Kitabı oxu: «The Nanny And The Reluctant Rancher»

One

There were three key ingredients to a successful escape: champagne, Oliver and a big hat.

In honor of Katrina Delaney’s final performance before her world tour in three months, the first essential element already flowed freely in the spacious New York Marriott Hotel suite. A few extra dollars slipped covertly to the caterer by the guest of honor herself ensured that certain glasses at the elegant party would not be left empty long.

Dressed in a long, black crepe gown—a Larisa Delaney original designed by her mother—Katrina stood on the edge of the buzzing crowd and struggled to tune out the chatter surrounding her. Excitement coursed through her, not because of the party, but because of what would happen when it was over. Her pulse raced and her stomach cartwheeled, but her own glass of bubbly remained untouched. Tonight she needed steady nerves and a clear head. She forced herself to concentrate on the distant sound of Brahms and the scent of roses that filled the suite.

“Katrina, darling, there you are!”

Katrina drew in a fortifying breath at the sound of the familiar voice, then watched Sydney Joyce push her way through a tight circle of people. It wasn’t that Katrina didn’t like the gossip columnist, in fact, she actually enjoyed the outrageous style of the older woman. But the platinum blond reporter was part bloodhound, and her nose was constantly to the ground, sniffing for a story to delight the fans of celebrity scandal. So far, Sydney had romantically linked the name Katrina Natalya Delaney to Brad Pitt, Richard Gere and Keanu Reeves.

Katrina had met Brad and Richard once at a charity ball, that was it. And as far as Keanu went, they’d merely been at the same party, about as close a relationship as Katrina had had with any man since her one brief, and rather disappointing affair with an English teacher her senior year in college. So much for the exciting social life of a violin virtuoso.

“Katrina, my darling,” Sydney purred as she moved in for the kill, “you look absolutely radiant tonight. I refuse to budge until you tell me who the lucky man is.”

Katrina sighed. Sydney’s words were not a threat, but a promise. If she suspected even the tiniest deception, she’d clamp down like a bulldog and never let go until she got something. Tonight was one night Katrina could not afford to humor the woman.

With the ears of an elephant, Max Straub, Katrina’s business manager, quickly moved in. Publicity was the man’s job, and every move his clients made, especially Katrina, was carefully orchestrated. Tomorrow, when he found out what she’d done, Katrina knew that Max was not going to be a happy camper.

“What lucky man?” Max looked at Katrina and lowered his dark bushy eyebrows in disapproval.

Katrina hadn’t time to respond before her mother and father suddenly joined the growing circle around her. Married in Russia thirty-six years ago, Larisa and Nicolai had immigrated to the States one year before she was born. Katrina had the same amber brown hair as her mother, and though the older Delaney woman was nearly fifty-five, heads still turned when she walked into a room. Katrina’s father, darkly handsome and terribly protective of not only his wife, but his only child, as well, scowled constantly at every one of those heads that turned toward wife or daughter.

“A man?” her father asked gruffly. “What’s his name?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Sydney cut Katrina off before she could speak.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Katrina’s mother smiled. “Katrina hasn’t time right now for that. Do you, dear?”

“Of course, she doesn’t,” Max answered. “Which reminds me, Katrina, you have a two o‘clock tomorrow with Warner Records, a five o’clock with a reporter from the New York Times and a six o’clock with a photographer from Classical Weekly. I’ll pick you up at noon and we’ll have lunch to go over the rest of the week’s schedule.”

Katrina simply nodded, but then, when Max started in on scheduling, there was little to say. He wasn’t listening; he was planning.

“I thought you were spending the day with me tomorrow,” Katrina’s mother said.

“She promised me an interview.” Sydney pouted.

“She’s practicing tomorrow,” her father stated with authority.

They all started to argue then. Katrina sighed, then glanced at the head waiter, who nodded, then promptly refilled everyone’s glass standing around her. A hand on her elbow gently tugged her away from the heated discussion surrounding her.

Oliver. Thank God. The second essential ingredient had arrived at last.

“You’re late,” she said quietly.

“Sorry.” He kissed her cheek, then brought his lips close to her ear. “That’s one hell of a sexy number you’ve got on, Kat. Sure you don’t want to run away and have an adventure with me instead of some bowlegged cowboy?”

Katrina smiled at Oliver’s foolishness. They’d met in high school and gone through college together. He was her best friend, but she knew that his shameless flirting and devilish good looks were going to get the sandy-haired cello player in trouble one day.

“I’m not running away,” she whispered. “I’m taking a little vacation by myself, that’s all.”

