The Rancher's Twins

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.