She’s not the country nanny he advertised for

But she could be perfect for him...

Jon Blackwell needs a woman ready to tackle the duties of a cattle ranch and two lively, take-no-prisoners twin girls. But ever since Lydia Newbury showed up at his six-generation Montana spread, the frazzled single father is rethinking, well, everything. The Philadelphia dazzler is a marvel. What he doesn’t know is the secret that has Lydia on the run...

CAROL ROSS lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and two dogs. She is a graduate of Washington State University. When not writing, or thinking about writing, she enjoys reading, running, hiking, skiing, traveling and making plans for the next adventure to subject her sometimes reluctant but always fun-loving family to. Carol can be contacted at carolrossauthor.com and via Facebook at Facebook.com/carolrossauthor, Twitter, @_CarolRoss, and Instagram, @carolross__.

Also by Carol Ross

Summer at the Shore

Christmas at the Cove

Bachelor Remedy

A Heartwarming Thanksgiving

“Autumn at Jasper Lake”

A Family Like Hannah’s

If Not for a Bee

A Case for Forgiveness

Mountains Apart

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

The Rancher’s Twins

Carol Ross

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07828-3

THE RANCHER’S TWINS

© 2018 Carol Ross

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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For Amy, Anna, Cari and Melinda.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

JONATHON BLACKWELL INHALED a deep breath in an attempt to calm the herd of agitated cattle mustering inside his chest. It didn’t help. Nothing would, save for getting in and out as quickly as possible. Shopping on a normal day was bad enough. Shopping when he was short on time was downright aggravating. Why weren’t items where they should be? And was it his imagination or were products rarely to be found in the same spot twice?

Although he had to admit, Brewster Ranch Supply was more organized than most, and if he had to shop, he supposed this was the least irritating option. Trout, on the other hand, enjoyed a trip to Brewster’s, where there was always a treat waiting for him at the checkout counter.

“Almost done, buddy.” The black-and-white border collie stood beside him sniffing a rack of vegetable seeds. “Only a couple more things.”

Jon trudged through Brewster’s “home” section, where he puzzled way too long over what kind of sheets a woman might like on her bed—cartoon cats seemed a little silly and more like something he’d buy for his five-year-old twins, while tiny hearts felt vaguely inappropriate. Telling himself he was overthinking it, he tossed a daisy-printed set into the shopping cart. It was just that any little thing he could do to facilitate a smooth transition for his new nanny, he wanted to do.

Nanny thoughts stirred his already churning anxiety. He needed to get back to his ranch, the JB Bar, because adding to his urgency was a sick calf that needed medicating, a cattle guard that needed fixing at the main gate, cows and heifers in labor and a generator for the calving shed that wouldn’t start. Somewhere in between all that he needed to wash the new sheets and make the bed in the soon-to-be nanny’s room.

Sofie, the wife of his best friend, Zach, was watching the twins but it felt like bad form not to be there to welcome his new employee and... The word warn popped into his head, and he felt a sting of guilt for even thinking that word with respect to his children. A rush of love and affection followed. He adored his girls but the honest truth was that an explanation was only fair where the twins were concerned.

Conscience feeling scratchy, he grabbed a package of those raspberry-flavored fruity snacks the girls liked from the end of the aisle. Those, he noticed, were always in the same place and perfectly aligned to the sight line of a small child.

“Meds for the calf and we’re out of here,” he told Trout and headed toward the refrigerated unit. At least he would have no problem finding bovine medication.

Or so he thought.

Frustrating seconds ticked by as he scanned the shelves. A soft voice from behind him interrupted his search. “Hey, Jon, can I talk to you for a minute?” He glanced over his shoulder but didn’t budge from his position in front of the display case.

“I’m sorry, Grace. But I’m in a huge hurry. Can it wait until—”

A silk-clad arm snuck in beside him, nimble fingers plucking a bottle from the shelf below the one he’d been searching. “Here.” The bottle-holding hand then smacked lightly against his chest.

Taking the bounty, he studied the label. “Uh...” No wonder he hadn’t found it sooner. Why were companies always changing label designs and bottle sizes and making things look different? “Thank you.” With a final glance at the medication and a shake of his head, he shut the refrigerator door and turned to face the petite blonde now standing rigidly in front of him. “This is it.”

Adjusting her glasses, she gave him a brisk nod and an of-course-it-is look. Her gaze seemed to soften as Trout edged closer to examine her shoe. She gave the dog a pat.

“How did you...?”

“Dad said you called this morning.”

Dad was Frank Gardner. He and his wife, Alice, owned Brewster Ranch Supply. Grace had recently returned to Falcon Creek and was working for her parents while she established her own accounting business. Jon was her first client.

And what Grace said was true—Jon had called earlier to make sure the medication was in stock. Had that only been this morning? It felt like days ago. Ranching and hard work went hand in hand, but springtime meant calving season, which pushed it to a whole different level. His day had started hours before dawn and wouldn’t end until after dark. Technically, it wouldn’t end at all, not for a few more weeks, anyway, until his last cow had calved.

Grace was still staring at him. “It will only take a minute.”

“What will?” he asked.

“What I need to speak with you about. I know how busy you are, Jon. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Please.”

The earnest expression on her face gave him pause. Seeing as how Grace was currently doing his taxes, he felt it imprudent to refuse. Maybe something had come up.

“All right, then,” Jon agreed, even as an unsettling feeling began to creep over him. Grace looked...off.

Exhaling a loud sigh of relief, she took off toward the back of the store like a horse for the barn, her heels clicking smartly on the scarred wood floor. The thump of his boots and the tap of Trout’s toenails joined in discordant harmony as they followed.

Inside her office, which also doubled as a supply room, he was surprised to see Katie Montgomery already seated in the chair in front of Grace’s desk. Katie was the daughter of the ranch foreman on the Blackwell Ranch, his grandfather’s spread. Katie and her sister, Maura, had grown up there and, at seven years younger, Katie felt like his kid sister.

She looked up from her phone. The frown she’d been wearing transformed into a tight smile. “Hi, Jon. Hey, Trout.” The dog gave her a friendly nudge and an enthusiastic tail-wag. Katie scratched his neck. Strands of reddish hair had pulled loose from her braid and she looked as tired as Jon felt.

“Hello, Katie.”

Jon glanced around, considered sitting on a crate marked Farm Cat Tasty Food and then decided to remain standing. Trapped in a cramped room with these two women would normally feel like a treat. That was not the case right now. The air was thick and charged with tension, like that brief, hair-tingling moment of warning right before a thunderstorm came barreling down from the Rockies. You knew it was coming but there wasn’t much you could do about it except hunker down and brace yourself. When neither woman seemed inclined to get on with it, he looked pointedly from Grace to Katie and back again.

“What’s going on, ladies?”

Grace lowered herself into the chair behind her desk. “This is very difficult for me. I consider both of you friends... I hate having to do this, but I know you both will appreciate it if I just get to the point.”

“I know I will.” Tasks ticked through his mind again like a slide-show to-do list.

“I can’t get a hold of Big E,” Grace said. Big E was the name most everyone used when referring to his grandfather, Elias Blackwell. Jon wasn’t surprised, since most of the time Big E didn’t want to be gotten a hold of.

“Uh...” Jon wasn’t sure how this was his problem.

“Katie needs to order supplies, but the bill hasn’t been paid for a couple of months.”

That was odd.

“How long has it been since you’ve called your grandfather?” Katie asked him.

Was it his imagination or was that a twinge of accusation in her tone? Tough, smart, hardworking and honest, Katie also had a way with horses that could turn even the most seasoned cowpoke green with envy. Ranching was in her blood and Jon respected that. He would never say that anyone had an easy relationship with Big E, but Katie’s was about the smoothest he’d ever seen. He wasn’t quite sure how she managed it.

The phone rings both ways, he wanted to answer. But didn’t. His issues with his grandfather had nothing to do with Katie.

Holding his tongue, he looked toward Grace instead. “What do you mean you can’t get a hold of him?”

“Katie told me he’s not home.”

“Did you try his cell phone?”

“I’ve been trying it for over a week now.”

A week? A ripple of concern trotted up his spine. Jon hadn’t known Big E had plans to go anywhere. But he didn’t exactly keep himself up-to-date with the comings and goings of his grandfather and his stepgrandmother, Zoe. In a general sense, Jon did his dead-level best to stay away from Big E’s fifth wife, while he and Big E’s relationship might be described as cordial on a good day and tense on its worst. Thinking back, it had been at least a week since he’d spoken to Big E. And that conversation, like most of their communications, had been ranch-related.

“Huh. Well, Katie, where is he? How long has it been since you’ve spoken to him? Or your dad?”

