The Nanny And The Reluctant Rancher. Barbara McCauley
I can’t wait to see your bedroom.”
The second the words were out, Kat wanted them back. He glanced at her, and she could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched. She felt the rush of heat over her cheeks. “I mean, everything here’s just so big...just like they say...” Her voice trailed off.
“Mrs. Lacey, Anna’s regular nanny, has the guest room on the other side of the house. Rather than disturb her things, I put you in here.” The humor left his eyes. “This used to be my bedroom. I moved out after my wife was killed.”
“I’m sorry,” Kat said quietly. “It must be very painful for you and Anna.”
He moved to the French doors and opened them, then stood there and stared out onto the patio. “My wife left Anna and me long before she died. Anna barely remembers her, and as far as I go, I don’t much give a damn.”
His voice was cold and empty and when he turned, there was no expression on his face. “I put the spa in for Anna, it helps to exercise her legs. Feel free to use it anytime you like, also. I’ll show you how to run it later.”
He stood there for a moment, his gaze skimming over her. She’d been on display enough years to understand and accept that look. With any other man she would have casually accepted the male approval she saw in his eyes and shrugged it off.
But he wasn’t any other man, and she faltered under the heat of his stare. Her breathing felt shallow and her pulse quickened. The waitress uniform she wore suddenly felt not only too short, but too tight. Her skin felt too tight. And when he brought his dark gaze back to hers, her heart skipped a beat.
He shook his head and frowned. “You don’t look like a nanny.”
Anna had said the same thing to her, she realized. But there was no softness to Logan’s words and she realized he wasn’t giving her a compliment. “I’ll do a good job.”
He nodded, then moved toward the door. “I’ll get back in around six. I’d like dinner ready by six-thirty.”
“Mr. Kincaid?”
He stopped and turned to look at her. A smile touched one corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you just call me Logan? Everyone else here does.”
She couldn’t help but smile, too, as she remembered that was what she’d said to him in the cafe. He started to leave again when she stopped him again.
“Logan,” she said quietly, “you never answered my question earlier. Why did you change your mind and bring me back here?”
He held her gaze, then said, “Anna wasn’t happy.”
For a moment, she almost thought he was going to say something else. Instead he turned and walked out the door.
Kat let loose of the breath she’d been holding. He didn’t want her here. He’d certainly made that clear. With a heavy sigh, she opened her suitcase and started to unpack.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. She wasn’t here for Logan Kincaid, she was here for Anna, and to experience life from a different perspective, to try new things.
And speaking of new things...she glanced at her watch.
She had approximately four hours to learn how to cook.
Three
Logan came in at five that afternoon. He was dirty, tired and more than a little tense. He and three of his men had moved half of the herd to another pasture, and one stubborn steer had broken away, leading Logan on a merry chase through a steep gully and heavy brush. He’d used every epithet in his rather extensive cow cutter’s vocabulary twice before he finally escorted the wayward animal back to its bellowing companions, but the fun and games had cost his gelding a shoe and forced Logan to ride back early.
Closing the stall door behind him, he tossed his horse a fleck of hay, then made his way to the house.
It was hard to admit, but Logan knew he was the only one to blame for his troubles. It had been his lack of focus on his work, not a runaway steer that had caused his problems. His mind had been on a curvy green-eyed gal from New York, a woman with long sleek legs that were made for a man to wrap around his waist. When he’d caught sight of those legs earlier as he’d helped her out of the truck, it had taken every ounce of willpower not to openly stare. He’d wanted to take her back to town right then and there. He’d wanted to take her to bed.
But he’d done neither, of course. And he wouldn’t. He would endure a little masculine torture if it made Anna happy. The smile on his daughter’s face this afternoon when she’d seen Kat had made every uncomfortable moment worthwhile. He was determined to make it through the summer, even if it cost him a few sleepless nights and several cold showers.
He still couldn’t believe she’d stayed in Harmony. Obviously Kat Delaney was a determined woman. While he didn’t understand it, he couldn’t help but admire her tenacity. He hadn’t taken her seriously, and his reputation with the town was smarting from his mistake. Mistakes, he corrected himself. His first one had been bringing her here in the first place.
He caught the delicious scent of roast beef and heard laughter when he came in the service entrance off the kitchen. Normally, after a day’s work, he would clean up and take off his boots before he went to his room to shower. Today, he stopped, listening to the cheerful sounds coming from the kitchen. Quietly he went to the door and opened it a crack.
He saw Anna first, her face and arms covered with flour, sitting at the kitchen table in a regular chair instead of her wheelchair. Bottom lip between her teeth, she methodically worked a large ball of dough. Bowls and measuring cups surrounded her, as did shortening, salt and an assortment of other baking supplies. It looked as if a bag of flour had exploded.
“Knead about ten times—” Logan heard Kat say “—biscuit dough should feel light and soft, but not sticky...”
Logan turned his attention to Kat and his stomach went into a skid. Dressed in snug-fitting jeans and a white T-shirt, she stood at the kitchen sink, reading from a cookbook while she peeled potatoes. The strings of an apron lay in a neat bow on her flour-dusted backside. His throat felt as dry as the flour as he stared at her well-rounded derriere and long legs encased in tight denim.
“Seven...eight...” he heard his daughter slowly counting as she kneaded the dough.
They were cooking together, he realized in amazement. To the best of his knowledge, Anna had never done anything more in the kitchen than help Sophia set the table. And here she was with Kat—making biscuits?
A feeling he couldn’t identify tightened Logan’s chest as he watched Anna and Kat. There was a brightness in Anna’s eyes, a pinkness in her cheeks that he hadn’t seen in a long time. It had never dawned on him that helping in the kitchen might be something she would enjoy. Obviously it had never dawned on anyone else, either. He made a mental note to discuss it with Mrs. Lacey when she came back.
“Is this good?” Anna asked.
Still unobserved, Logan watched Kat set down the potato she’d been peeling, wipe her hands on her apron, then pick up the cookbook and walk over to Anna.
Kat poked at the dough. “You tell me. You’re the expert biscuit maker.”
“But I’ve never cooked anything before,” Anna said, her brow furrowed.
“Me, either.” Kat blew a long strand of hair from her forehead, then reached for a rolling pin on the table and handed it to Anna. “That’s how we learn new things. We just do it. Now roll.”
Kat had never cooked before? Confused, Logan watched as she read to Anna and the two of them discussed the recipe instructions. She didn’t know how to cook, he realized. But then, why did she agree to cook for him? Of course, now that he thought about it, he’d never given her a chance to say no. He’d assumed she knew how. After all, even people in New York had to eat.
But then, hadn’t