Читать книгу The Rancher's Twins - Carol Ross - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU DON’T LOOK nothin’ like a old pear.”

Lydia looked at Genevieve. “Excuse me?”

“It’s noth-ing, Gen,” Abby said. “Not nothin’.”

“I know that, Abby, but I like the way Tom says nothin’.”

Abby rolled her eyes at her sister. “Well, I think you should say you don’t look anything like an old pear.” Face taut with concentration, she studied Lydia. “But she’s right, you don’t.”

“Who told you I did? And are we talking about fruit or boots?”

“Tom,” Gen answered.

“Fruit,” Abby said.

“Tom said I look like an old pear?” Lydia asked.

Abby explained, “No, Tom said we were getting an old pear. It’s a fancy name for a nanny.”

Ah. Lydia smothered a laugh. “Actually, it’s au pair not old pear.”

Gen frowned. “Oh. What’s an oh pear? That don’t make no sense.”

“It’s a French term,” Lydia said, choosing not to correct the child’s grammar quite yet.

“Like a French fry?” Gen asked.

“Crepes are French,” Abby stated knowingly. “They’re real skinny pancakes.”

Gen gushed, “I lo-o-ove pancakes. Buttermilk pancakes are right yummy vittles.”

“Let me guess.” Lydia looked at Abby, whose eyes had gone skyward again. “Tom?”

“Mmm-hmm. Sofie says he talks like a movie cowboy.”

“Who is Tom, exactly?”

“Tom is Daddy’s foreman. Gen lo-o-oves him.”

Gen scowled at her sister. “Only because I’m gonna be a ranch foreman someday. Like Katie.”

“Katie doesn’t talk that way.”

Lydia held out her hands, palms down, fingers spread. She’d herded the girls into the bathroom to commence bedtime preparations. “Okay, hold on.” It was already going to be a challenge to become fluent in five-year-old, but five-year-old-aspiring-cowgirl was going to require some serious effort.

“Now who is Katie?”

Abby explained, “Katie is Lochlan’s daughter. He’s the foreman at Big E’s ranch.”

Gen fiddled with the faucet. Being still didn’t appear to be the child’s greatest strength. “But Katie should take over soon. I heard Daddy tell Tom.”

They had already mentioned Big E and Lydia now knew him to be the girls’ great-grandfather—Blackwell’s grandfather—and he was married to Zoe. Lydia wondered about his parents, but knew introducing yet another topic would only further delay her immediate mission.

“Interesting. Thank you. We’ll discuss this more later. For now, let’s get back to bath time.”

“We like to take showers now that we’re five.”

“Great. Showers it is. We’re going to do this like an assembly line. I’ll wash your hair first, Abby. Then you can hop in the shower while I wash Gen’s. Then you can shower, Gen. Got it? Use soap, okay?”

Gen groaned. “Do I have to take a shower?”

“What’s a sembly line?” Abby asked. “Is that French, too?”

“Yes, you do have to take a shower, Gen. It’s as-sem-bly line, Abby,” she said, enunciating carefully. “And an assembly line is an organized way of doing things. As far as I know, it’s not French.”

“Why?” Gen demanded, still fixated on the apparent torture of sanitization unfolding before her.

“You don’t smell like flowers for one thing, and for another you both need your hair washed.”

“Flowers?” Gen repeated, her face scrunched thoughtfully.

“I hate getting my hair washed.” This from Abby, whom Lydia had already deduced was slightly more amenable to hygiene and civilized behavior than her sister.

“Why’s that?”

“It hurts.”

“What do you mean it hurts? Washing your hair shouldn’t hurt.”

“It’s the after part. It gets all snarly like a rat’s nest—that’s what Daddy calls it—and it hurts to brush it.”

“I see. Well, that’s no good.” Lydia took a moment to scope out the toiletries—soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes and basic first-aid supplies. Another cupboard held fluffy orange and yellow towels. The shower curtain featured brightly colored jungle animals. No razors, shaving cream, aftershave, cologne or other manly potions in evidence. Blackwell apparently had his own personal domain, which was a relief. She didn’t relish the idea of sharing a bathroom with him. In the shower, she spotted a single bottle. She picked it up and said, “‘Shampoo and conditioner in one.’” That explained it.