Katie inhaled a breath, held it for a couple of seconds and then let it out. “I don’t know where he is. Dad hasn’t spoken to him.”

That troubling feeling gathered a head of steam and galloped headlong through his bloodstream.

“I’m sorry, Jon.” Grace’s pained expression seemed a perfect reflection of what he was feeling. “Your grandfather, it seems, has gone missing.”

* * *

“LYDIA NEWBURY, LYDIA NEW-W-BURY, Lydia New-bur-r-ry...” Lydia was practicing saying her new last name. Her biggest problem would be slipping up and saying Newton. But Tanner assured her that was the point; it was similar enough to her real name that if she did slip it would be easy to cover.

She studied the ancient map of Montana in the faded, dog-eared road atlas and wondered why—why did she continue to stare at the worn page? It wasn’t like the JB Bar Ranch was suddenly going to appear on the paper before her in the form of a little black dot like the quaint town of Billings, which unfortunately was now far, far behind her. Nor was it going to present itself as a pretty, powder blue squiggle, either, like the winding, picturesque Yellowstone River that she was traveling roughly parallel to.

The view beckoned through the windshield and pulled her focus outside the vehicle again. Awesome, these mountains, but in the truest, most uncorrupted sense of the word. She glanced back down at the map, at the mapmaker’s attempt to shade in a likeness of the Rocky Mountains. Ha. Not even a camera could do justice to these peaks jutting from the earth in all their rugged, snowcapped glory.

Philadelphia seemed light-years away. She took a second to be thankful for that and for the fact that she’d made it this far. Every mile felt like a tiny victory, a step closer to freedom.

She’d pulled over on the highway because she knew she had to be close. The turnoff was somewhere east of Livingston, but she couldn’t remember how many miles. She’d entered the ranch’s “address” into her phone at the car lot in Billings where she’d purchased the used SUV. That is if “JB Bar Ranch, Old Tractor Road, Falcon Creek, MT” could be considered a proper address. GPS had recognized the place, so she’d gone with it, but cell service had been spotty and with the constant searching for service, her battery was dead.

Tanner had handpicked this job for her and a few days ago it had seemed like the perfect solution. Working as a nanny and living on a ranch in Montana meant she was virtually untraceable. No rental agreement meant no address and no bills in her name. The perfect hiding place. A bitter chuckle slipped out of her at the irony of a hiding spot so good she couldn’t even find it.

And if she didn’t hide, Clive would find her.

As if Lydia leaving him and taking his money wasn’t bad enough, the four dollars she’d left in his bank accounts was going to push him over the edge. A fresh spike of fear left her limbs tingling. Why had she done that? In those last triumphant seconds, she’d gotten greedy. Heady with accomplishment and vengeance, the idea had come to her. A little dig to get back at him after all those months of putting up with his abuse.

“Stupid, Lydia,” she whispered and pressed a fisted hand to her mouth. At first, he’d wonder, but it wouldn’t take him long to put those twos and twos together and figure out what all those fours meant.

And he would come after her.

Like a fugitive in a crime drama, she’d been flown by a pilot friend of Tanner’s to St. Paul, Minnesota. From there, she’d taken a bus to Billings, where she’d paid cash for the used SUV. Now, nearly two days later, she had a burner phone and a vehicle with Montana plates. The signed title and bill of sale were tucked in the glove compartment. The day before she’d left Philadelphia she’d paid every bill, withdrawn all her savings and then closed her bank account. She’d shut down her social-media sites and left her credit cards lying in plastic bits in three different trash cans scattered around the city. She was safe. She trusted Tanner, would never have been able to get this far without her close friend and attorney.

So why didn’t she feel safe?

“Don’t worry, Lydia Newbury. Your worrying days are over, remember? You can do this. Inside, deep inside, you are brave and clever and honest.”

Okay, so she was pretty clever, mostly honest and trying to be brave. She really, really needed to be brave. Like right now. The idea of stopping for directions, of showing her face anywhere along this interstate, caused the already taut coil of nerves inside her to tighten.

Flipping on her turn signal, she put the atlas on the passenger seat, inhaled a deep breath and glanced in the side mirror just in time to see the flashing blue and red lights of the police vehicle as it pulled in behind her.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through her bloodstream. “Newbury, Newbury,” she repeated, reminding herself. But what if he asked for her ID? This plan hinged on Lydia not using her real name.

In her rearview mirror, she watched a tall lanky man in a khaki outfit get out. His hat was dark brown. She turned off the signal, lowered her window and folded her hands together in her lap so he wouldn’t see them trembling.

“Howdy, ma’am.” His tone was friendly, but his ice-blue gaze hinted at a cop’s shrewdness. When he leaned down she could see freckles sprinkled across his nose and flaming red hair beneath the hat.

“Hi, there.” Lydia dredged up her best customer-service smile.

“Did you break down?”

“No, Officer. Thankfully, I did not.”

“Then is there a reason your car is sitting here on the side of the road?”

“An embarrassing one.” Shrugging a shoulder, she flashed him a cringe-smile. “I think I might be lost. I’m on my way to a ranch where I’ve been hired for a job.”

His mouth pulled down into a frown. His name tag read Deputy Tompkin.

“Not the Blackwell Guest Ranch, I hope? They don’t open for another month or so.”

Blackwell Guest Ranch? That couldn’t be a coincidence. “Maybe. I don’t know... I thought I was looking for Jonathon Blackwell of the JB Bar Ranch.”

“Oh! Of course.” He did the finger-snap-point as his face erupted with a smile. “You’re the new nanny. Oh, man, this is great.” Sticking out a hand, he said, “Deputy Scooter Tompkin. Pleased to meet you.”

Lydia felt a rush of relief. “Lydia,” she said, not quite able to bring herself to say her new last name. Shaking his hand, she added, “It’s wonderful to meet you, Deputy.”

“I can’t wait to tell the guys I met you. Jon Blackwell is a friend of mine. And I can assure you, he is going to be one happy camper to see you arrive. He’s got his hands full, that’s for sure. My sister babysat for him for a spell. A real short one.” He shook his head. “He’s certainly in need of a professional.”

Lydia felt a niggle of concern. She knew Jonathon Blackwell had a fourteen-year-old daughter. As a single dad, she’d assumed he would need more of a shuttle service than a babysitter. She imagined days of ferrying her charge to school and various lessons and activities, providing healthy meals and snacks, and asking the requisite questions about homework completion. At least, that’s what her nannies had done. Back when she’d had them, before her parents’ divorce. The idea of a troubled teen didn’t scare her, though. Having been one, coupled with her years of volunteering at Hatch House Group Home for Teens, meant she was fluent in troubled teen.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence. I’m pretty excited about it myself. If I can figure out how to get there.”

“You’re real close and it’s easy to find. Take the next exit ahead. Follow the signs for Falcon Creek until you come to a four-way stop, where you want to go straight ahead, not into Falcon Creek. After a few miles you’ll cross a bridge. Take a right—don’t take the spur that heads east. A ways after that, there’ll be a fork. You’re going to want to go straight, but don’t. Stay right and Old Tractor Road will be off to your left. Then you’ll see the sign that says JB Bar Ranch.”

“Um, okay, can you let me grab a pen and then start over at spurs and forks?”

He chuckled. “Tell you what, follow me, and I’ll take you right to the driveway.”

“Really?” Was this guy for real? “Deputy Tompkin, I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate that.” Lydia gave him a grateful smile, one she felt to the depths of her toes.

“Call me Scooter.”

“Wow. Okay, thank you, Scooter. You’re a lifesaver. I will find a way to repay this kindness.”

“Ah, it’s no problem. I’d do anything to help Jon.” Then he tipped his hat and said, “Welcome to Falcon Creek, Ms. Lydia.”

CHAPTER TWO

“IT’S OFFICIAL, I’M TERRIFIED of our unborn child. I know Jon’s twins are only five, but because there are two of them it’s like you can double the devious factor. No, not double—quadruple.”

Sofie was speaking to her husband, Zach, in that hushed tone people use when they’re all worked up and think they’re being quiet, when in fact the opposite is true. Jon could hear every word from where he sat on the long antique church pew that stretched nearly the length of one wall in the mudroom, the rectangular entryway adjacent to his kitchen. Since his foreman, Tom, had fixed the cattle guard, Jon had been able to medicate the calf and check on the pregnant cows and heifers. With the weather holding, he and Tom decided the generator could wait.

The opposite wall was lined with a shoe rack, two boot dryers and a series of pegs and hooks for various layers of outdoor clothing necessary when working daily in the elements of Montana—rain gear, wool jackets, parkas, hats, gloves and the like. The other end of the narrow room led to a half bath, while taking a left brought you into the kitchen.