Oliver gave a snort of laughter. “Katrina, my love, most people wouldn’t call working on a Texas ranch as a nanny to a nine-year-old a vacation.”

Katrina watched Max argue with her father over the next day’s schedule. “It is to me,” she said wistfully.

“You’re Katrina Natalya Delaney,” Oliver insisted. “Violin virtuoso, the toast of the symphony circuit. A villa in Spain or a town house in France is much more the image.”

“I don’t give a damn about image.” Katrina noticed the conductor of the evening’s performance glance over at her. She smiled at him, and he raised his glass to her, then continued his conversation with a music critic from Entertainment Weekly.

“Oliver—” she lowered her voice “—I’m twenty-four years old. Music has always been my life. I’ve never done anything else, been anywhere by myself. In three months I’ll be traveling and performing for two years straight, surrounded by people, never a moment to think, let alone be by myself. If I’m going to do this, it has to be now.”

“But working on a ranch, Katrina.” A waiter carrying a tray of stuffed mushrooms passed by. Oliver reached for one. “Why not a dude ranch or whatever those things are called?” he said when they were alone again. “You could put on some jeans, a cowboy hat and sit on a horse for a couple of days.”

“It’s not the same,” she said emphatically. “Ollie, tell me there isn’t something you’ve wanted to do all your life, something completely different than you’ve ever done, something wild and crazy and romantic.”

He grinned. “Yeah. Swim naked with you in the Thames.”

She sighed with exasperation. “I want to experience a real, honest-to-goodness working ranch, with real, honest-to-goodness cowboys, a world completely opposite of my own, where no one will know who I am. The second I saw the ad in that magazine you gave me, and saw that the name of the town was Harmony, it was like a neon sign. I had to apply.”

“It’s all my fault,” Oliver groaned. “I know how crazy you are over that cowboy stuff, and when I saw a copy of Western Roundup I thought you’d get a kick out of it. I never dreamed you’d start sending out résumés to be a nanny.”

“I could hardly apply for ranch foreman,” she said, then waved to Sharon Westphal, a shy flutist who Katrina knew had a crush on Oliver. Katrina had been trying to get Oliver to ask her out, but he’d come up with every excuse he could think of to avoid her. He looked at her now and his eyes took on a strange glint before he quickly turned away and took Katrina’s elbow.

“You’ve never been around kids,” Oliver protested, “let alone be a nanny. This guy—what’s his name—he’ll spot you for a phony in a minute.”

“His name is Logan Kincaid, and I’m not a phony. I’m perfectly qualified. You know I minored in English in school and I have a teaching credential. And if that’s not enough, I believe that the fact I had three nannies of my own gives me an edge of experience the average nanny wouldn’t have.”

Oliver laughed. “An average nanny you definitely are not. For that matter, my sweet, there is nothing average about you.”

She knew he meant it as a compliment, but somehow Oliver’s statement disturbed her. She’d hoped that he might understand that was exactly the reason she’d taken this job, because she wanted, if only for a little while, to be like the “average” person. But Oliver had always loved being in the spotlight and performing. It was hard for him to understand that everyone else didn’t feel that way. As much as she loved to play, performing in public always made her stomach queasy.

“It’s only for two months,” she said, feeling the need to defend herself. “I can certainly handle that.”

“Oh, sure you can.” Oliver reached for a glass of champagne on a passing tray. “And just how do you know this Kincaid guy is not a lecherous old man who’ll corral you in the barn and seduce you?”

Katrina laughed. “You should have been a writer instead of a cellist, Ollie. Your imagination is outrageous.”

Offended, Oliver lifted his chin. “Are you criticizing my talents as a cellist?”

Poor Oliver. He was as sensitive as he was concerned. “Of course not. You’re the best, and you know it, so don’t go fishing for compliments. And just to set your active mind at ease, I did have a friend of mine in the police department check out Mr. Kincaid. He’s not old, he’s thirty-four, he’s widowed and he has no criminal record.”

“Yet.” Oliver frowned. “If your parents or Max find out I know where you are, I’m a dead man.”

Katrina slipped an arm through Oliver’s and started to lead him toward Sharon. She felt him stiffen immediately. “They don’t need to know where I am. I’ve left letters for them, explaining that it’s time I learn to make my own decisions, schedule my own life for a change. Everyone has taken care of me for too long,” she said gently, “including you. It might be the coward’s way out, but you know there’ll be a scene and I’m not going to take any chances I’ll weaken. If there’s an emergency, you can contact me and I’ll call or come home. I’m counting on you, Ollie.”

With a sigh of resignation, Oliver slipped an arm around Katrina. “What time is the getaway?”