“Wait right here. No more rat’s nests for you.” She started to walk out the door and then stopped as it occurred to her that there was a good possibility they might not be here when she returned. Nibbling her lip, she thought for a second. “I have two important things I need you guys to do while I’m gone. Abby, can you find some cotton balls? Gen, can you gather up all the hair bands in that basket and put them in a pile?” Lydia pointed to a container on the counter, where she’d noticed the hair accessories were kept. “Can you guys do that?”

They both nodded solemnly, neither questioning their assigned task.

Lydia dashed to her bedroom. She’d only brought one small suitcase but it included a travel-sized bottle of leave-in conditioner. Three heads of long hair meant it wasn’t going to last long. She added conditioner to the supply list she’d already started. Under boots and jeans she wrote conditioner.

Upon reentering the bathroom, she assessed the work they’d done. “Thank you. Great job, girls. Now, I’ll make you a deal. If you let me wash your hair, and you take your showers without complaint, we’ll watch a little TV before bed.”

“We don’t have TV. We can watch movies in Daddy’s pickup.”

No TV? Lydia thought quickly. There were lots of things that might motivate a five-year-old. The problem was that she’d just got here and didn’t know the girls yet or the resources she had to draw from.

“We have internet,” Abby announced. “We watch movies on the computer sometimes.”

“Perfect.” Lydia smiled. “I have a computer. We’ll see what we can do.”

* * *

JON NOTICED TWO things when he stepped inside the house the next morning—it smelled like bacon and it was very quiet. Heaving out a tired breath, he lowered himself onto the bench and pulled off his boots. He took a moment to enjoy the silence, but mostly used it as an excuse to rest his aching back and think about the day’s chores ahead.

The calves born last night and this morning put them approximately halfway through the calving. The heavies, or most heavily pregnant cows and heifers, were waiting. Close to labor, they’d been moved into a smaller pasture, where they were monitored by Jon, Tom and his hired hands. Mother Nature had blessed them with a week of mild weather, allowing the cows to give birth outside like they preferred. It also meant less work because they didn’t have to cut the cows who were in labor from the rest of the herd and get them into the shed. It was a tedious job because that herd instinct was a strong one and they balked at being separated.

Grabbing a towel, he saw to Trout and then stood. He headed into the kitchen, where he discovered evidence that the nanny had been cooking. He could hear muffled conversation in the next room.

As he neared the doorway, a voice asked, “What about this one? What letter is this, Gen?”

Jon froze and Trout followed his cue, standing at attention beside him. “Um, is it a P?” It pained his perpetually raw heart to hear the uncertainty in his daughter’s voice. Genevieve was struggling to learn her letters and numbers. Jon knew he needed to spend more time teaching the girls and he planned to as soon as calving season wound down. All the things he needed to do bore down on him like a full-out stampede.

“That’s close. It’s a D.”

“Dagnabbit! I always get that one wrong. I’m sorry. I’m not smart like Abby.”

“You’re not supposed to say that,” Abby said. “It’s almost a bad word.”

“Listen here, young lady,” Lydia said, “you are incredibly smart. Anyone who can recite every breed of horse on this planet, where they live and what they’re used for is completely brilliant. There are all kinds of smarts out there. You’ll get this. I promise. Then you can read all about horses yourself. And, just so you know, dagnabbit starts with a D.”

Jon smiled. The words and the encouragement in Lydia’s tone eased a bit of his ache. Sounded like she had the teaching skills—too bad she couldn’t stay. Jon had already called the agency, but Eileen, the woman who’d handled his application, was on vacation until the middle of April. No one else seemed to be familiar with his situation. He’d been informed he could start the application process all over or wait for Eileen to return. He doubted Lydia could teach Gen to read in two weeks. Doubted she’d want to stay, anyway, after he told her she wasn’t suitable.

