Caroline Cross - The Rancher And The Nanny

The two had just returned from a glorious sunrise ride and Eve vividly remembered how she’d felt at that moment: happy, gloriously alive and totally pleased with her life.

But then, why shouldn’t she be? Just seventeen, she was cherished and indulged at home and popular at school, where she was both a cheerleader and an honor student. It wasn’t surprising she’d believed the world was hers to order.

And then she’d stepped blithely into the corridor, directly into the path of a big, dark-haired stranger—and everything had changed.

He swore as she smacked into the solid wall of his chest. Yet somehow he still managed to swing the hundred-pound sack of grain he had balanced on one broad shoulder to the ground at the same time he reached out to steady her.

Startled, she’d looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. And as she took in the rest of his features—the strong cheekbones, the blade-straight nose, the chiseled lips, the silky dark hair tumbling over his brow—something unprecedented happened to her.

Heat pooled between her thighs. Her nipples contracted into stiff, aching points. The starch drained from her knees, and she couldn’t seem to remember how to breathe.

For one mad moment she wanted nothing more than to step closer, press her body against his boldly masculine one, bury her face against the pulse beating in the strong column of his throat.

She wanted to touch him and taste him… everywhere. And she wanted it so badly she ached with it.

The discovery shocked her. Confused, frightened, alarmed, she took a hasty step back, jerking away from the steely strength of his warm, calloused hand gripping her arm. “Who are you?” she demanded.

He didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he looked her over, taking note of the way she was rubbing her fingers over the spot where his hand had been. His mouth compressed slightly, but when his gaze met hers, it was coolly polite—and nothing more. “John MacLaren.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Working.”

It was bad enough that her body was still throbbing, her throat dry, her heart pounding. But even worse, he seemed completely unaffected. She lifted her chin. “Since when?”

“Since I was hired yesterday. And if you don’t mind my asking—” he shifted his weight onto one hip in a way she found both arrogant and enticing “—just who are you to be asking?”

She drew herself up a little straighter. “Eve Chandler. My grandfather owns this place.”

“Huh.”

He sounded completely unimpressed, and panicked by the storm of unfamiliar emotions roaring through her, she snapped, “And if you want to keep your job, I’d suggest you watch where you’re going from now on.”

He reached over and carelessly hefted the sack of grain onto his shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind.” With that, he’d strode away.

Eve stared after him. At any other time in her life she would have been mortified by her rude behavior. But not at that moment. Not with him. Instead, she’d told herself that John MacLaren was an arrogant bore who wasn’t worth her time.

Yet every time she’d seen him from that point forward she’d felt that same overwhelming arousal and attraction. It had embarrassed her, made her feel self-conscious and unsure of herself—a new and unwelcome experience. Worse, she’d lived in constant terror that he might discern how she felt. It was no wonder that she’d decided that it was smarter to invite his dislike than risk having him find out how vulnerable he made her feel.

And since she wasn’t about to confess the truth after all these years, she could hardly expect him to fall all over himself, welcoming her, she reminded herself now. She’d simply have to do the best she could.

And try to remember that he was her last hope. That no matter what she felt, she couldn’t afford to give up on him now.

She drew herself up and walked toward the door. Entering the house, she found herself standing in a spacious, sun-filled mudroom. She had a quick impression of a granite-tiled floor, of a wall covered with hooks that held coats, hats, chaps and all sorts of other equipment, of an alcove housing an oversize washer and dryer. To her left was even what appeared to be a spacious bathroom equipped with a glassed-in shower.

But it was the sight of John planted before a large utility sink with his back to her that commanded her attention. He’d tossed his hat on a nearby counter and yanked his dusty T-shirt out of his jeans. Now, he tugged the garment over his head and tossed it to the floor.

An unwitting voyeur, Eve stared at his smooth, sun-bronzed back, observing the muscles bunch and shift as he turned on the water, picked up the soap and proceeded to wash. When he bent to rinse off, the satiny hollow of his spine flattened out, exposing a ribbon of taut, pale skin at his belt line.

She was so transfixed that she almost didn’t look away in time as he abruptly shut off the water, grabbed a towel and swiveled around. “Well?” He waited expectantly.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, trying to behave as if she wasn’t acutely aware of his seminakedness. It wasn’t easy to do, particularly when an unwanted ribbon of heat curled through her as he rubbed the towel down his neck and over the sculpted contours of his chest. “I had lunch with Chrissy Abrams last week,” she began, ordering herself to concentrate. “She told me that you have a seven-year-old daughter who recently came to live with you. And that you’ve been trying since summer to find somebody to look after her.”

“So?”

“So I’d like the job.”

He went absolutely still, and then a faint smile curved his mouth. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. No, I’m not.”

The smile faded. He gave her a long, penetrating look. “Why would you want to do that?”

