The Nanny And The Reluctant Rancher

To Anna’s delight, Logan made a great show of eating three more biscuits, then after dinner insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes while Kat helped Anna into the bathtub. After she’d bathed and dried off, Kat dusted Anna with scented powder she’d brought from New York. Anna was still smiling when Kat helped her into bed.

“Do you really know how to play the violin?” Anna asked when Kat tucked the pink comforter around her.

Kat smiled. “Yes.”

“Miss Carver, my nanny when I was six, before Mrs. Lacey came, she played the violin, too, but she was so bad that Daddy wouldn’t let her play when he was home. The screeching gave him a headache.”

One more reason for Logan to resent her being here, Kat thought with a silent sigh. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be very careful not to screech when your daddy’s around.”

“Miss Carver taught me to play a little, too,” Anna said shyly. “And Miss Goodhouse, the music teacher at Harmony Elementary said I was very good.”

Harmony Elementary? Kat had assumed that Anna had always had home tutoring. “When did you go to school in Harmony?” Kat asked.

“She went for one semester in the third grade.”

Kat turned at the sound of Logan’s voice. He stood in the doorway, his shoulders stiff, the smile he’d had earlier gone. So the evil twin was back, she thought with a quiet sigh.

“We’ll go over Anna’s lessons and schedule in a few minutes,” he said, moving into the room. “I made some coffee, help yourself.”

Kat was bright enough to know when she was being dismissed. She said good-night to Anna, then went to search for a mug in the kitchen. She never drank coffee, but she needed something to hold onto when she and Logan went over Anna’s lessons. She dumped in milk and sugar, hoping to hide the taste, but when she sipped the hot liquid she wrinkled her nose at the still-bitter flavor.

She was sitting at the kitchen table when he came in a few minutes later. He poured himself a cup of coffee, then turned and leaned back against the counter.

“We haven’t had a chance to talk about Anna yet,” he said, holding her gaze. “About her disability.”

Kat had the distinct feeling he’d expected her to look away when he’d used the word “disability.” She knew there were people, a lot of people, uncomfortable being around, or even discussing the disabled. Based on his blank expression and flat voice, Kat had the feeling Logan himself wasn’t comfortable.

“She was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen,” he said quietly. “A little button nose, big blue eyes, pink cheeks. Everything about her was perfect. She said her first word when she was ten months, took her first step when she was a year.” He stared at his coffee cup for a moment, then finally continued. “JoAnn—Anna’s mother—and I didn’t really notice any problems until Anna was almost four. She just seemed lazier than normal, sometimes even refusing to walk, or crying if we made her. She couldn’t seem to keep her balance and oftentimes she’d stumble or fall. When we took her into a specialist in Houston, he found a tumor in her spine. He operated, but there was nerve damage to the spinal cord that affected her lower body movement. She has partial feeling in her legs, but no motor control.”

Kat tried to picture Anna at four, all the doctors and the hospital, the surgery. How scared she must have been. “And she’s been in a wheelchair since then?”

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