As always, Trout sat patiently on the thick rug waiting for Jon to towel off his muddy paws and belly. Jon had heard the water running when he entered. That, mingled with the soft music from the satellite radio, the one extravagance he allowed himself, explained why Sofie and Zach hadn’t heard him yet.

He tensed at Sofie’s comments even though he knew what she said was true. His girls were out of control—“holy living terrors” their last babysitter had called them. She’d lasted three days. He did his best to tamp down the despair eating away at him like a slow-moving but persistent acid. Mercifully, some of that feeling would be alleviated today.

The sound of Zach’s chuckle made Jon smile. He removed his boots, not feeling even remotely guilty for listening in on his best friend’s conversation with his wife.

Zach said, “They remind me of Brenna and Tess. Trust me, Sofie. They’re normal. They’re growing up without a woman’s influence and thousands of acres of ranch land as their playground. They’re a little rough around the edges is all. Our kids probably will be, too. This is good practice for you.”

Even if Zach didn’t entirely mean it, Jon loved him for saying it. Brenna and Tess were Zach’s younger sisters. Not twins, but at only thirteen months apart, they might as well have been. Jon would be thrilled if his girls grew up to be like the Carnes sisters.

Sofie, on the other hand, had grown up in Seattle. Despite the fact that she seemed to be settling in well with Zach, she didn’t get it. Not really. Not in the way that someone who grew up on a ranch did. He said a silent thank-you that he didn’t have to worry about that with his new nanny.

She went on, “Oh, they’re adorable, don’t get me wrong. And they can be sweet, but so can grizzly bear cubs. That’s the problem. Cute and out of control is a dangerous combination. I found Gen in the small pasture with the cows and newborns this afternoon. Abby was literally climbing through the fence to join her when I caught up with them. All this, after I expressly forbade them from going anywhere near there. I’m getting too pregnant to keep up with them.”

“Sofie, honey, they’re fine, though, right? Nothing happened.”

“Okay, next time Jon is in a bind you’re going to watch them. It will be good practice for you. You’ll see. If one of the cows would have seen Gen as a threat...” Her voice trailed off. “I don’t even want to think about what could have happened. And the scary question is, what were they planning to do once they both got in there? Gen had a rope.”

Jon stepped into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Sofie. There won’t be any more binds, or there shouldn’t be, anyway. Not with a real nanny on the job.” The conversation illuminated why Jon had chosen this particular nanny agency. He’d been able to request specific criteria regarding his new employee. They were sending him a nanny with ranching experience.

He looked around. “Speaking of, I’m assuming she’s not here yet?”

“Nope. Hasn’t shown.” In a softer tone, she asked, “You’re sure she’s coming?”

“What, you think I’ve been blacklisted? Like there’s some sort of club or network where nannies and babysitters go to talk about their bad experiences? Stay away from those Blackwell cubs. They look cute but they’re nothing but trouble.”

Zach laughed as he crouched to give Trout a pat. “Hey, Trout. How’s the best dog in the world?” Trout’s tail went wild as he settled in next to Zach.

Sofie let out a gasp and then clapped a hand over her mouth. “You heard all of that?” Tears welled in her eyes, which made Jon feel terrible for making a joke.

“Jon, I’m so sorry. I’m awful. I didn’t mean it. They’re wonderful kids it’s just that—”

Crossing the kitchen, he wrapped her in a hug. “You’ve never been awful for even two minutes in your life, Sofie Carnes. I’m teasing. I know they can be difficult.”

“No.” Her head shook against his shoulder. “No, that was wrong. I shouldn’t have said it.” The words were muffled as she cried into his shirt. “I’m not myself. I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster. You’re pregnant.”

Zach grinned and mouthed a thank-you behind Sofie’s back.

Sofie lifted her head. Jon handed her a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. She stared at it.

“It’s clean, I promise.”

“I know.” Taking it from his hand, she snuffled out a laugh through her tears. “It’s just that I still can’t believe I live in a place where men use tissues made from fabric.”

Zach reached out and grabbed Sofie’s hips, turning and pulling her in close for an embrace. He kissed the top of her head.

Jon smiled, even as the love between these two generated a touch of envy. Had he ever had anything approaching that with his ex-wife? Looking back, he didn’t think so. He and Ava’s relationship had been fire and ice from the moment they’d met, one extreme or the other. They’d never seemed to find that sweet smoldering spot in between.

Zach said, “Hey, I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you at home, Sofe.”

Sofie gave him a quick kiss and stepped away. “Okay, I’ll be along in a bit. Corn bread is still in the oven.”

Jon resisted the urge to cringe at the mention of Sofie’s cooking. He told his friend goodbye and turned back to Sofie. “I need to go put in a load of laundry. I’ll be right back.”

“I could have done that. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“I didn’t have any to do earlier.” He winked at her and headed to the laundry room to put the nanny’s new sheets in the wash.

“Where are the girls?” he asked when he returned. Trout was still in the kitchen, sniffing the room’s perimeter for the customary bread-crust bits and cracker crumbs the girls regularly left behind. If Gen and Abby were anywhere nearby, the dog would be hanging out with them by now.

“Tom took them out to see the foal.” Tom was Jonathon’s foreman and only full-time employee. Since it was calving season, the bunkhouse currently lodged a few extra cowboys who worked for him seasonally. Which reminded him of Katie and the bind Big E had left her in. She’d told him one of her hands had quit, which meant she was already short on help. Although, thankfully the guest ranch employees wouldn’t be arriving for at least another month or so.

While the family’s Blackwell Ranch was both a working cattle ranch and a dude ranch, Jon’s focus was strictly on cattle. While he disliked the dude ranch, it was his grandfather’s methods regarding the cattle ranch that was the source of contention between Jon and Big E.

Which brought him back around to the information he’d learned about his grandfather earlier; Big E was AWOL. Irritation overrode the concern he’d felt in Grace’s office when Katie assured him that Big E was fine; he wasn’t technically a “missing person” by the legal definition. She just didn’t know where he was right at this moment. The week before, he and Zoe had taken off in their motorhome. This didn’t surprise him, as Zoe was always trying to talk Big E into anything that would get her away from the ranch, a ranch she was constantly trying to “improve.” Meaning, she wanted it to make more money. Jon didn’t care. What his grandfather did with Zoe was his business. But during calving season? It was the busiest time of year on a cattle ranch.

Katie had reminded him that no one could sign on the account to pay the bills except Elias or one of his grandsons. In other words, Jon or one of his four brothers had to sort this out. Unfortunately, his brothers all lived out of state. On Jon’s promise to take care of the bill, Grace had given Katie leave to purchase what she needed.

The part that chafed at Jon was that Big E had inconvenienced both him and Katie in the process. He was going to have to track down his grandfather. And in the meantime, if Big E and Zoe didn’t show up tonight, he would be forced to head over there and figure out what needed to be done so that Katie could keep things running smoothly.

Sofie was peering out the window above the sink. “Wait... Is that a car coming up the drive?”

Jon joined her. The vehicle drew closer and he could see it wasn’t a rig belonging to anyone he knew.

The nanny.

A lightness unfurled inside his chest, which had felt unbearably heavy for so long it was like he had an anvil for a heart. Maybe his girls could finally become the kids he knew they had the potential to be, have the life they deserved. Or as much of one as he could give them. What they deserved was a mom, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that.

He warned himself not to pin too much hope here. But that felt a lot like trying to push raindrops back into a storm cloud. And besides, he wouldn’t want to. He knew it was far from poetic, but he and the girls were like the parched ground after a long drought, eager and hungry to soak up every bit of life-giving water they could get. And this nanny... This nanny was the rain.

* * *

LYDIA CLIMBED OUT of the SUV and took in the sprawling, pale gray, white-trimmed home before her. Not overly large, but certainly not small, and everything looked neat and tidy and...new. Huh.

For some reason, she’d been expecting one of those ancient two-story farmhouses with half-finished projects and rusty tools scattered around outside. Inside there’d be faded, gingham curtains, noisy pipes and lots of tiny rooms with creaky floors. Basically, her nana’s little farm in upstate New York—the home Lydia had shared with her for the only two truly good years of her childhood.

She had to admit the JB Bar Ranch was storybook pretty with its neatly painted outbuildings in a matching shade of gray and two large, brick-red barns. Some smaller, greener tufts of grass sprouted here and there in the vast expanse of lawn, promising a lush green mantle once spring pushed into early summer. Reddish brown cows dotted the landscape beyond the barn.

