The Danforths: Toby, Lea and Adam: Cowboy Crescendo / Steamy Savannah Nights / The Enemy's Daughter

“I’m sorry,” Genie said, looking truly apologetic. But then she took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I know it’s way too early to start foisting anyone as ornery as Toby on someone as sweet as you, and he seems to think you have better taste than to ever hook up with someone as ill mannered as he is. But as someone just recently married to a man who not so long ago referred to marriage as the worm that hides the hook, I feel I’m in a unique position to point out what a mistake my thickheaded brother would be making if he let you get away.”

“Genie!”

Howard Danforth seemed to be the only one able to control his daughter, with nothing more than a firm parental look. Though she ceased her teasing immediately, her eyes still twinkled mischievously. Heather wasn’t sure how to react to earning the Danforth Family Seal of Approval.

Again Howard stepped forward to intervene. “We are very grateful to you,” he said, looking at Heather directly and making her wish that her own father approved of her half as much as this veritable stranger. “What you are doing for Dylan—as well as for my son—is beyond price. We will be forever in your debt. Please come back and visit us again soon.”

Surprised how much the invitation meant to her, Heather was at a loss for words. Then a little voice said, “Bye-bye.”

The Danforths all gasped and looked at Dylan, who’d wrapped his arms around his father’s neck.

“What did you say?” Toby said, stunned.

Dylan responded with a giggle.

“He said ‘bye-bye,”’ Peter repeated, shaking his head in disbelief that all the adults gathered about had simultaneously gone deaf.

Since Peter appeared to be the only one not taken aback by Dylan’s words, Heather wondered if it was possible that the two boys had been conversing behind their backs for the past few days. Intermittent tears of joy and laughter surrounded the little imp’s accomplishment. Though Toby claimed it was all Heather’s doing, she was more inclined to think a combination of solid parenting and the unconditional support of an extended family was what prompted the child to speak up. That and an apparent eagerness to put his relatives’ mushy goodbyes behind him.

“I told you he’d talk when he was ready. And without having to be bribed with cookies, either,” Heather told Toby a tad too smugly a short while later as she cinched the seat belt around her.

She prepared for takeoff by staring straight ahead and doing her best not to hyperventilate. Dylan was still enthusiastically waving out the window to his family as their plane began to taxi down the runway.

“Give me your hand,” Toby commanded, peeling Heather’s fingers off the armrest.

His touch was at once both reassuring and unsettling. She found that she already missed Toby’s family. That she liked them was really no surprise. They were as charming and gregarious a clan as anyone could ever hope to meet. What really surprised Heather was that they seemed to genuinely like her back. So naturally shy that she was often mistaken as being aloof, Heather was touched that Genie would actually broach the subject of marriage to her brother.

Given the baggage that both she and Toby carried from past relationships, the odds were not good that either one would be making a commitment any time soon.

Yet the calluses on the hand that held Heather’s comforted her during takeoff. Her own hands, once unused to traveling over nothing rougher than ivory keys, would have to adapt to soapy water and pulling weeds in rocky flowerbeds and kneading homemade bread. Such working hands longed for the touch of a good man at the end of a day’s work.

“It’s going to be all right.”

She knew Toby was referring to many things—Dylan’s speech, the flight to Wyoming and the fact that his family’s teary goodbye had affected him. Tears had been shed the last time Heather had spoken to her own parents, but they were the hot, angry tears of deep disappointment.

“If you renounce your music, you can renounce your name as well. And any monetary help from us, too,” James Burroughs shouted. “You will be as good as dead to me.”

Recalling how her father predicted she would either come crawling back, ready to live her life on his terms, or wind up as trailer trash with a half- dozen rug rats to support on a waitress’s income, Heather wished there was some way she could adopt Toby’s parents. The thought prompted her to ask, “Why would anyone leave such a family?”

“It’s not like I’m disowning them,” Toby protested. “I’m just following my own dream. They respect that and wish me well.”

He sounded so defensive that it made Heather wonder if he practiced that particular speech for the benefit of other family members or to convince himself. She wished she could somehow convey how lucky he was to have such a supportive family.

“I’m glad,” she told him. “Not all parents are as understanding as yours. It would break my heart to see either you or Dylan estranged from such good people.”

Toby gave her a long and searching look in response. He started to say something but seemed to think the better of it. Instead, he drew her attention to the fact that the plane had reached cruising altitude and suggested that she could relax now.

