Carol Ross - The Rancher's Twins

“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?”