Jon motioned to Trout and the dog bolted forward into the room. Jon followed, his lungs constricting so tight at what he found that it took several seconds before he could draw a proper breath. Abby was lounging against a pillow on the sofa, an open book across her lap. Gen sat on the floor in front of Lydia, who was doing her hair. Lydia deserved a bonus for this task alone. Little-girl hair was a mystery to him. He had a difficult time even getting a brush through their curls. The ponytails he managed rarely lasted through a day.

“Hi, Daddy!” Gen cried. “How many new calves?”

“A bunch.”

“Yay! How are they?”

“Feisty, healthy, hungry fuzzballs. Cute as can be.”

“I can’t wait to see them!”

“After breakfast.”

Abby sat forward, turning to look at him. “We already had breakfast.”

“Oh,” he said, noticing her hair was already done. Braided and twisted into a pretty little bun on top of her head. Clean clothes, clean face, even clean hands clutching that book in her lap.

“Did you—”

“Yep,” she interrupted, “already brushed my teeth. Seeee,” she drawled, “showing” him the evidence as if he could tell from her clownlike grin.

“Excellent job. Shiny and white, just like the dentist ordered.” Which reminded him that they had upcoming appointments. A wave of dread rolled over him. The last one had not gone well.

Lydia looked up and smiled. “The girls told me they usually eat in the bunkhouse with you, but I didn’t know what time you’d be back in this morning and we were hungry. There’s bacon and pancakes keeping warm in the oven in case you haven’t eaten? And I can scramble a couple of eggs.”

“Buttermilk pancakes, Daddy,” Gen said. “Real ones. And Lydia is doing our hair all pretty like hers.”

Jon took a minute to absorb the myriad of feelings churning inside of him and wreaking havoc on both his body and his brain. It had been a long, long time since he’d entertained feelings like the ones tumbling through him right now—relief that the girls seemed to like Lydia, happiness that she seemed to like them and longing so intense it catapulted him back to a place he tried not to go. Why couldn’t Ava have wanted this? He immediately reminded himself that he was paying Lydia Newbury to shower this kind of attention on his daughters. And she wasn’t sticking around.

“That sounds just fine to me. We can talk while the girls head out for a look at the calves.”

“Great.” Lydia flashed him another bright smile. “You, sweet girl, are all done.” Placing a hand on each of her shoulders, she bent and kissed the top of Gen’s head and Jon felt that, too, like a warm surge right in the pit of his stomach. “You want to see?”

Gen took the mirror from Lydia and admired her handiwork. With her other hand, she patted the neat braids. Normally Gen didn’t care much about her hair, but the expression on her face right now reminded him a lot of how his daughter looked on Christmas morning. When she wrapped her arms around Lydia for a hug, sweetness dug right into him along with the regret. He’d hoped Lydia would be gone before the girls got too attached.

“I’ll text Tom that you’re on the way.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” They skipped over to him and one at a time he scooped them up for a quick hug and set them back on their feet closer to the door. Together, they ran toward the kitchen.

Jon tapped out a text to Tom.

Lydia began tidying up the space around her. “I’ll put this stuff away and meet you in the kitchen. There’s a fresh pot of coffee.”

“All right then.”

Jon headed there, poured himself a cup and took a sip. Dang, it was good coffee, too. Standing at the window, he could see the barns, the shop, the chicken coop, woodshed and various other outbuildings. He tried to imagine what it might look like to a woman from Philadelphia who’d never seen it, or any ranch at all. The flower beds needed weeding and the three raised garden beds could use some attention. Cows and their bright red-brown calves stood in the east pasture. That had to be an appealing sight, didn’t it?

The reality wasn’t like television, that was true, but it was his and he loved pretty much everything about it. At the end of every day he wouldn’t trade the long hours he spent blistering under a blazing summer sun, or shivering in a winter cold so brutal it seemed to gnaw right into his bones, for any other job in the world. Not even in the midst of calving season, when he rarely slept more than two or three hours at a stretch and worry was his constant companion.