Inhaling deeply, she attempted to smooth her crumpled wool skirt and silk shirt. She stared down at her expensive, impractical faux-leather boots and wished she’d had time to purchase suitable clothing for her stint as a rancher’s nanny.

“Not that I know what a rancher’s nanny wears,” she muttered wryly. She didn’t know anything about ranching. Although, aside from the basics of sewing and cooking, she hadn’t known much about waitressing, hair shampooing, baking, catering, dog-sitting, office assisting, or the myriad of other jobs she’d tackled over the years, either.

Besides, she’d gladly left most of her possessions behind. She didn’t want anything Clive had purchased for her with his dirty money, especially that engagement ring.

Shaking her head, she looked around to try and get her bearings and gather her shredded confidence. A lack of options was an incredible motivator and soon had her navigating the neatly cobbled walkway and scaling the steps of the porch.

A surge of nervous tension welled inside of her as she lifted a hand. The door opened before she could knock to reveal a handsome, serious-faced man and a pretty, smiling woman whose eager expression made Lydia think she was going to angle in for a hug. Then she swung open the screen door and Lydia felt her brain stall.

“Um... Hi, I’m...sorry. My name is Lydia...Newbury. I think I must have the wrong place? I’m looking for Jonathon Blackwell of the JB Bar Ranch?”

Jonathon Blackwell was supposed to be a single dad, not one half of an expecting couple. Had there been some sort of a mix-up?

“No, no, you’re not at the wrong place.” At the woman’s encouraging wave, Lydia stepped inside. “Please, come in. I’m Sofie, neighbor and friend.” Her honey-blond hair was neatly piled high up on her head and her warm brown eyes matched the kindness in her tone. “It’s wonderful to meet you. We’ve been expecting you. Did you have trouble finding the place?”

“It’s wonderful to be here finally. I’m sorry I’m late. I did have a little trouble finding the place, which would have been a lot of trouble if Deputy Tompkin hadn’t helped me out.”

Sofie smiled. “Oh, good. Scooter’s great.”

“Even after that I still wasn’t sure—”

“Why is that?” the man interrupted, his scowl morphing into more of a glare.

He’d moved a few steps back and now stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Lydia could see gleaming silver appliances behind him. Country music drifted softly from that direction. Tall and nicely muscled, he filled the doorway where he leaned against the wood frame. He slipped a hand into the back pocket of his dingy, faded jeans. All that was missing was a cowboy hat to cover his attractively mussed hair and a piece of straw poking from between his chiseled lips. Tension vibrated off him like an overtuned guitar string. A couple of six-shooters hanging from those lean hips and he could walk right onto to a movie set about a gritty, bitter cowboy. He definitely didn’t match up to the nice-guy impression she’d gleaned from Scooter.

Forcing herself to make eye contact confirmed her assumption—he didn’t like what he saw. She wondered if he knew how much his steely gray gaze gave away.

“Why is what?” she asked, forcing a friendly smile. Whatever his first impression had told him, it wasn’t good. Lydia needed to change his mind.

His next words were hard-edged, like it tried his patience to clarify his question. “Why did you think you had the wrong ranch?”

“Um, well...” Lydia tried to think of a way to condense her reasons. Because a pregnant woman opened the door and I thought you were a single dad, and you’re glaring at me, and I didn’t expect my new employer to be a grouch who disliked me on sight.

Sofie blinked wide brown eyes. “That doesn’t matter, does it, Jon? She’s here now.”

The little shake of his head was almost imperceptible. In a flat tone he conceded, “I suppose not.” He stuck out a hand. “Jonathon Blackwell. This is the JB Bar Ranch.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Blackwell.” Lydia offered her hand. He gave it a firm squeeze and then released it like they were playing a game of hot potato. His stern gaze skimmed over her and lingered on her boots before he glanced away.

A black-and-white dog sidled up to her, tail wagging.

“Hello, gorgeous.” Crouching, she held out a hand. The dog came closer and laid his muzzle on her thigh. Lydia relaxed a little and stroked his silky ears. At least the dog liked her. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing?”

“This is Trout,” Sofie said, beaming.

Blackwell loomed, his face a grim mask.

“How was your drive?” Sofie asked.

“Good. Stunningly beautiful. I’ve never seen this part of the country. Or much of rural America at all, unfortunately. Not since I was a kid, anyway.”

“Oh, but I thought you had... Where are you from?”

“Philadelphia, born and mostly raised.” If a girl can be raised by the age of fifteen, she added silently.

Sofie’s face twisted thoughtfully. “So, you’ve never lived on a ranch?”

Lydia laughed and gave the dog one more pat before standing. “Nope. City girl through and through.” Except for her two years in upstate New York with Nana. But that was a story and Tanner had told her to withhold details when she could. Sofie shot Blackwell another curious glance. He returned it with another head shake and a sigh. What was this guy’s problem?

Sofie noticed her watching. Clearing her throat, she focused her bright smile back on Lydia. “Well, I can relate to that, that’s for sure. I’m from Seattle.”

Trout let out an excited whimper and jogged through the doorway where Blackwell still stood guard. Behind him, the unmistakable sounds of a crowd entering the house followed; voices, laughter, squeals, the clank of what sounded like metal and then the stomping of feet.

“Perfect timing,” Sofie said brightly. “The girls are back.”

CHAPTER THREE

BEFORE LYDIA’S BRAIN could even register the plural form of the word girl, a pair of them rushed into the room. Little ones. Decidedly un-teenager ones. Cries of “Sofie” and “Trout” and “Daddy” followed. Maybe these were the pregnant Sofie’s other children? But no, because they were clearly calling Blackwell “Daddy.”

Within seconds he was confirming the association. “Girls, I’d like you to meet Ms. Lydia Newbury. Ms. Newbury, this is Abigail.” He placed one large palm on a mess of long brown curls before putting the other on the shoulder of a child with lighter brown tangles even messier than her sister’s. “And this is Genevieve.” There seemed to be a challenging glint in his eyes. “My five-year-old twin daughters.”

Lydia’s brain was spinning a hundred miles an hour. There must have been a mix-up at the nanny agency. Instead of one fourteen-year-old, she’d gotten placed with two five-year-olds? As much as she wanted to apologize for the inconvenience, walk out to her car, climb in and drive away, fleeing was not an option. This was her flee, so to speak. Images of Clive and his cronies swam before her eyes. Five-year-old twins and their grumpy father versus taking her chances on the open road?

She held out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Abigail and Genevieve.” One tiny, filthy hand and then another reached out and squeezed hers. Adorable, polite, nice-to-meet-yous accompanied each gesture. Lydia studied their dirt-smeared faces and felt a tug of affection working at the knot of terror and anxiety tangled inside her chest.

“I’d like for you guys to call me Lydia, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Abigail said.

Genevieve commented, “I like that better. It’s faster to say. Like Gen instead of Genevieve, you can call me that if you want.” Expression earnest, she flipped a hand toward her sister. “And Abby you can call Abby. Hardly nobody calls us Genevieve or Abigail.”

“Hardly anybody,” Abigail said, correcting her sister.

“Yep,” Genevieve agreed with a quick bob of her head. “That’s what I meant, hardly anybody.” She hooked her thumbs in her belt loops and seemed to study Lydia’s outfit with much less disdain than her father. “Those boots are real pretty. They’re tall, huh? I don’t think you could run very fast in them. Or ride.”

Blackwell let out a sound like a cross between a snort and a chuckle. “Boots like that aren’t good for much, sugar plum. They’re not even real leather.”

Lydia felt her cheeks go hot. Why did it feel like he’d just insulted more than her boots?

“You could wear them to church?” Abigail suggested helpfully. “Or to a party? Not a barn party, though, because the heel part would sink into the dirt.” She stomped one tiny cowboy-booted heel as if to show Lydia what she meant.

“Do you like horses?” Genevieve asked.

“Um, yes, I do,” Lydia said.

“We love horses. Abby and I have our own horses. Mine is Garnet and hers is Topaz.”

“Do you ride, Lydia?” Blackwell asked in a tone that let her know there was only one right answer and he suspected she wasn’t going to give it. What was wrong with this guy? Like his first question, she wasn’t quite sure how to answer it. Lydia loved horses. But she hadn’t been on one since she was fourteen, before Nana died and her dad sold the farm, and Lydia’s already uncertain world had completely fallen apart. A painful cramp of longing seized her at the onslaught of memories. She hoped horseback riding was like riding a bike.

She opened her mouth to explain when Sofie stepped forward. “Well, if Lydia does ride, I’m sure she isn’t planning on riding in those pretty boots. Lydia, I can’t tell you how glad we are that you’re here.”