Heather was surprised that their conversation had so completely distracted her. Still, she was glad that Toby didn’t let go of her hand as her fear abated. Looking out the window at the clouds, she pondered the fact that life in the South seemed to proceed at a more leisurely pace than what she was used to. The weather didn’t necessitate that residents scurry from place to place in an attempt to escape the elements. That Toby deliberately chose to abandon the life of ease into which he’d been born mirrored Heather’s own inclination to take a road less traveled. As beautiful as she found Georgia, the harsh climate of Wyoming suited her better. The weather there reflected her tendency to run alternately hot and cold on issues of the heart. Both extremes were potentially dangerous.

Only time would tell whether fire or ice would dominate.

Nine

Away from the glamour of Savannah and his family’s resolve to marry him off, Toby Danforth was convinced he would be better able to resist Heather’s allure. After all, few social events in Wyoming would require anything as glitzy as the dress she wore for his uncle’s fund-raiser. Not that he would ever be able to get the vision of her in that slinky gown out of his head.

Or the memory of her lips upon his.

Toby was counting on the physical demands and grueling routine of ranch work to settle his libido so that he could do what was in the best interest of his son—and his pretty nanny. Namely, to leave her the hell alone. The last thing Heather needed interfering with Dylan’s progress was him ogling her every time she turned around. The last thing Toby needed was for Heather to pack her bags in indignation and leave him in the lurch.

Deciding that his best course of action was to simply forget the impulsive kiss they shared beneath a shower of fireworks, he did not follow up on the conversation he’d initiated on the way to the airport. It was time for Toby to reestablish a professional working relationship with Heather and put aside any romantic notions once and for all.

The only trouble with that plan was that it might be easier to wipe the faces off Mount Rushmore than to erase the memory of their kiss. Despite his best efforts, Toby doubted whether things would ever be the same between them again.

Relieved that Toby hadn’t decided to fire her, Heather did her best to cooperate with his unspoken plan. Back at the Double D, she went out of her way to avoid him as much as she could without being rude. First thing in the morning she fixed breakfast, which he wolfed down, and did not lay eyes on him again until the sun went down. Then he hurriedly ate the warmed-up leftovers from the dinner that she and Dylan had eaten at an earlier hour. Dylan hadn’t spoken another word since his breakthrough at the airfield, but he made his feelings known by casting wounded glances in his daddy’s direction whenever he stumbled in looking like he was single-handedly attempting to run a ten-thousand-acre ranch without the benefit of any of the hired hands on his payroll.

Secretly offended that Toby would go to such lengths to steer clear of her, Heather poured her energies into taking care of Dylan. Despite his continued reticence to speak, the boy was delightful to be around. His affinity for music matched Heather’s own at his age and gave them a common bond on which to base a genuine friendship. Although his father’s absence around the house left a void in Dylan’s life that no nanny could fill, Heather used the time alone well. She worked with him on expressing himself the best way he knew how—through his music.

Watching his progress was gratifying. Reclusive by nature, Heather lost herself in the vast beauty of the Double D and in the sticky hands of a boy who she feared was coming to love her as a mother. She knew it was a slippery slope that she was treading but didn’t know what to do about it. Heather could no more withhold her affection for the child than she could change the way her pulse skipped a beat whenever Toby was near. Just because they hadn’t spoken about their feelings didn’t make it any easier to deal with them.

In fact, it had the exact opposite effect.

Heather’s determination to put her passion aside was becoming harder with each passing day. Having turned her back on her music and not having any close friends nearby, she didn’t know how to deal with her complicated feelings. The joy Dylan derived from the melodies he produced on the keyboard took her back to a simpler time when she was able to express herself through her music. Unable to convey her own emotions, she did everything in her power to encourage Dylan to find his voice in his own way.

When she and Toby spoke, more often than not it was to argue over an adherence to the speech therapist’s stringent behavior-modification plan to make Dylan talk. Heather had only met the woman once, but that was enough for her to know she didn’t like her much. In her opinion, Miss Rillouso spent more of her time casting bedroom eyes in Toby’s direction than in actually working with Dylan. As far as Heather could tell, the most the therapist had been able to coax from Dylan with her overly detailed plans was a grunt or two, and that was on the promise of some sugary treat to follow.

“If you earn at least twenty stickers on the chart I’m leaving with your baby-sitter, I’ll bring you something special the next time I come back,” Miss Rillouso promised Dylan.

Dylan couldn’t have looked less bored with that proposition. Heather didn’t take umbrage with the belittling term Miss Rillouso used to put her in her place. She merely tossed the chart in the garbage the minute she left the premises. Toby was furious to discover her treachery.