There were roughly a million things that warranted his attention and concern. In addition to constant monitoring of the cows and heifers before labor, there was the birth itself. Then, would the cow accept her new calf? Was the cow producing enough milk? Was the calf nursing? A ton of health problems could befall a calf, not the least of which was scours, which could race through a herd like wildfire. Inclement weather brought on a host of difficulties, too.

During these few weeks, Jon barely took time to eat. When he did get a moment to shower or change his clothes, there wasn’t time to enjoy it because soon after he’d be knee-deep in mud and manure, or shoulder-deep inside a cow assisting with a birth. But every second of this life fed his soul; he needed it, the bad and the good, just like he needed air to breathe.

He wondered what Lydia Newbury needed? What could a woman from Philadelphia possibly think she’d find on a ranch in Montana? Life here could only lead to disappointment.

Sighing, he turned away from the window. Why was he spending time worrying and wondering what she thought? This wasn’t the place for her and because of that she wasn’t the right nanny for his girls. Not used to being idle, he spotted the eggs on the counter and cracked a few into a bowl.

“Hey, are you doing my job for me?” Lydia asked, hurrying over to join him. Pointing toward the island, she said, “Sit.” Beside him, Trout obediently parked his butt on the tile floor.

“Oh, my gosh!” Her grin was pure delight and Jon couldn’t help but smile inside. “That’s amazing. Does he obey like that for everyone?”

Mustering up his best poker face, Jon shook his head. “He does not. Usually, just me. But when you shout at him like that he’s bound to listen.” He glanced at Trout, who was giving him an expectant look. Jon signaled his release and the dog trotted over to his water dish.

“I didn’t shou—” The furrow in her brow was downright cute and he couldn’t maintain a straight face. “Oh. You’re joking?”

He chuckled. “I am.”

The sound of her laughter filled the room, working into him in a very nice way. Jon kept his eyes on her because she was focused on Trout.

“Did you tell him something with your hand?”

“Yep.” He moved around the island to take a stool. Not only had she gotten the girls dressed for the day, but she’d also taken care of herself. Her clothing choice was a sight more practical than her getup of the day before. In her snug jeans, stocking feet and button-down shirt, with a tank top peeking out the top, she could almost pass for a local girl. Almost.

“Incredible. I’ve never met such a well-trained dog.”

“It’s not training, not really.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s more like understanding. Dogs are special that way. They’re like friends. Treat them right and most of them will do about anything for you. Just gotta figure out how to ask.”

“Hmm. That’s nice. You obviously have good friends.” She’d been whisking the eggs, and she poured them into the pan and stirred. She removed the pancakes and bacon from the oven and fixed his plate.

He watched her, mesmerized by the way she moved, fluid and efficient, like a swan or some other graceful, pretty bird.

“You know your way around a kitchen.”

“That I do.” She paused to look at him like she was going to tell him something important. “And I have to say, yours is incredible. Like my dream kitchen.”

“Thank you.” He felt himself smiling at the enthusiasm in her tone. He’d designed the space himself and it was nice to hear a cook appreciate it. “Self-taught?”

“That nana I mentioned last night taught me the basics and then I had a few restaurant jobs over the years. I worked for a caterer and a bakery, too, so lucky you.” With a wink, she pushed his plate across the counter and handed him silverware. “I guess I should ask if cooking is part of my job. I mean, if the girls mostly eat with you in the bunkhouse?”

“That’s expediency, because it’s calving time. I try to cook for us when it’s not.”

Looking thoughtful, she turned and poured herself a cup of coffee. When she faced him again, her expression was twisted up a bit and he knew she had something to say.

“So now that I’m here, I’ll be cooking, and they can eat with me. I think they need to learn some table manners. And I’d like to suggest we have dinner together, or you should have dinner with them at least because...” She added an earnest look. “Because family dinners are important.”

Did she think he didn’t know this about his girls? It stung a little but at the same time he appreciated that she spoke her mind. This was only one small part of the reason he needed her. Well, not her, but a nanny.

“I agree with that.”

“Good.” As she leaned against the counter, he caught a nice view of the pale skin of her face and neck. The creamy smoothness was nearly perfect, a testament to the hours she spent indoors. Unlike him.