She turned toward the twins with an encouraging smile. “Abby, Gen, why don’t you girls go wash up for dinner?”

To Blackwell, she suggested, “Jon, why don’t you go out to Lydia’s car and get her bags?”

“That would be great.” Digging into the purse hanging over her shoulder, Lydia withdrew the keys. “You’ll need these.”

“Of course,” Blackwell said flatly. “You locked it.”

She dropped the keys into his outstretched palm and watched him stalk toward the door.

Sofie said, “No one locks their cars around here. You’ll get used to it. And speaking of dinner, yours is on the stove. Follow me into the kitchen and I’ll show you where a few things are before I go.”

Lydia already liked this woman and the thought of her leaving now, specifically of being left here with Jonathon Blackwell and this precocious preschool duo that she did not sign up for, left her skin itchy and prickling, probably from the cold sweat breaking out all over her body.

* * *

HALF-DAZED AND FULL-ON IRRITATED, Jon headed out to the nanny’s vehicle. At least the well-used four-wheel-drive SUV was Montana practical. Although, he noted disapprovingly, it could use some new tires. Opening the back, he wondered how many trips it would take him to haul City Girl’s stuff inside. Seemed like kind of a waste since she wouldn’t be here long. He was calling the agency first thing in the morning and getting a replacement.

“Huh,” he grunted. All he saw was one small suitcase and a bag that looked about large enough for a laptop. He’d expected at least one steamer trunk filled entirely with impractical shoes.

Back inside the house, he deposited the bags in the guest room, which reminded him to take a side trip to the laundry room and put the sheets in the dryer. Still fuming, he headed into the bathroom in his master suite. Normally, he’d just wash up in the half bath off the mudroom, but he needed a second. Several seconds. Days maybe.

After scrubbing his hands, he splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection.

“Lydia Newbury,” he said and then followed up with a whispered expletive. “It even sounds like a spoiled, city-girl name.”

How could this have happened? The agency advertised that they carefully vetted each candidate and placed them in the best possible position. He’d specifically requested a nanny with ranching or farming experience, a rural background at the very least. This woman looked like she just stepped off the subway in her tight skirt and stupid high-heeled boots. Long, silky, chestnut-colored hair shined with expensive highlights, manicured nails clutched a designer bag that looked so soft it would probably melt in the rain.

His marriage hadn’t lasted long, but it had been long enough to recognize a woman addicted to the finer things. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d blatantly given herself away. She didn’t want to be here on the JB Bar Ranch. From the window, he and Sofie had watched her, scowling and shaking her head. “I think I must have the wrong place,” she’d said, standing right on his doorstep, her expression so baffled and forlorn that once upon a time his younger, naive self might have gone weak with sympathy. That man had died right along with his marriage.

Reality rarely lived up to expectations and he couldn’t help but wonder what she’d been imagining? A stately old colonial mansion? A “rustic” lodge-style monstrosity that wasn’t rustic at all but was designed to look as if it was, like the guest house at the Blackwell Ranch? Too bad it wasn’t open yet—he could move her over there until she could catch a plane back to Philadelphia. Whatever she’d had in mind, it clearly was not Jon’s modest-sized rambler.

“How cute,” Ava had said the first day he’d brought her to the JB Bar. “A ranch-style home for a rancher. We can add on later, right?” Jon had thought she was joking. By the time he’d learned otherwise, she was pregnant. When it came to material things, Ava had no sense of humor, only a longing that he could not satisfy. Her cravings were the kind that ranching could never cure, not his style of ranching, anyway. He’d built his house and ranch from the ground up with cattle, practicality and comfort in mind. Pretty much in that order.

A nanny like Lydia was out of the question. He’d had enough of coddling beautiful, materialistic, impossible-to-please women to last a lifetime. Besides, he thought as a wave of those bitter feelings washed over him, it didn’t work, anyway.

It had taken weeks for this nanny to get here. How long would it take to get a replacement?

* * *

AFTER SOFIE LEFT, Lydia remained in the kitchen, admiring the granite countertops, brushed stainless-steel appliances and double sinks. Gorgeous hardwood floors gleamed beneath her feet. A large island made up the centerpiece of the room. Copper-bottomed pans hung from a rack suspended above. Five tall padded comfy-looking stools were tucked under the opposite edge.

She stepped closer to the deluxe five-burner stove with double ovens and felt a spark of joy. A little swirl of hope circled inside of her. If Lydia had designed the kitchen herself, she wouldn’t change a thing. Cozy and gourmet utilitarian at the same time. Cooking was an area where she felt supremely confident.

The girls skipped into the kitchen. Genevieve climbed up one of the tall stools at the kitchen’s island.

“It’s dinnertime, why don’t you guys go ahead and sit at the table?”

“We eat here,” Abby said, joining her sister in the next chair.

Hmm. Lydia had fond memories of her and Nana sharing meals at the table. “Every day?”

“When we eat here.”

“What do you mean when you eat here?”

“Since it’s calving time we usually eat in the bunkhouse with the cowboys.”

“I see.” But she didn’t. Was she supposed to cook for a bunch of cowboys, too? Now that she thought about it, the position hadn’t come with much of a job description. That had been the least of her concerns. She and Blackwell needed to hash out a few details.

“Tonight, we’re going to sit at the table, okay? That way we can see each other while we eat, and I can get to know you guys a little bit.”

“Are you going to quit, too?” Abby asked.

“Quit?”

“All our babysitters quit,” she explained.

“No, I most certainly am not.” For once in her life quitting was not an option.

The girls exchanged glances. Leaning their heads together, they whispered excitedly. After a moment, something seemed to be decided because they sat up straight again, grinned at Lydia and shrugged in tandem. “Okay.” They hopped down and darted toward the dining room.

“Hey, you guys want to help me set the table since you’re headed that way?”

They turned back toward her, matching gray-blue eyes wide and curious. For a few long seconds Lydia thought they were going to balk.

Abby’s face erupted with a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll get the spoons,” Genevieve said.

The three of them were seated and waiting when Blackwell strode into the kitchen. Stopping short, he looked from the kitchen to the dining room and back again. Lydia almost laughed at the baffled expression on his face.

Abby saved Lydia from having to explain. “Daddy, look, we’re eating at the table.”

“Isn’t this neat?” Gen added.

“Uh... Yeah, very...” He walked over and stood before the table for a second, hands on hips. “Neat.” He folded his tall length into the vacant chair and Lydia couldn’t help thinking that he moved with the graceful ease of an athlete. Or a cowboy. Not that she’d ever known one of the latter. Dipping his head down, he studied the steaming bowl of stew as if trying to decide what it might contain.

Unlike the new kitchen, the oak dining table looked very old. The girls had shown Lydia the drawer in the matching buffet where place mats were kept. They’d seemed excited when Lydia encouraged them to choose a set.

Fiddling with the silverware laid out on his left side, Blackwell looked at Lydia. “We don’t usually eat here.”

“The girls told me.” Lydia unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap. “Dinnertime is a nice way to multitask, though, don’t you think? You get to eat and spend time together as a family. That’s what my grandmother always said.”

Blackwell’s lips formed a grim line while the twins stared at her solemnly.

“You’re lucky to have a grandma,” Abby said.

“Yeah,” Gen agreed. “We have Zoe, but she doesn’t like us to call her Grandma. She doesn’t do any grandma stuff, either. One time she painted our fingernails.”

Abby added, “We love Great-Grandma Dorothy. But she lives far away in Texas and we hardly ever see her.”

“I was very lucky to have a grandma. She died, but I’m glad I had her as long as I did. I’m sorry you guys don’t have a grandma.” Lydia wanted to ask questions about this Zoe person, but Blackwell’s glower stopped her.

She briefly considered calling for a blessing or some other type of predinner ritual, but decided there’d be time to introduce that later. “I think we should eat.”

A few minutes later, Lydia decided Sofie might be a paragon of sweetness, but she was a terrible cook. The stew was bland and the corn bread dry. But the Blackwells ate without complaint and there was no way she was going to voice her opinion on a gesture of such obvious goodwill. Nor was she going to comment on the fact that the twins ate like piglets. Not yet, anyway.

“Did you grow up on a ranch, too?” Genevieve asked, scooping up a large chunk of corn bread and shoving it into her already full mouth.

“Nope. I was raised in Philadelphia. That’s in Pennsylvania. Do you know where that is?”

Gen shook her head.

“I think Pennsylvania is a state,” Abby said, and then licked her fingers.

“It is. I’ll show you on a map.”

“Have you ever seen a calf being born?” Gen asked.

“No, I have not.”

Abby wrinkled her nose. “It’s kind of gross.”