“If you’re so sold on her stupid technique, you do it,” she challenged, handing him the sheet of stickers that went with the chart that Toby retrieved from the trash. “I refuse to waste my time bribing Dylan when it goes against everything I believe about raising healthy, well-adjusted children.”

When Toby politely pointed out that he was paying her to do whatever he asked in regard to his son’s treatment, Heather issued a dire warning of her own.

“If you’re not careful, you’ll create a monster out of that sweet little boy. A monster who won’t take the trash out for anything less than a dollar or won’t make good grades unless there’s a reward attached to his report card.”

Toby bristled. He’d seen too many children completely hooked on external incentives to disregard her counsel out of hand.

“Helen Rillouso is a professional who came highly recommended,” he protested. If nothing else, the outrageous amount he paid her to drop by the ranch every other week to work with Dylan attested to that reputation.

“I beg you to let him find his own voice in his own way,” Heather countered.

Toby couldn’t argue that her gentle approach seemed far more effective with his son than anything he’d tried in the past. Dylan seemed happier with each passing day. Still, Toby was a man who could afford to couch his bets. Even though Dylan was making progress under Heather’s tutelage, he saw no reason to discontinue the program that Helen Rillouso had so painstakingly set up.

“All I’m asking for is a little support,” he countered. “If you can’t get behind the program yourself, at least promise me you won’t deliberately sabotage the groundwork that’s already been laid.”

Heather thought long and hard before nodding her head.

“Out of respect for you, I’ll do my best not to undermine your authority. I just want you to know that I think forcing the issue of Dylan’s talking is as bad as forcing a relationship before someone is ready for it.”

Toby gave her a searching look. He supposed that was her subtle way of telling him to back off. Short of sleeping outside with the grizzly bears, he didn’t know how he could give her any more distance without compromising his relationship with Dylan. He sorely missed spending time with his son in his attempt to avoid Heather. In all the time he’d been married to Sheila, he’d never had such difficulty controlling his thoughts or his sex drive.

Maybe that was because she pursued him so shamelessly, lying about being on birth control so that she could get pregnant and force him into a marriage that he wasn’t sure he wanted in the first place.

Heather was not like that. Though she had only vaguely alluded to it, her natural introversion had obviously been intensified by a negative experience with the opposite sex. If anything were to come of the attraction between them, Toby would have to be the one to initiate it. A man used to having women fall all over themselves to gain his attention, he found Heather a challenge he couldn’t resist.

The fact that he was feeling more and more inclined to make the first move had little to do with his gratitude for the fine job she was doing. Instead, it had everything to do with the realization that against his better judgment, he was falling in love with her.

Heather would have to be blind not to notice the scorching looks Toby gave her whenever he thought she wasn’t watching. Those looks alone made her blood run hot, her muscles clench and her pulse skitter out of control. Such confusing messages caused her to stumble all over herself whenever Toby entered a room. That the man was a perfect gentleman, always offering to help in any way he could, didn’t make her job any easier. In fact, Heather had never worked so hard in her whole life—to pretend her boss wasn’t getting under her skin during the day and into her subconscious at night.

Falling into bed at the end of the day, Heather was exhausted from rebuilding the crumbling wall that defined their relationship into employer and employee. No matter how high or sturdy she constructed that barrier during the day, by nightfall it lay in pieces at her feet.

Heaven knew she was no saint. After her disastrous fling with Josef, she had given up even considering herself a “good girl.” It was no aversion to sex that kept her from following up on the powerful chemistry pulling her ever closer to Toby. It was fear, pure and simple.

She worried that going to bed with Toby would destroy their relationship altogether. Her experience with Josef had certainly proved that. Heather had little desire to be used and discarded again—especially since she so desperately needed this job. She needed the position not only to provide a sense of security but also a sense of self-worth. If she were totally honest with herself, she knew there was more to it than that. She had come to value her friendship with the man who had hired her to look after his son’s physical and emotional well-being. Aside from the fact that the lingering memory of Toby’s lips upon hers was a constant reminder to Heather that she was in fact a desirable woman, every day he was proving himself a funny, kind and surprisingly insightful friend. When she drew away, he did not push himself upon her like Josef had, either emotionally or physically. Instead Toby stepped back and gave her room to make up her own mind on any given matter without outside pressure. This all but ensured that she move closer to him on her own volition.

Tired as Heather was at the end of every day, sleep eluded her. When she finally did manage to drift off, more often than not her dreams were haunted by Miss Carlise. In the dreams, Heather was Miss Carlisle wearing a dress of black alpaca, and she would finger the golden locket around her throat. Inside was a picture of a man she did not recognize. Instinctively, she understood that this man occupied a special place in the governess’s heart. A heart that demanded that truths be revealed in the lives of this man’s descendants, generations cursed by the sins of a father.

