Carol Ross - The Rancher's Twins

“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.