“This is all delicious,” he said, because it was and because he realized she was watching him. “These pancakes might even be as good as Willa’s.”

“Ha. I’m sure they’re better.” She added a confident nod. “But who is this Willa competing for my top pancake honors? I hereby challenge her to a pancake throw-down.”

Jon laughed even as he wished she’d quit being so likable. It made this so much more difficult. “Willa Carnes, my neighbor. My best friend Zach’s mom. You met Sofie last night. She’s married to Zach. Willa is her mother-in-law.”

“Ranchers?”

“Yep.”

“Hmm. Lots of ranching going on around here, huh? Scooter mentioned a place called Blackwell Guest Ranch?”

“Yep, that would be my grandfather’s place.”

“Big E?”

Jon wasn’t surprised she’d already heard his name. The man was, if not infamous, then certainly renowned. “Elias Blackwell is his name but most everyone calls him Big E.”

“Does he live there with your parents?”

“He did, and so did I, until they died.” Jon managed to keep his voice flat and even, but it still surprised him how much it hurt to say the words out loud.

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Sincerity infused her tone, making Jon suspect she was no stranger to grief herself. “Do you have other family?”

“Four brothers.” He scooped up another bite.

“Do they live on the ranch?”

“Not anymore.”

“Older or younger?”

“I’m the oldest. Three years younger are Ethan and Ben. Then two years after them, Chance and Tyler.”

“Wait, wait!” Hand up, she took a second to absorb that news. “Back the tractor up—your brothers are twin twins?”

“Twin twins?” He chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before. Did you make that up?”

“I don’t know.” Grinning, she shook her head. “There’s just so many twins. And you have twins. It’s...”

“It is a fact that I have been the odd man out my entire life.”

Inquisitive blue eyes searched his before exploring the rest of his face and then traveling down to his hands and back up again. Her voice edged with wonder and maybe sympathy, she said, “Huh. I can’t imagine...”

She couldn’t. No one could. Being surrounded by twins, and looking after his younger brothers after their parents died, was a unique experience. He knew that. Then, to finally get out on his own, only to accidentally start a family and find out that he would be the father of twins? Honestly, it had felt like a blessing and a curse. And girls, to boot. If there was one area of his life that was his biggest weakness, it would be women. His string of stepgrandmothers hadn’t been interested in fulfilling any type of maternal role. He’d been shy in school and there weren’t any girls his age hanging around the ranch when he was growing up. Katie and her sister Maura were younger and close enough to being family that he hadn’t paid attention in any meaningful way.

He loved his daughters with every fiber of his being, yet his heart was perpetually raw and achy where they were concerned. He knew he wasn’t doing right by them. It seemed as if when things were going well in one area, they were lacking in another. Like if he spent too much time cooking healthy meals, he didn’t have enough left over to read to them. If he was teaching them about the ranch, there was no time for games. If they were riding horses, there was no book learning going on. He spent a lot of time wondering how other single parents got along. But he didn’t want to talk about that.

Shrugging a shoulder, he hoped to throw her off the subject. “It is what it is.”

Her sympathetic smile told him she knew it was more than that, yet she let it go. He appreciated that. “So, do you have like a list for me? I reviewed my paperwork last night and all it says is some cooking, which we just covered, light cleaning, child care and other. We need to talk about that other.”

“We need to have a different discussion.”

Her inquisitive gaze met his. “Oh. Okay?”

“I’m going to get right to the point.”

“Please do.”

The phone in his pocket alerted him that Katie was calling. “Excuse me a second.” He swiped the screen to answer it. “Hey, Katie, what’s up?”

“Jon, I know you’re coming over later to take care of that bill, but I have a situation. Is there any chance you can move it up?”

“Sure. What time?”

“As soon as possible.”

“What’s going on?”

He knew her sigh of irritation wasn’t directed at him. “It would save us both a lot of time if I could explain when you get here. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Unnerving how he’d heard those same words from Grace the day before.

“I do know that. I’ll leave right now.”

He clicked off the phone and looked at Lydia. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to ask that we postpone this conversation again. I need to head out to my grandfather’s place.”