“No, it’s not!” Gen argued. “It’s the roof over our head and the boots on our feet, huh, Daddy?”

Blackwell gave her a gentle smile. “Yes, it sure is.”

Abby shot her sister an irritated scowl. “I know, Gen. I just meant if you’ve never seen one before.”

“I’m gonna be a rancher, too.” Gen shoveled up another too-large bite of stew and then wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “Like Katie.”

“I want to be a vet like Uncle Ethan.” Abby dipped a finger in her stew and wiped it on the place mat.

Lydia wondered if the girls knew what napkins were for.

They continued chatting through the rest of the meal. Lydia was grateful for the distraction as it saved her from having to talk to her new employer. At least, she noted happily, he wasn’t grouchy with his girls.

Dinner complete, the girls hopped up from the table and scampered out of the dining room. Lydia watched them go and felt a mix of sympathy and affection wash over her. What had happened here? Where was their mother? She could feel Blackwell watching her. Turning her head, she saw puzzlement and...something not quite as grouchy splayed across his face.

Standing, he reached across the table and stacked the bowls into a pile. “I’ll help you clear the table and then I need to go check on some cows.” He carried them into the kitchen.

Lydia gathered the glasses and followed. “Right now? Shouldn’t we go over what you expect of me?”

“It’s calving season.” He pointed this out like a normal person might comment on the obvious state of the weather. He opened the dishwasher, and began loading the bowls inside.

Maybe grumpy, condescending and rude was just his normal state? But how could he have such a nice friend like Sofie? And his daughters might be a bit...unrefined, but they were clearly loved, and they adored their father. Obviously, it was her. What wasn’t obvious was why.

“But...”

“It’ll be dark soon,” he added, tucking the glasses in the top rack.

Lydia felt a bubble of frustration at his cryptic dialogue. “Oh, do they have a curfew?”

The chuckle seemed to escape him before he realized it and left him looking a little surprised. The smile lingered, and Lydia couldn’t help but notice how much it transformed him. Jonathon Blackwell was an extremely nice-looking man when he wasn’t scowling at her.

“Yes, ma’am, they kind of do. I need to take a look at them and that’s easiest when it’s still light out. What I should have said is that we’ll have a chat when I get back in.”

“Oh. In that case you don’t need to help with the dishes.”

A chime sounded. Lydia watched him pluck a phone out of his shirt pocket. “Just a sec.” His expression tensed again, and Lydia wondered how many different scowls the man possessed. He looked up from the screen. “I’m sorry. We may need to have that discussion in the morning. I might need to turn a calf and... I mean, I’ve got a heifer in labor that needs some assistance. Unless you want to wait up, but it could be late by the time I get back to the house.”

Lydia swallowed nervously. Although why she was nervous exactly she couldn’t say. “Morning is fine. Should I get the girls ready for bed?”

His eyes zeroed in on her like he was considering the question. At least his eyes didn’t have as hard a glint as before. She’d call this expression thoughtful instead of grouchy, which felt like progress.

“I would appreciate it more than I can say.” But then he grimaced. “The sheets for your bed are in the dryer in the laundry room. I apologize. I wanted to have it made up when you got here.”

“Oh. No worries. Sofie showed me around.” Who was this guy? Cranky and ill-tempered with her on the one hand and then full of remorse about sheets on the other? “That’s fine. I can do it. Any special instructions regarding the girls?”

“No, not really. They’ll guide you through it. Although, I need to tell you...” His voice trailed off thoughtfully while his focus drifted behind her. Gray eyes latched on to hers again and the intensity she saw there had her bracing herself for some truly horrific news. “I probably should mention that they can be kind of a handful.”

“A handful?”

“Several hands probably, at least that’s what Sofie would say. Their last couple of babysitters would say worse.” He sighed. “It’s just that they’ve never had a mom or a steady female influence for...quite a while. Their longtime babysitter, Annie, passed away a year and a half ago. We’ve been struggling to get someone regular since then.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I completely get what you’re saying. Kids need structure. Don’t worry, I’m sure I can get them tucked in. We’ll talk in the morning.” No mom at all? Which prompted thoughts of the poor cow mom who needed his help. Waving a hand, she shooed him away. “Go. We’ll be fine. Go and do your rancher midwife thing.”

She liked the way one side of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Rancher midwife,” he finally said, repeating the words. “I’ll do that.”

Lydia forced herself not to fidget and watched, fascinated, as his lips curled and puckered like he was going to... What was he going to do?

An earsplitting whistle pierced the air.

Lydia yelped and threw a hand over her chest. “Crikey! What the—?”

He winced. “Oh shh-oot. Sorry.” Trout dashed into the room. Ears up, tail wagging, the dog skidded to a stop by his side.

Putting a hand on the dog’s head, he asked, “Ready, my man?”

Trout answered with a single bark. Blackwell gave Lydia a final assessing look, his gray eyes blazing with an intensity that clogged her throat. “Good night, Ms. Lydia. And thank you.” His voice was soft and deep, the tone sincere.

She felt a little light-headed as she watched man and dog disappear through the doorway that Sofie had told her led outside and to the JB Bar Ranch beyond. Ms. Lydia? A warm flush heated her cheeks and neck. She managed to wheeze out a breathy “Good night” that he probably didn’t hear. She was glad because she knew her voice sounded weird. A few minutes ago, she’d wanted to run off and now she wanted to fan herself. What was up with that?

It was just relief, she assured herself. Terror, hopelessness, desperation and anxiety so acute she’d barely slept in days, followed by two days of traveling, would scramble a person’s brain. Added to the mix was the sobering realization that her boss didn’t seem to like her and the single teenaged girl she’d signed up to ferry around was in reality two busy preschoolers. Exhaustion was setting in. But the thought that she might finally be safe left a small smile on her face.

She’d do anything to stay that way. Wrangling a pair of out-of-control twins and sparring with their irritable father seemed like a cakewalk compared to what she was running from.

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU DON’T LOOK nothin’ like a old pear.”

Lydia looked at Genevieve. “Excuse me?”

“It’s noth-ing, Gen,” Abby said. “Not nothin’.”

“I know that, Abby, but I like the way Tom says nothin’.”

Abby rolled her eyes at her sister. “Well, I think you should say you don’t look anything like an old pear.” Face taut with concentration, she studied Lydia. “But she’s right, you don’t.”

“Who told you I did? And are we talking about fruit or boots?”

“Tom,” Gen answered.

“Fruit,” Abby said.

“Tom said I look like an old pear?” Lydia asked.

Abby explained, “No, Tom said we were getting an old pear. It’s a fancy name for a nanny.”

Ah. Lydia smothered a laugh. “Actually, it’s au pair not old pear.”

Gen frowned. “Oh. What’s an oh pear? That don’t make no sense.”

“It’s a French term,” Lydia said, choosing not to correct the child’s grammar quite yet.

“Like a French fry?” Gen asked.

“Crepes are French,” Abby stated knowingly. “They’re real skinny pancakes.”

Gen gushed, “I lo-o-ove pancakes. Buttermilk pancakes are right yummy vittles.”

“Let me guess.” Lydia looked at Abby, whose eyes had gone skyward again. “Tom?”

“Mmm-hmm. Sofie says he talks like a movie cowboy.”

“Who is Tom, exactly?”

“Tom is Daddy’s foreman. Gen lo-o-oves him.”

Gen scowled at her sister. “Only because I’m gonna be a ranch foreman someday. Like Katie.”

“Katie doesn’t talk that way.”

Lydia held out her hands, palms down, fingers spread. She’d herded the girls into the bathroom to commence bedtime preparations. “Okay, hold on.” It was already going to be a challenge to become fluent in five-year-old, but five-year-old-aspiring-cowgirl was going to require some serious effort.

“Now who is Katie?”

Abby explained, “Katie is Lochlan’s daughter. He’s the foreman at Big E’s ranch.”

Gen fiddled with the faucet. Being still didn’t appear to be the child’s greatest strength. “But Katie should take over soon. I heard Daddy tell Tom.”

They had already mentioned Big E and Lydia now knew him to be the girls’ great-grandfather—Blackwell’s grandfather—and he was married to Zoe. Lydia wondered about his parents, but knew introducing yet another topic would only further delay her immediate mission.

“Interesting. Thank you. We’ll discuss this more later. For now, let’s get back to bath time.”

“We like to take showers now that we’re five.”

“Great. Showers it is. We’re going to do this like an assembly line. I’ll wash your hair first, Abby. Then you can hop in the shower while I wash Gen’s. Then you can shower, Gen. Got it? Use soap, okay?”

Gen groaned. “Do I have to take a shower?”