She’d known he was bound to ask and she was ready. Keeping her eyes steady on his face, she said with a lightness she didn’t feel, “Because Lander is my home. I’ve missed it and I’d like to stay in the area. And now that I’ve sold the ranch, I need something to do.”

“And you think working for me is it?” His face hardened and he slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so, Eve.”

Even though she’d suspected it was coming, his answer was crushing. She swallowed. “Why not?”

He tossed the towel onto the counter and headed for the dryer, where he retrieved a clean blue T-shirt several shades lighter than his eyes. Frowning, he peeled off a small white lace-edged sock that clung to it, tossing the stocking onto the washer top. He pulled on the shirt and strolled back toward the sink, stuffing the tail into his jeans as he went. “Let’s just say I don’t think you’re the right woman for the job.”

“But I am.” She struggled to keep the desperation out of her voice. “I’m here, I’m available, I know my way around a ranch and I’m very, very good with kids.”

He leaned back against the counter, looking singularly unconvinced. “Maybe. But it doesn’t matter. Chrissy apparently didn’t tell you that I need somebody who’s willing to live in.”

“Actually, she did.”

His glorious blue eyes narrowed slightly. “And that’s all right with you?”

Clearly now was not the time to admit it was the prospect of living with him that had made her exhaust every possibility of other employment first. “Yes.”

“Well, it’s not with me. This’ll probably come as a shock to you, princess,” his voice took on a distinctly sarcastic tone, “but I need somebody who can do more than just keep Lissy company. I don’t have either a cook or a maid, so I’m looking for someone who can run a house, too.”

She absolutely was not going to lose her temper. Still, she couldn’t keep the tartness out of her own voice as she answered. “I think I can handle it, John. I know how to cook and clean. More importantly, as I understand it, your daughter’s not having the easiest time fitting in at school—” she saw his mouth tighten and knew she was moving into dangerous territory “—and I think I can help.”

“Chrissy Abrams talks too much,” he said flatly.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have something unique to offer. I was just a little older than your daughter when I lost my parents and came to live with Granddad. I know what it’s like to be uprooted, to lose one way of life and make the adjustment to another.”

He shook his head. “Even if you have more moves than Mary Poppins, the answer is still no, Eve.”

“But—” For one reckless moment she nearly blurted out the truth. Please. I need this job. I’ve sold everything of value I can, I’ve got less than three hundred dollars to my name and in four days I’ll be homeless—

“I’m sorry.” John coolly interrupted her frantic thoughts. “But it just wouldn’t work.”

The finality in his voice was unmistakable. Like a slap in the face, it brought Eve to her senses. A shiver went through her as she realized just how close she’d come to begging for his help and shaming her grandfather’s memory.

Even so, she couldn’t stop the hot wash of tears that prickled her eyes as her last hope died. She glanced quickly away and blinked hard, swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat. “I see.”

It would be all right, she told herself fiercely. This was merely another setback, not the end of the road. Something was bound to turn up. The important thing now was not to make a bigger fool of herself than she already had by coming here.

She swallowed again. Raising her chin, she forced herself to face him. “Well.” She managed a smile. “I guess I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She felt her lower lip start to tremble and glanced blindly at her watch. “Then I’d better let you go, or you’ll be late.”

To her relief, he shifted his gaze to his own wristwatch and she seized the opportunity to turn away. Although she suddenly wanted nothing more than to escape, she forced herself to stroll toward the door. Summoning up another surface smile, she glanced over her shoulder. “It was nice seeing you again, John.”

He nodded, his expression impossible to read. “You, too.”

“I hope you find someone soon.”

“Sure.”

And then she was out the door and crossing the porch. She made her way to her car, her steps deliberately measured. Climbing in, she turned the key she’d left in the ignition, backed out carefully and pulled onto the ranch driveway, resisting the urge to speed.

It wasn’t until she reached the highway that she could no longer ignore the way her hands were shaking. Tightening her grip on the steering wheel, she pulled over and stopped the car, struggling to yank on the emergency brake as the shaking spread.

Stubbornly, she again tried to tell herself that everything was going to be all right.

Except that deep down, she no longer believed it.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but it was too late. A single tear slid down her face as she wondered what she was going to do now.

The pickup rattled over the cattle guard with a muted thump of its heavy-duty tires.

Slowing the vehicle as he reached the highway, John turned to the left, pulled over onto the shoulder and braked. Squinting into the sun, he looked toward the west and quickly spotted the distinctive yellow school bus still well off in the distance.

He gave a sigh of relief, glad that he wasn’t late. Rolling down his window, he switched off the pickup’s engine and settled back to wait, aware, as he felt the tension in his shoulders, that he was strung tighter than seven feet of barbwire on an eight-foot section of fence.