That night, Heather’s dream changed. Horse hooves beat an eerie cadence upon the black drum of night. It drowned out the sound of her own fists pounding upon the carriage door and her pleas for the driver to slow down. Somehow she knew that a dangerous curve lay ahead. A curve destined to end her life over and over again for eternity—unless the past could somehow be rectified by the present.

By an unsuspecting and perhaps even sacrificial soul.

A blur of images and the echo of her own screams woke Heather. She sat up, bathed in sweat. Disoriented, she looked about in confusion to discover herself safe and sound in a bed torn apart by her own thrashing. That a cry for help was still reverberating in her ears caused her to doubt her own sanity. It took her a moment to realize the sound was not in her head but rather emanating from Dylan’s room. Fear grabbed her heart with stone-cold hands.

Springing from bed, Heather rushed to the boy’s bedside. The poor thing was in the grips of a nightmare that appeared to rival her own. Dylan woke with a start to see her silhouetted in his darkened doorway. He called out in terror.

“Mommy!”

Heather was at his side in an instant, holding him against her and soothing him with calming words.

“It’s all right, Dylan. I’m here. I’m here.”

Punctuated with sobs, a voice rusty from lack of use implored, “Don’t leave me.”

Those words ripped Heather’s chest. Dylan wrapped his arms about her neck, clinging to her with a desperation that belied his tender years.

“I won’t, honey. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t say that unless you really mean it.”

The voice that issued that directive came not from the darling boy in her arms but from someplace behind Heather. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she swung her head around to see Toby standing in the very spot in the doorway that she had just vacated. Wearing nothing but a pair of simple white briefs, he was a vision of sculpted perfection. Heather had spent hours imagining his body’s contours, but her imagination had been sorely lacking. Such a body deserved to be carved out of marble and immortalized for posterity.

Laden with genuine concern, Toby’s voice was a caress in the night.

It was Heather’s ruination.

Her own voice was surprisingly steady in response.

“I do mean it.”

Ten

In a simple white nightgown, Heather looked like an angel at his son’s bedside. Moonlight streaming through the window outlined the curves of Heather’s body, revealing the shape and size of a perfect pair of breasts. The dark areolas of her nipples blushed deep pink beneath the thin cotton material. Toby grew hard with wanting her. He had never seen a sexier piece of lingerie than the modest nightclothes Heather wore. Nor a more desirable woman than the one whose eyes widened when she felt his eyes upon her. The enchanted melody she was singing, to help Dylan find his way back to peaceful dreams, died on her lips.

“There, there,” Toby crooned, stepping into the room to offer a frightened child the solace of his presence. “It’s all right. Daddy’s here. You just had another bad dream, that’s all.”

As this was Dylan’s first nightmare since Heather moved in, Toby was greatly disturbed. Despite his best efforts to be all things to the boy, Dylan obviously still missed his mother. Dylan opened his eyes, reluctantly let go of Heather’s neck and allowed his daddy to coax him back under his covers. Toby’s hand grazed Heather’s as he smoothed back a lock of hair plastered by fear to his son’s forehead.

Together they comforted the child with gentle words and touches. The lullaby that Heather continued to hum soothed the child. Toby’s nerves were pulled taut by parental worry—and a growing awareness of Heather’s effect on his son. He couldn’t help but feel jealous of the position that his son took nestled in her lap.

Under such tender ministrations, Dylan fell easily back to sleep. Heather tugged the sheet under his chin as Toby tiptoed over to the door. He held it open for her and, when she took her leave, closed it with soft finality before bending to scoop her up into his arms.

Heather put up no protest as Toby turned in the direction of his bedroom. Nothing had ever felt more right in her whole life.

Lacing her fingers around his neck, Heather held on tight. His flesh was warm to the touch. She buried her head into the crook of his shoulder.

The scent of Toby’s shower gel mingled with the clean smell of linen from the bed he’d just left and the faint but heady aroma of his own body’s musk. Intrigued, she kissed the strong column of his neck and licked the trace of salt left upon her lips. A feral growl rumbled from somewhere deep in his throat. The sound caused Heather to tremble as they crossed the threshold of his bedroom where he proceeded to lay her upon the very bed that she made for him every day. The covers were in a state of disarray from being thrown back in haste, but they were still warm from the heat of his body.

Heather spread her hair upon the same pillow that she secretly pressed against her heart before smoothing it out each morning. It smelled just as she remembered—like essence of man untamed.

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