“What’s a sembly line?” Abby asked. “Is that French, too?”

“Yes, you do have to take a shower, Gen. It’s as-sem-bly line, Abby,” she said, enunciating carefully. “And an assembly line is an organized way of doing things. As far as I know, it’s not French.”

“Why?” Gen demanded, still fixated on the apparent torture of sanitization unfolding before her.

“You don’t smell like flowers for one thing, and for another you both need your hair washed.”

“Flowers?” Gen repeated, her face scrunched thoughtfully.

“I hate getting my hair washed.” This from Abby, whom Lydia had already deduced was slightly more amenable to hygiene and civilized behavior than her sister.

“Why’s that?”

“It hurts.”

“What do you mean it hurts? Washing your hair shouldn’t hurt.”

“It’s the after part. It gets all snarly like a rat’s nest—that’s what Daddy calls it—and it hurts to brush it.”

“I see. Well, that’s no good.” Lydia took a moment to scope out the toiletries—soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes and basic first-aid supplies. Another cupboard held fluffy orange and yellow towels. The shower curtain featured brightly colored jungle animals. No razors, shaving cream, aftershave, cologne or other manly potions in evidence. Blackwell apparently had his own personal domain, which was a relief. She didn’t relish the idea of sharing a bathroom with him. In the shower, she spotted a single bottle. She picked it up and said, “‘Shampoo and conditioner in one.’” That explained it.

“Wait right here. No more rat’s nests for you.” She started to walk out the door and then stopped as it occurred to her that there was a good possibility they might not be here when she returned. Nibbling her lip, she thought for a second. “I have two important things I need you guys to do while I’m gone. Abby, can you find some cotton balls? Gen, can you gather up all the hair bands in that basket and put them in a pile?” Lydia pointed to a container on the counter, where she’d noticed the hair accessories were kept. “Can you guys do that?”

They both nodded solemnly, neither questioning their assigned task.

Lydia dashed to her bedroom. She’d only brought one small suitcase but it included a travel-sized bottle of leave-in conditioner. Three heads of long hair meant it wasn’t going to last long. She added conditioner to the supply list she’d already started. Under boots and jeans she wrote conditioner.

Upon reentering the bathroom, she assessed the work they’d done. “Thank you. Great job, girls. Now, I’ll make you a deal. If you let me wash your hair, and you take your showers without complaint, we’ll watch a little TV before bed.”

“We don’t have TV. We can watch movies in Daddy’s pickup.”

No TV? Lydia thought quickly. There were lots of things that might motivate a five-year-old. The problem was that she’d just got here and didn’t know the girls yet or the resources she had to draw from.

“We have internet,” Abby announced. “We watch movies on the computer sometimes.”

“Perfect.” Lydia smiled. “I have a computer. We’ll see what we can do.”

* * *

JON NOTICED TWO things when he stepped inside the house the next morning—it smelled like bacon and it was very quiet. Heaving out a tired breath, he lowered himself onto the bench and pulled off his boots. He took a moment to enjoy the silence, but mostly used it as an excuse to rest his aching back and think about the day’s chores ahead.

The calves born last night and this morning put them approximately halfway through the calving. The heavies, or most heavily pregnant cows and heifers, were waiting. Close to labor, they’d been moved into a smaller pasture, where they were monitored by Jon, Tom and his hired hands. Mother Nature had blessed them with a week of mild weather, allowing the cows to give birth outside like they preferred. It also meant less work because they didn’t have to cut the cows who were in labor from the rest of the herd and get them into the shed. It was a tedious job because that herd instinct was a strong one and they balked at being separated.

Grabbing a towel, he saw to Trout and then stood. He headed into the kitchen, where he discovered evidence that the nanny had been cooking. He could hear muffled conversation in the next room.

As he neared the doorway, a voice asked, “What about this one? What letter is this, Gen?”

Jon froze and Trout followed his cue, standing at attention beside him. “Um, is it a P?” It pained his perpetually raw heart to hear the uncertainty in his daughter’s voice. Genevieve was struggling to learn her letters and numbers. Jon knew he needed to spend more time teaching the girls and he planned to as soon as calving season wound down. All the things he needed to do bore down on him like a full-out stampede.

“That’s close. It’s a D.”

“Dagnabbit! I always get that one wrong. I’m sorry. I’m not smart like Abby.”

“You’re not supposed to say that,” Abby said. “It’s almost a bad word.”

“Listen here, young lady,” Lydia said, “you are incredibly smart. Anyone who can recite every breed of horse on this planet, where they live and what they’re used for is completely brilliant. There are all kinds of smarts out there. You’ll get this. I promise. Then you can read all about horses yourself. And, just so you know, dagnabbit starts with a D.”

Jon smiled. The words and the encouragement in Lydia’s tone eased a bit of his ache. Sounded like she had the teaching skills—too bad she couldn’t stay. Jon had already called the agency, but Eileen, the woman who’d handled his application, was on vacation until the middle of April. No one else seemed to be familiar with his situation. He’d been informed he could start the application process all over or wait for Eileen to return. He doubted Lydia could teach Gen to read in two weeks. Doubted she’d want to stay, anyway, after he told her she wasn’t suitable.

Jon motioned to Trout and the dog bolted forward into the room. Jon followed, his lungs constricting so tight at what he found that it took several seconds before he could draw a proper breath. Abby was lounging against a pillow on the sofa, an open book across her lap. Gen sat on the floor in front of Lydia, who was doing her hair. Lydia deserved a bonus for this task alone. Little-girl hair was a mystery to him. He had a difficult time even getting a brush through their curls. The ponytails he managed rarely lasted through a day.

“Hi, Daddy!” Gen cried. “How many new calves?”

“A bunch.”

“Yay! How are they?”

“Feisty, healthy, hungry fuzzballs. Cute as can be.”

“I can’t wait to see them!”

“After breakfast.”

Abby sat forward, turning to look at him. “We already had breakfast.”

“Oh,” he said, noticing her hair was already done. Braided and twisted into a pretty little bun on top of her head. Clean clothes, clean face, even clean hands clutching that book in her lap.

“Did you—”

“Yep,” she interrupted, “already brushed my teeth. Seeee,” she drawled, “showing” him the evidence as if he could tell from her clownlike grin.

“Excellent job. Shiny and white, just like the dentist ordered.” Which reminded him that they had upcoming appointments. A wave of dread rolled over him. The last one had not gone well.

Lydia looked up and smiled. “The girls told me they usually eat in the bunkhouse with you, but I didn’t know what time you’d be back in this morning and we were hungry. There’s bacon and pancakes keeping warm in the oven in case you haven’t eaten? And I can scramble a couple of eggs.”

“Buttermilk pancakes, Daddy,” Gen said. “Real ones. And Lydia is doing our hair all pretty like hers.”

Jon took a minute to absorb the myriad of feelings churning inside of him and wreaking havoc on both his body and his brain. It had been a long, long time since he’d entertained feelings like the ones tumbling through him right now—relief that the girls seemed to like Lydia, happiness that she seemed to like them and longing so intense it catapulted him back to a place he tried not to go. Why couldn’t Ava have wanted this? He immediately reminded himself that he was paying Lydia Newbury to shower this kind of attention on his daughters. And she wasn’t sticking around.

“That sounds just fine to me. We can talk while the girls head out for a look at the calves.”

“Great.” Lydia flashed him another bright smile. “You, sweet girl, are all done.” Placing a hand on each of her shoulders, she bent and kissed the top of Gen’s head and Jon felt that, too, like a warm surge right in the pit of his stomach. “You want to see?”

Gen took the mirror from Lydia and admired her handiwork. With her other hand, she patted the neat braids. Normally Gen didn’t care much about her hair, but the expression on her face right now reminded him a lot of how his daughter looked on Christmas morning. When she wrapped her arms around Lydia for a hug, sweetness dug right into him along with the regret. He’d hoped Lydia would be gone before the girls got too attached.

“I’ll text Tom that you’re on the way.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” They skipped over to him and one at a time he scooped them up for a quick hug and set them back on their feet closer to the door. Together, they ran toward the kitchen.

Jon tapped out a text to Tom.

Lydia began tidying up the space around her. “I’ll put this stuff away and meet you in the kitchen. There’s a fresh pot of coffee.”

“All right then.”

Jon headed there, poured himself a cup and took a sip. Dang, it was good coffee, too. Standing at the window, he could see the barns, the shop, the chicken coop, woodshed and various other outbuildings. He tried to imagine what it might look like to a woman from Philadelphia who’d never seen it, or any ranch at all. The flower beds needed weeding and the three raised garden beds could use some attention. Cows and their bright red-brown calves stood in the east pasture. That had to be an appealing sight, didn’t it?