“Midnight. Everyone will be gone and my parents will be sound asleep in their own room, thanks to all the champagne they’ve had. We were checking out tomorrow anyway and going home, so my mother didn’t think it odd when she noticed I’ve already packed. I’ll be waiting for you outside the front entrance.”

“Someone’s going to see you,” he said, shaking his head.

“Let me handle that,” she whispered in his ear, then steered him toward the flutist. “You just show up on time.”

Two hours, twenty-six minutes later, Katrina picked up her suitcases and violin, then crept quietly down the hall and got on the elevator with three other people. She passed at least a dozen more guests in the lobby, then walked by the front desk, the doorman and valet.

Not one person spoke to her or recognized her, but later, the doorman did remember a woman wearing a rather large gray felt hat.

The woman was late.

Swearing under his breath, Logan stood at the large picture window in his living room and stared out at the endless Texas landscape. Heat shimmered off the dry ground and a hawk made lazy circles overhead. Pale gray clouds in the distance suggested rain, but didn’t promise. But then, Logan thought with a frown, he’d teamed long ago never to trust a promise.

The deep, resonant bong of the grandfather clock in the entry marked eleven o’clock. Logan swore again. The woman should have been here an hour ago.

“She’s not coming, is she?”

He turned at the sound of his daughter’s soft voice behind him. He never would have shown his impatience if he’d realized she’d been in the room. But it had been after midnight before he’d gotten to bed last night, and he’d been up since five a.m. feeding the livestock and mending fence on the south quarter. He still had a water pump to repair in the west feeding pens, and a missing heifer somewhere in the east section. He was tired as hell and as irritable as a hornet in a jelly jar.

“Of course, she’s coming,” Logan reassured Anna. Though his daughter rarely complained, he’d sensed her anxiety over meeting Mrs. Lacey’s summer replacement. His daughter was a sensitive, quiet child with dove gray eyes that turned his heart to mush every time he looked at her. She’d seen too much disappointment in her young life and he’d die before he’d let anyone hurt her again.

“It’s almost a three-hour drive from Dallas to Harmony,” he said, moving beside her and tucking one blond curl behind her ear, “then it’s another thirty minutes from town to here. Her plane may have come in late, or she may have had to wait to rent a car, but she’ll be here, honey, don’t worry.”

He hated lying to Anna, but he knew he’d only add to her nervousness if he told her that the plane had come in on time. He’d called the airlines three hours ago when he’d come in to have breakfast with his daughter, and the plane had arrived not only on time, but ten minutes early. It was certainly possible that she’d changed her mind. Her application had come in over the fax machine in his office, and he’d wondered why a woman from New York City would even consider working on a remote cattle ranch. Normally he wouldn’t have even considered her for the job, but he’d only received three responses, and he’d liked hers the best.

Miss Delaney’s references from an Oliver Grant had been glowing. Her educational background was more extensive than the other two applicants, though he had to admit he wasn’t overly impressed with her degree in music. Still, she also had a degree in English, a course of study certainly appropriate for Anna’s education. At fifty-four, she was also older than the other two and able to start right away, while the other women weren’t available for several days. Mrs. Lacey had already been gone for two weeks, and while Sophia, the housekeeper, was shopping and helping out with Anna, she was only able to work part-time and was a terrible cook. Anna was barely eating, and he’d lost a few pounds himself. Though cooking had not been in the job description for Anna’s nanny, he was hoping a few extra dollars would correct that oversight. If it didn’t, he and Anna might starve.

He looked down at his daughter and in spite of his irritation, couldn’t help the feeling of tenderness that came over him. If only Anna’s mother could have seen her daughter for the wonderful, beautiful little girl she was, perhaps she’d still be here and Anna would have the mother she deserved instead of live-in teachers.

Logan had never understood, nor would he ever understand, how a life on the road, singing in one dive after another, could have been more important to JoAnn than her own daughter. He didn’t give a damn for himself that she was gone. The last two years of their marriage had been a living hell, anyway. If anything, he’d been relieved. But to leave Anna, to walk out on her own child, that was something he could never forgive.

“Don’t you have some lessons Mrs. Lacey left for you?” he asked his daughter, hoping to distract her.

“I did them already.”

“What about the math? I know you were having trouble with division, I can—”

“Daddy, it’s summer. Other kids don’t have lessons in summer, why do I have to?”

He caught himself before he could say that she wasn’t like other kids. She was going to need every advantage that life had to offer, and an education would be her strongest asset. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to make sure she had every academic opportunity available to her. He was about to launch into his speech that she’d already heard dozens of times, when the sound of a car horn stopped him.

