Suzannah Davis - The Rancher And The Redhead

“So what’s wrong with this one?”

“Her nose is too long.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Sam flung his pencil down on a list of crossed-out names and glared in exasperation at Roni over the charred crusts of their frozen pizza lunch.

“Well, figuratively speaking, anyway,” she muttered, folding one of Jessie’s gowns and placing it in a plastic laundry basket with the rest of the baby’s clean things. “Mrs. Hawkins is the worst gossip in town. She’ll spend all of her time talking on the phone instead of looking after Jessie.”

“Well, what about Laurie Taylor?”

“She’s barely out of high school. Do you want all her randy boyfriends hanging around all the time?”

Sam reared back in his chair, eyeing Roni with a degree of belligerence. In her paint-spattered T-shirt, cutoffs and bare feet, she didn’t look much older than a teenager herself. And when she was in one of her ornery moods—as now—Sam was of the opinion that what she really needed was a darned good spanking. “You suggest someone then.”

“Agnes Phillips,” she said promptly.

“What?” His chair legs hit the floor with a smack. “She’s so old, she creaks when she walks—or rather, shuffles.” Sam gestured to where Jessie sat on the kitchen floor, babbling to herself and playing with an assortment of pots and wooden spoons. “She couldn’t keep up with the little trickster here for ten seconds.”

Roni merely shrugged. “Then you’ll just have to keep looking, won’t you?”

Sam scowled, rubbed his palms down his sweat-stained jeans and began to roll up the cuffs of his long-sleeved chambray work shirt with every evidence of severe irritation. Punching cows since dawn hadn’t done much for his mood, and Roni’s stubbornness wasn’t helping.

“We’ve been interviewing for three days now, Curly. We’re no closer to hiring anyone than when we started, and the county welfare worker is due out here at three to see how everything’s going. What am I going to tell her?”

“That you’re still interviewing applicants. No one expects miracles in just a few short days.”

He grimaced sourly. “Yeah, but at the rate we’re going, we’ll run out of Flat Fork residents before I find a suitable housekeeper.”

Roni bristled. “I can’t help it that you’re so darned picky.”

“Me? You rejected the most promising candidates out of hand.” Sam ticked off names on the list. “Davina Hodge is too strict. Mrs. Rambles is too wishy-washy. Cloretha Glover has bad breath.”

“Well, you can’t settle for just anyone as Jessie’s primary caretaker. This decision is too important to rush.” Finished with her chore, she plopped the laundry basket down beside the door. “Besides, I told you my deadline for the Artbeat cover illustration isn’t for three weeks, so I don’t mind helping out.”

“But you can’t camp out here indefinitely,” he argued.

Her lips twisted with wry humor. “I know I’m not much of a cook, but I didn’t realize I’d worn out my welcome already.”

“Hey, even incinerated pizza tastes good after a morning vaccinating calves—” He saw her expression and added hastily, “Not that I’m complaining. I appreciate all you’re doing.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Well, uh—” He shifted uncomfortably. “Aw, hell, Curly! What’re folks liable to say, seeing as how you’ve practically moved in with me?”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “They’ll say that I’m just helping out a buddy until he gets this daddy thing under control. Since you’re so busy catching up on the work that accumulated while you were away, it’s simply more convenient for me to sleep here, and easier on Jessie, too.”

“I just don’t want you to catch any guff—”

“The only thing I’m liable to catch is a backache from that lumpy twin bed in Jessie’s room. And maybe ptomaine from all the prepared food we’ve had out of your freezer. Don’t cowboys ever eat salad or fresh vegetables?”

“Not if we can help it.” Her dismissal of his concern and return to her normal teasing made him relax, and his lips twitched. “But maybe I could force some down if it’s accompanied by a nice, thick T-bone steak.”

Her brown eyes lit up. “You offering to grill them?”

“Yup.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

On the floor, Jessie had abandoned her spoons and sat rubbing her eyes and fretting softly. Scooping up the baby, Roni cuddled her close. Jessie immediately stuck her thumb in her mouth and buried her other fist into Roni’s hair in what was fast becoming a familiar habit. While the child seemed to be settling in, she alternated periods of normal behavior with listlessness or extreme irritability—a sure sign that she was grieving for her missing mother. And all the more reason to provide a loving and dependable daily caretaker as soon as possible, Sam thought.

“She’s tired,” Roni said.

“Want me to rock her?”

Roni dropped a kiss on the baby’s forehead. “No, I’ll do it. But since you’ve got to hang around to meet the caseworker, I’m going to run home for a change of clothes while she’s napping.”

“Sure. Take as much time as you need.” Sam nodded, guilty that his new status as dad was disrupting Roni’s routine. Despite her protests to the contrary, he knew that her career was booming and that her schedule was fairly tight. If he didn’t hire someone soon, Roni’s work would suffer and then he’d really be wallowing in the guilt.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he’d made the right decision. A flock of butterflies seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his belly at the enormity of what he was doing. But he’d promised Alicia he’d take care of her daughter, and he was a man of his word.

“I won’t be long,” Roni said, settling the tired baby against her shoulder. “I’ll pick up the dinner fixings and give Krystal a holler, too. Maybe she can think of someone else who might be interested in the housekeeper’s position.”

Picking up the list again, Sam stared at it gloomily. “And anyone whose name isn’t Mary Poppins need not apply.”

Laughing at his morose expression, she turned and headed for Jessie’s room. “Don’t worry, Sam. I’m sure the perfect solution is right under our noses. It’s simply a matter of finding it.”

* * *

Two and a half hours later, Roni pulled her Jeep into Krystal Harrison’s sunny driveway. She felt rather breathless after her quick trip home. Since her widowed mother, Carolyn, had married hardware store owner Jinks Robinson and moved to Austin, Roni had the tiny Daniels homestead to herself, but today the house had seemed more silent and solitary than usual.

She’d lingered only long enough to check her mail and pick up clean clothes, then headed to the tiny Flat Fork post office to express a piece of advertising art that should have gone off two days earlier. She followed a stop by the library to pick up the latest child development and parenting guides with a visit to the Winn-Dixie for groceries. One more stop to pick Krystal’s brain for potential housekeepers, and then she could be on her way back to Sam’s place. Roni anxiously hoped that he’d managed to hold down the fort without her.

A trio of towheaded wild Indians erupted from the carport of the single-story brick ranch house that matched its neighbors in this small, tree-lined subdivision.

“Aunt Roni!”

“Hey, Mom. Aunt Roni’s here!”

“Did ya bring us anything?”

Roni reached for the packs of sugarless bubble gum Krystal’s boys had come to expect, then hastily tucked the hem of a scarlet silk-and-lace teddy back out of sight in her tote bag. No use giving the little rascals any embarrassing fodder for their question mill. After all, if a gal had a secret hankering for flimsy underthings, it was nobody’s business but her own.