The reality wasn’t like television, that was true, but it was his and he loved pretty much everything about it. At the end of every day he wouldn’t trade the long hours he spent blistering under a blazing summer sun, or shivering in a winter cold so brutal it seemed to gnaw right into his bones, for any other job in the world. Not even in the midst of calving season, when he rarely slept more than two or three hours at a stretch and worry was his constant companion.

There were roughly a million things that warranted his attention and concern. In addition to constant monitoring of the cows and heifers before labor, there was the birth itself. Then, would the cow accept her new calf? Was the cow producing enough milk? Was the calf nursing? A ton of health problems could befall a calf, not the least of which was scours, which could race through a herd like wildfire. Inclement weather brought on a host of difficulties, too.

During these few weeks, Jon barely took time to eat. When he did get a moment to shower or change his clothes, there wasn’t time to enjoy it because soon after he’d be knee-deep in mud and manure, or shoulder-deep inside a cow assisting with a birth. But every second of this life fed his soul; he needed it, the bad and the good, just like he needed air to breathe.

He wondered what Lydia Newbury needed? What could a woman from Philadelphia possibly think she’d find on a ranch in Montana? Life here could only lead to disappointment.

Sighing, he turned away from the window. Why was he spending time worrying and wondering what she thought? This wasn’t the place for her and because of that she wasn’t the right nanny for his girls. Not used to being idle, he spotted the eggs on the counter and cracked a few into a bowl.

“Hey, are you doing my job for me?” Lydia asked, hurrying over to join him. Pointing toward the island, she said, “Sit.” Beside him, Trout obediently parked his butt on the tile floor.

“Oh, my gosh!” Her grin was pure delight and Jon couldn’t help but smile inside. “That’s amazing. Does he obey like that for everyone?”

Mustering up his best poker face, Jon shook his head. “He does not. Usually, just me. But when you shout at him like that he’s bound to listen.” He glanced at Trout, who was giving him an expectant look. Jon signaled his release and the dog trotted over to his water dish.

“I didn’t shou—” The furrow in her brow was downright cute and he couldn’t maintain a straight face. “Oh. You’re joking?”

He chuckled. “I am.”

The sound of her laughter filled the room, working into him in a very nice way. Jon kept his eyes on her because she was focused on Trout.

“Did you tell him something with your hand?”

“Yep.” He moved around the island to take a stool. Not only had she gotten the girls dressed for the day, but she’d also taken care of herself. Her clothing choice was a sight more practical than her getup of the day before. In her snug jeans, stocking feet and button-down shirt, with a tank top peeking out the top, she could almost pass for a local girl. Almost.

“Incredible. I’ve never met such a well-trained dog.”

“It’s not training, not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s more like understanding. Dogs are special that way. They’re like friends. Treat them right and most of them will do about anything for you. Just gotta figure out how to ask.”

“Hmm. That’s nice. You obviously have good friends.” She’d been whisking the eggs, and she poured them into the pan and stirred. She removed the pancakes and bacon from the oven and fixed his plate.

He watched her, mesmerized by the way she moved, fluid and efficient, like a swan or some other graceful, pretty bird.

“You know your way around a kitchen.”

“That I do.” She paused to look at him like she was going to tell him something important. “And I have to say, yours is incredible. Like my dream kitchen.”

“Thank you.” He felt himself smiling at the enthusiasm in her tone. He’d designed the space himself and it was nice to hear a cook appreciate it. “Self-taught?”

“That nana I mentioned last night taught me the basics and then I had a few restaurant jobs over the years. I worked for a caterer and a bakery, too, so lucky you.” With a wink, she pushed his plate across the counter and handed him silverware. “I guess I should ask if cooking is part of my job. I mean, if the girls mostly eat with you in the bunkhouse?”

“That’s expediency, because it’s calving time. I try to cook for us when it’s not.”

Looking thoughtful, she turned and poured herself a cup of coffee. When she faced him again, her expression was twisted up a bit and he knew she had something to say.

“So now that I’m here, I’ll be cooking, and they can eat with me. I think they need to learn some table manners. And I’d like to suggest we have dinner together, or you should have dinner with them at least because...” She added an earnest look. “Because family dinners are important.”

Did she think he didn’t know this about his girls? It stung a little but at the same time he appreciated that she spoke her mind. This was only one small part of the reason he needed her. Well, not her, but a nanny.

“I agree with that.”

“Good.” As she leaned against the counter, he caught a nice view of the pale skin of her face and neck. The creamy smoothness was nearly perfect, a testament to the hours she spent indoors. Unlike him.

“This is all delicious,” he said, because it was and because he realized she was watching him. “These pancakes might even be as good as Willa’s.”

“Ha. I’m sure they’re better.” She added a confident nod. “But who is this Willa competing for my top pancake honors? I hereby challenge her to a pancake throw-down.”

Jon laughed even as he wished she’d quit being so likable. It made this so much more difficult. “Willa Carnes, my neighbor. My best friend Zach’s mom. You met Sofie last night. She’s married to Zach. Willa is her mother-in-law.”

“Ranchers?”

“Yep.”

“Hmm. Lots of ranching going on around here, huh? Scooter mentioned a place called Blackwell Guest Ranch?”

“Yep, that would be my grandfather’s place.”

“Big E?”

Jon wasn’t surprised she’d already heard his name. The man was, if not infamous, then certainly renowned. “Elias Blackwell is his name but most everyone calls him Big E.”

“Does he live there with your parents?”

“He did, and so did I, until they died.” Jon managed to keep his voice flat and even, but it still surprised him how much it hurt to say the words out loud.

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Sincerity infused her tone, making Jon suspect she was no stranger to grief herself. “Do you have other family?”

“Four brothers.” He scooped up another bite.

“Do they live on the ranch?”

“Not anymore.”

“Older or younger?”

“I’m the oldest. Three years younger are Ethan and Ben. Then two years after them, Chance and Tyler.”

“Wait, wait!” Hand up, she took a second to absorb that news. “Back the tractor up—your brothers are twin twins?”

“Twin twins?” He chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before. Did you make that up?”

“I don’t know.” Grinning, she shook her head. “There’s just so many twins. And you have twins. It’s...”

“It is a fact that I have been the odd man out my entire life.”

Inquisitive blue eyes searched his before exploring the rest of his face and then traveling down to his hands and back up again. Her voice edged with wonder and maybe sympathy, she said, “Huh. I can’t imagine...”

She couldn’t. No one could. Being surrounded by twins, and looking after his younger brothers after their parents died, was a unique experience. He knew that. Then, to finally get out on his own, only to accidentally start a family and find out that he would be the father of twins? Honestly, it had felt like a blessing and a curse. And girls, to boot. If there was one area of his life that was his biggest weakness, it would be women. His string of stepgrandmothers hadn’t been interested in fulfilling any type of maternal role. He’d been shy in school and there weren’t any girls his age hanging around the ranch when he was growing up. Katie and her sister Maura were younger and close enough to being family that he hadn’t paid attention in any meaningful way.

He loved his daughters with every fiber of his being, yet his heart was perpetually raw and achy where they were concerned. He knew he wasn’t doing right by them. It seemed as if when things were going well in one area, they were lacking in another. Like if he spent too much time cooking healthy meals, he didn’t have enough left over to read to them. If he was teaching them about the ranch, there was no time for games. If they were riding horses, there was no book learning going on. He spent a lot of time wondering how other single parents got along. But he didn’t want to talk about that.

Shrugging a shoulder, he hoped to throw her off the subject. “It is what it is.”

Her sympathetic smile told him she knew it was more than that, yet she let it go. He appreciated that. “So, do you have like a list for me? I reviewed my paperwork last night and all it says is some cooking, which we just covered, light cleaning, child care and other. We need to talk about that other.”

“We need to have a different discussion.”

Her inquisitive gaze met his. “Oh. Okay?”

“I’m going to get right to the point.”

“Please do.”

The phone in his pocket alerted him that Katie was calling. “Excuse me a second.” He swiped the screen to answer it. “Hey, Katie, what’s up?”

“Jon, I know you’re coming over later to take care of that bill, but I have a situation. Is there any chance you can move it up?”

“Sure. What time?”

“As soon as possible.”

“What’s going on?”

He knew her sigh of irritation wasn’t directed at him. “It would save us both a lot of time if I could explain when you get here. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Unnerving how he’d heard those same words from Grace the day before.

“I do know that. I’ll leave right now.”

He clicked off the phone and looked at Lydia. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to ask that we postpone this conversation again. I need to head out to my grandfather’s place.”

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