Michelle Celmer - Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door - Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door

“High maintenance?” A pretty blush infused her cheeks. She really was good, he thought. An intriguing combination of innocent ingénue and diva. Maybe a few days mucking around a ranch would be good for her. It had certainly done wonders for him.

She stepped forward, the soft, injured look gone. “I see,” she said. “You think I’m some sort of pampered creature who lives to be waited upon.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Not even close.”

“Oh, come on.” He finished setting the table and turned to face her. “Designer clothes, perfect hair … You expected to arrive at some retreat or spa, didn’t you? Not a working estancia. Admit it.”

Her cheeks blazed now, not with embarrassment but with temper. “Okay, fine. Yes, this is not what I expected. You are not what I expected.”

He smiled with satisfaction. “No, I am not. If you’re not up to it, say so now. I’ll arrange for you to return to Buenos Aires tomorrow.” There, he decided, he’d given her a perfectly legitimate out. The few hours it would take to drive her back to the city would be worth it to have the rest of the week free to work. Better yet, she’d be gone before Maria and Carlos got back. Maria would get ideas into her head. She’d been prodding lately about Tomas getting away more. That he needed to stop hiding. That he should find a nice girl.

Not that a woman like Sophia, on her solo honeymoon would qualify in Maria’s eyes, but it would be better all around if the potential were erased altogether. Tomas didn’t want a nice girl. He didn’t want to get away more. He wanted the life he’d chosen here on the pampas. Simple and uncomplicated. He’d chosen it to help him forget.

His insides twisted. Some days now he tried to remember. Forgetting seemed so very wrong. Disloyal.

“And you’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

Her saucy tone turned his head. “¿PerdÓn?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me, Mr. Mendoza? Get me out from under your feet? This wasn’t my mix-up. You think by threatening me with some honest work I’ll run and hide away somewhere where staff will wait on me hand and foot?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

She paused for a moment, then leveled him with a definitive glare. “No.”

“No?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No. I want to stay.”

“I checked the books and spoke to Maria, by the way.”

“And?”

“And the refund isn’t notated in the regular spot and Maria doesn’t remember. She said she will straighten everything out when she comes back on Wednesday.”

“And then Wednesday you will see,” Sophia replied confidently.

“You realize what I’m saying, right? People who stay at the estancia participate in all kinds of activities. Working with the animals, in the barns. Even in the house. They become one of the family. With the hard work and the benefits, too.”

“You don’t think I can do it?”

He looked at her, all hairdo and perfect makeup and pedicured feet. “No, I don’t.”

“Then perhaps we’re in for a week of surprises.” She flashed him a superior smile. “Maybe now you can surprise me with what’s cooking in that pot. I’m starving.”

He’d expected her to heave a sigh of relief and take him up on his offer, not challenge him. He wasn’t sure whether he admired her spunk or was frustrated by it.

But time would tell. Let her enjoy her home-cooked meal and scented bath tonight. Tomorrow would be a different story.

What to wear was definitely a quandary.

Sophia went through the open suitcase one more time, looking for something suitable. Clothing lay scattered on the bed like seaweed on a sea of blue linen. She checked her watch. Tomas had said breakfast at seven sharp, and it was already quarter past. Being late gave him even more ammunition. There had to be something here she could wear!

She held up a pair of trousers the shade of dark caramel and frowned. The only shoes she had that would match were the Jimmy Choo sandals she’d bought on sale during her last trip across the border. Why hadn’t she thought to bring something more casual? A pair of sneakers. Yoga pants. But no, the only exercise wardrobe she’d packed was her swimsuits, thinking she’d be spending time beside the pool. Perhaps relaxing in a sauna. She looked in despair at the flotsam of clothes on the bedspread. How could she have been so stupid?

Seven twenty-five. She was so late. She remembered the way Tomas had looked at her last night and felt anger flow through her veins as she sifted through her suitcase again. He’d been patronizing. Granted, she hadn’t made the best impression, and yes, she’d been shocked. She grabbed a sundress out of her second open case and pulled it over her head, out of time for further deliberation. For the last three years she’d been treated that way. She hadn’t realized it then, but looking back now it was so very clear. She’d been more of a decoration than someone useful. That kind of treatment stopped today. It stopped with Tomas Mendoza and his superior attitude. If it took eating a little humble pie for breakfast, she’d do it.

She hurried down the hall to the kitchen. The smell in the room was to die for. A covered basket sat on the table and she lifted the towel. The rolls were still warm, soft and fragrant. Bread? He’d made bread?

She paused, her hand on the plate left at the place where she’d sat last night. She tried to picture Antoine making bread in the morning. The very idea was preposterous. He wouldn’t even have made pastry out of one of those cans in the refrigerated section of the grocery store. Heck, Sophia had never made bread from scratch in her life.

The breakfast was completed with a bowl of fresh fruit and coffee waiting in the pot, hot and rich.

She’d missed mealtime, and the thought stole the smile from her face. She’d have to eat quickly and then find Tomas. Showing up late was not the way to get off on the right foot. Hurriedly she buttered a roll and poured a half cup of coffee. When she was done she put her plate in the sink and the platter of fruit back in the fridge. She went outside, feeling the warmth of the morning soak into her skin as she searched for Tomas. She nearly ran into him turning a corner towards the outbuildings at the back.

“Oh!” she gasped, stopping short and nearly staggering backwards. She would have if he hadn’t steadied her with a quick hand on her arm. His warm grip sent a shaft of pure pleasure down to her fingertips. He let her go as soon as she was stable and dropped his hand.

“I see you’re up.”

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m late. I slept so well …” She would sweeten him up. She would let him know his garrulousness didn’t get to her. “My bed is very comfortable.”

“Apparently.”

The pleasure went out of Sophia like air from a balloon. But she wouldn’t give up yet. She’d kill him with kindness if that’s what it took. “The rolls were still warm. Did you make them?”

He stood back, looking at her as if he were measuring and finding her wanting. “Yes, I did. Maria showed me how long ago. When she returns you’ll have real cooking, not my second-rate impression of it.”

“I wouldn’t call your cooking second-rate. The stew last night was delicious.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

The politeness was a cold veneer, meaning little when she felt it wasn’t sincere.

“So what did I miss?”

“Today’s activity,” he remarked dryly, and swept out an arm.

Behind them was a utility shed. Beside it were supplies for painting—a large bucket of paint, two smaller cans and brushes.

“Painting?” This was a vacation. Shouldn’t there be guided tours? Even without the pool and other amenities, shed painting was hardly a unique Argentinian experience.