estancia participate in all kinds of activities. Working with the animals, in the barns. Even in the house. They become one of the family. With the hard work and the benefits, too.”
“You don’t think I can do it?”
He looked at her, all hairdo and perfect makeup and pedicured feet. “No, I don’t.”
“Then perhaps we’re in for a week of surprises.” She flashed him a superior smile. “Maybe now you can surprise me with what’s cooking in that pot. I’m starving.”
He’d expected her to heave a sigh of relief and take him up on his offer, not challenge him. He wasn’t sure whether he admired her spunk or was frustrated by it.
But time would tell. Let her enjoy her home-cooked meal and scented bath tonight. Tomorrow would be a different story.
What to wear was definitely a quandary.
Sophia went through the open suitcase one more time, looking for something suitable. Clothing lay scattered on the bed like seaweed on a sea of blue linen. She checked her watch. Tomas had said breakfast at seven sharp, and it was already quarter past. Being late gave him even more ammunition. There had to be something here she could wear!
She held up a pair of trousers the shade of dark caramel and frowned. The only shoes she had that would match were the Jimmy Choo sandals she’d bought on sale during her last trip across the border. Why hadn’t she thought to bring something more casual? A pair of sneakers. Yoga pants. But no, the only exercise wardrobe she’d packed was her swimsuits, thinking she’d be spending time beside the pool. Perhaps relaxing in a sauna. She looked in despair at the flotsam of clothes on the bedspread. How could she have been so stupid?
Seven twenty-five. She was so late. She remembered the way Tomas had looked at her last night and felt anger flow through her veins as she sifted through her suitcase again. He’d been patronizing. Granted, she hadn’t made the best impression, and yes, she’d been shocked. She grabbed a sundress out of her second open case and pulled it over her head, out of time for further deliberation. For the last three years she’d been treated that way. She hadn’t realized it then, but looking back now it was so very clear. She’d been more of a decoration than someone useful. That kind of treatment stopped today. It stopped with Tomas Mendoza and his superior attitude. If it took eating a little humble pie for breakfast, she’d do it.
She hurried down the hall to the kitchen. The smell in the room was to die for. A covered basket sat on the table and she lifted the towel. The rolls were still warm, soft and fragrant. Bread? He’d made bread?
She paused, her hand on the plate left at the place where she’d sat last night. She tried to picture Antoine making bread in the morning. The very idea was preposterous. He wouldn’t even have made pastry out of one of those cans in the refrigerated section of the grocery store. Heck, Sophia had never made bread from scratch in her life.
The breakfast was completed with a bowl of fresh fruit and coffee waiting in the pot, hot and rich.
She’d missed mealtime, and the thought stole the smile from her face. She’d have to eat quickly and then find Tomas. Showing up late was not the way to get off on the right foot. Hurriedly she buttered a roll and poured a half cup of coffee. When she was done she put her plate in the sink and the platter of fruit back in the fridge. She went outside, feeling the warmth of the morning soak into her skin as she searched for Tomas. She nearly ran into him turning a corner towards the outbuildings at the back.
“Oh!” she gasped, stopping short and nearly staggering backwards. She would have if he hadn’t steadied her with a quick hand on her arm. His warm grip sent a shaft of pure pleasure down to her fingertips. He let her go as soon as she was stable and dropped his hand.
“I see you’re up.”
“Yes, I’m sorry I’m late. I slept so well …” She would sweeten him up. She would let him know his garrulousness didn’t get to her. “My bed is very comfortable.”
“Apparently.”
The pleasure went out of Sophia like air from a balloon. But she wouldn’t give up yet. She’d kill him with kindness if that’s what it took. “The rolls were still warm. Did you make them?”
He stood back, looking at her as if he were measuring and finding her wanting. “Yes, I did. Maria showed me how long ago. When she returns you’ll have real cooking, not my second-rate impression of it.”
“I wouldn’t call your cooking second-rate. The stew last night was delicious.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
The politeness was a cold veneer, meaning little when she felt it wasn’t sincere.
“So what did I miss?”
“Today’s activity,” he remarked dryly, and swept out an arm.
Behind them was a utility shed. Beside it were supplies for painting—a large bucket of paint, two smaller cans and brushes.
“Painting?” This was a vacation. Shouldn’t there be guided tours? Even without the pool and other amenities, shed painting was hardly a unique Argentinian experience.
He shrugged. “You did say you were prepared to surprise me. So here we are. It needs to be done.”
He was trying to get the best of her. She was sure of it. He was planning on pushing her until she quit. But she would not be dismissed. She smiled, quite enjoying the liberating feeling of making up her own mind. If Tomas said paint, she’d paint.
Just not in a sundress and heels.
“I’ll need a change of clothes. I’m afraid I came unprepared for painting.”
He shrugged again and headed towards the paint supplies.
“Señor Mendoza!”
To her credit, she did a brilliant job of rolling out the ñ in señor. He turned around, surprise flattening his face. She reveled in that expression for a fleeting second before continuing. “If you will please find me something to wear, it would be greatly appreciated.”
“Do I look like a clothing store, Miss Hollingsworth?”
He put the emphasis on the miss just as she had with señor and it had her eyebrows lifting in challenge.