It was about damn time.

He moved to the window and frowned at the sight of Punch Wilkins’s pickup bouncing up the dirt road from the main highway. What the hell was the gas station attendant from Harmony doing here?

Of course. The Delaney woman’s rental car must have broken down. He should have considered that. Dust billowed behind Punch’s truck as he pulled off the dirt road onto the circular driveway in front of Logan’s house. Logan watched Punch hop out of the cab of his truck and reach into the back bed. He pulled out a suitcase and garment bag and another small case. The passenger door of the cab opened, but he couldn’t see the woman when she stepped out.

Logan turned to his daughter. “See, honey, I told you—”

But Anna had disappeared. It was no surprise. He knew how difficult it was for her to meet strangers. He’d coax her out later, after he’d spoken to and finalized everything with the new nanny.

He moved to the front door and opened it. Punch stood there, his fist in the air, ready to knock. His large frame blocked Logan’s view of the woman standing behind him.

“Howdy,” Punch said with a silly grin on his face. “Brought your new nanny to ya.”

“Thanks.” Logan reached for the suitcase and stepped aside. Punch moved into the entry past Logan and headed for the living room.

A tall, slender, distinctly feminine figure wearing a large gray hat stepped in front of him. Oh, no, he groaned silently when he noticed the violin case she held in front of her. Anything but that.

Slowly she tipped her head back. When her smoky green eyes met his, his throat went as dry as the dust still swirling outside from Punch’s truck.

Who the hell was this woman?

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said with a touch of breathlessness to her voice. “Transportation here was much more difficult than I’d anticipated. I’m Kat Delaney.”

She held out one delicate, finely sculptured hand. In a daze, Logan took it. He had the distinct sensation of silk against sandpaper. Her fingers were long and tapered, her skin smooth and incredibly soft, like nothing he’d ever felt before.

Kat Delaney? This couldn’t be the woman he’d hired.

She shifted uncomfortably when he said nothing. “You, ah, must be Logan Kincaid.”

He had to think for a moment. “There must be some mistake.”

She frowned. “You aren’t Mr. Kincaid?”

“That’s not what I mean.” He narrowed his eyes. “I’m talking about you.”

“Me?” she said hesitantly, then slipped her hand from his when he didn’t let go.

“The woman I hired is supposed to be fifty-four,” he said impatiently. “You’re not, I mean you aren’t—”

“Fifty-four?” She raised one finely arched brow. “I’m twenty-four, Mr. Kincaid. That’s what I put on the application.”

Twenty-four? Logan tried to remember the application. The fax had come in a little fuzzy, but still, how could he have made a mistake like that? He never would have hired a younger woman to take care of Anna. Maturity and experience were a necessary and important element of caring for his daughter. What could a twenty-four-year-old know about raising children?

He stared down at her. She was taller than most women, maybe around five-foot-eight, but still a good eight inches shorter than him. She wore no makeup, but her dark, thick lashes outlined wide, slightly slanted eyes. Her high cheeks glowed with color, though he assumed the heat was responsible for the flush on her skin.

“Hey, Logan,” Punch called from the living room, “got a cold one?”

“It’s eleven o’clock in the morning, Punch,” Logan said with more annoyance than he intended. “There’s ice tea in the fridge.” He looked at Kat. “Can I, uh, get you something?”

“In a minute, thank you.” She swept off her hat. “The ride here with Mr. Wilkins was a bit overwhelming. I just need a minute or two to catch my breath.”

So do I, Logan thought as he watched the woman shake her long golden brown curls away from her face. She wore white, the color no more practical on a Texas ranch than her high heels or slim-fitting skirt and tank top. She’d pushed the sleeves of her matching cardigan up to her elbows, revealing long, graceful arms. He would have offered to take her sweater, but since she wasn’t staying, he didn’t bother.

She might belong on the cover of a fashion magazine, but she sure as hell didn’t belong on his ranch.

“Hey, Logan,” Punch yelled from the kitchen, “you gonna eat these tamales in here?”

Anyone other than Punch, Logan would have strongly warned against Sophia’s cooking. But considering the mood he was in, he needed to vent on someone. “Help yourself,” he called back.

He closed the front door, then turned back to the woman standing in front of him, her hat in one hand and a violin case in the other. Damn, but this was awkward.

“Miss Delaney—”

“Kat.”

“Kat, I—”

“Hey, Logan, how do you work this here microwave?”

He was going to murder the man. No, better yet, he’d give him the leftover enchiladas to go with the tamales. He looked at Kat and frowned. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Kat let loose of the breath she’d been holding when Logan disappeared around the corner. Her insides were shaking and her palms were sweating. She’d given countless performances in front of thousands of people, but never had she been more nervous than she was right now. Her training had taught her to hide her fear, but nothing had ever prepared her for Logan Kincaid.

His height had been the first thing that had taken her aback. He was tall, probably around six-foot-four, with broad shoulders and thickly muscled arms. He wore a denim work shirt, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and snug, faded jeans over long, powerfully built legs. His hair was black, his eyes darker than any eyes she’d ever seen. When he’d first looked at her, she’d felt as if she were made of glass, and she might shatter under his piercing gaze.

But the fact that he was handsome wasn’t what had knocked the sense out of her. She met handsome men all the time. Not one had ever left her weak-kneed or light-headed. No, Mr. Kincaid was just so... male. At the most basic, the most primitive level, the man exuded virility. He was a masculine feast for the feminine senses: the rough, electric texture of his hands, the deep rugged sound of his voice, the faint, strangely pleasant smell of dust and dirt and leather. Just looking at him had made her pulse rate increase, and when he’d held her hand in his, pleasure had rippled through her entire body.

Had he noticed the color rise to her cheeks? she wondered. Something told her there was very little that Logan Kincaid missed with those eyes of his. Had Oliver been right? Could Mr. Kincaid know just by looking at her that she really wasn’t a nanny?

Of course he couldn’t. She was just tense. After all, she’d flown the red-eye, waited three hours for the first bus out of Dallas to Harmony—which was a four-hour ride—an hour trying to find someone to drive her here from the town, and at least thirty minutes bouncing in a truck. She was also in a completely new environment, meeting a strange man about a new job.

She had good reason to be high-strung, and that would certainly explain her physical reaction to Mr. Kincaid, she told herself. She was just tired and on edge. A good night’s sleep and she’d be fit as a fiddle.

Smiling at her own pun, Kat moved into the living room. She’d immediately liked the house when Mr. Wilkins had driven up. It was single story, a redbrick ranch-style structure with a wide, cement circular driveway and gently sloping gray tile entry. The living room was spacious, with a high, vaulted ceiling, hardwood floors and a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. The furniture was large and masculine, like the man himself, and the few pieces of art were a blend of American Indian and the Old West. It was a warm, comfortable room, not like the man himself.

A movement from a doorway across the room caught Katrina’s attention. “Hello?”

There was no answer. With her violin and hat still in her hand, Kat moved toward the doorway. “Hello?” she called again. “Is someone there?”

Again, no answer, but there was a sound, a soft, swooshing sound. Kat stopped, then watched as a young, blond child in a wheelchair appeared in the doorway. She was a beautiful little girl with pale, smooth skin and enormous gray eyes. In her plain brown jumper and white blouse, the child almost blended in with the room.

“Hello.” Kat smiled. “I’m Kat.”

The child said nothing, just stared at the violin case and hat in Kat’s hand.

“What’s your name?” Kat moved in front of the little girl and knelt down.

“Anna,” she answered quietly.

“Nice to meet you, Anna.” Kat put her hand out Anna stared at it, then slowly put her small hand in Kat’s.

“I’m your new nanny,” Kat said. “But I’d rather you just thought of me as one of your friends, if that’s okay.”

“I don’t have very many friends,” Anna said softly.

Anna’s statement didn’t surprise Kat. A disabled child living on a ranch outside a small town raised by nannies probably didn’t get to meet a lot of other children. Neither did a child prodigy living in New York with well-meaning, but ambitious parents.

“I don’t have very many friends, either,” Kat said warmly. “But we each have one new one, starting right now.”

Anna smiled shyly. “You don’t look like a nanny.”

Kat laughed. “Thanks, I think.”

“Is that a violin?” Anna stared at the case in Kat’s hand.

“Why, yes it is, would you like to—”

“Miss Delaney.”

Kat jumped up at the sound of Logan’s voice behind her. She had no idea why he would be, but she could have sworn he sounded angry.

Logan’s tight expression softened when he looked at his daughter. “Anna, I’ve asked Sophia to make you some lunch. Why don’t you go on in the kitchen and say hello to Punch while I speak with Miss Delaney.”

Anna looked from her father to Kat, then nodded reluctantly and left the room. When Logan turned to her and frowned, Kat felt a tremor of apprehension low in her stomach.

“You have a beautiful daughter, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Thanks.” Logan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Miss Delaney—”

He’d called her by her formal name three times in the past two minutes. Something was wrong, she realized. Very wrong.

“—I know you came a great distance to get here. It’s not an easy drive to Harmony, and riding with Punch was no picnic, either, I’m sure.”