her mind right now, she admonished herself.
Of course, for her to keep her job, Josh would have to be happy with the way she cared for his children. She’d have to please him as well as them.
Annie shook away the thought. Managing four youngsters was no great feat. Goodness, they were only children.
Supper should be served by the time she arrived at the Ingalls house. As the wagon bumped along, Annie imagined sitting in the grand dining room she’d glimpsed today, having supper with Josh and the children.
A family. Dining together, talking, catching up on each other’s news, hearing about the day.
Annie’s own family had been that way, a long time ago before her father died. Back then, meals together had been warm and comforting.
A little smile pulled at Annie’s lips and she found herself looking forward to arriving at the Ingalls home. Her sisters and mother hadn’t acted like a real family in a very long time. She liked the idea of being part of one again, even if she was simply the hired help.
What the devil was taking her so long?
Josh peered out the window of his study as evening shadows stretched across the road leading to his farm. There was no sign of the wagon.
No sign of her.
Annoyed, Josh turned away, eyeing the ledgers on his desk. He had book work to do and that’s what he should be thinking about.
Not her.
He pushed his fingers through his hair. Why was this woman, this Miss Annie Martin, suddenly consuming his thoughts?
Because she was taking the responsibility of those children, Josh decided. Yes, that was it.
As nanny, she was relieving him of a great burden, freeing him to devote himself to things that were important. Leaving him to concentrate on…
How pretty she was. How her blue eyes sparkled. How even in those trousers she wore, her curves were apparent. How she—
“Good God…” Josh turned away, stunned by his own thoughts and his body’s reaction to them. Fire flickered in him, unleashing a yearning he hadn’t experienced since—
His wife died? Or was it even before that?
The baby was eight months old now. Lydia, eight months dead.
In all the time since that dreadful night, Josh had had few thoughts of women. He’d thrown himself into his work on the farm, pushing himself harder and harder, guaranteeing that at day’s end he fell exhausted into bed and a dreamless sleep.
His life suited him. He didn’t want it changed. And he certainly didn’t want Annie Martin to be the one who changed it.
She’d insisted she was interested solely in the position of nanny, unlike so many of the women he’d employed in the past eight months. Women who had spent more time pursuing him than caring for the children.
Good. That’s what he wanted.
Josh sank into his desk chair once more. When he’d first seen Annie in the meadow today, she’d caught his eye. Then he’d realized she was disciplining the children. She’d offered herself for the position of nanny before he’d had a chance to ask. That’s exactly what he’d intended to do when he’d told her to come up to the house.
Josh raked his fingers through his hair, forcing his attention to the ledger open in front of him.
A nanny was what he had. A nanny was all he wanted.
Chapter Four
Mrs. Flanders scowled from the back door when the wagon bearing Annie and her belongings arrived. She directed the driver to take Annie’s things upstairs, to wipe his feet, to step carefully, to not dare knock anything over. By the time she turned her attention to Annie, her scowl had somehow deepened.
Mrs. Flanders’s lips turned down as she looked Annie over. “Don’t you know how to dress? Do you think you’re still working in the fields, girl?”
Annie’s cheeks flushed and she ran her hands down the rough fabric of her shirt. “Well, no, but—”
“Get on in there and see to those children and their supper.” Mrs. Flanders turned on her toes with a huff, leaving Annie standing in the doorway.
She glanced around. No one else was about—no one to tell her anything further, or give any more direction. Certainly no one to welcome her to the Ingalls home. So she struck out on her own.
Annie ventured into the house toward the dining room she’d seen earlier today. Still she saw no one. The only sound was a clock ticking somewhere.
Four children having supper and it was this quiet? Annie smiled to herself. It seemed the Ingalls brood minded their manners while inside; only outdoors did they behave like wild animals.
But when she entered the dining room, Annie saw but one person seated there. Josh.
He sat at the head of the table, eating from blue china, reading a newspaper. The rest of the table, which seated twelve, was empty. A crystal chandelier hung overhead; a sideboard sat against one wall, along with glass cupboards full of delicate china sparkling in the light. There was a fireplace with a beveled mirror above it, and a silver tea service on a cart in the corner.
Josh ate in silence, so absorbed in his reading he didn’t notice her standing there.
“Excuse me, Mr. Ingalls?” Annie said.
He jumped. When he saw her, his chest swelled, and she could have sworn his cheeks deepened in color, causing an odd knot to twist in the pit of her stomach.
“Where are the children, Mr. Ingalls?” she asked, surprised that her voice sounded so soft.
He looked at her as if she’d spoken some foreign language. “Children?”
“Yes, sir. The children. Your children.” She gestured with her hands, encompassing the room. “Have they finished their supper already?”
He gazed at her a while longer, trying, it seemed, to make some sense of her question. Or was it something else? The way he looked at her made her stomach flutter.
Finally, he shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “They don’t eat in here.”
“Oh.” When he said nothing further, Annie asked, “Where do they eat?”
He looked lost again, as if he’d forgotten the question as quickly as she’d asked it. “They, ah, they eat in the cookhouse.”
“The cookhouse?”
He shifted in his chair, forcing a frown. “I’m not certain how satisfactory a nanny you’ll be, Miss Martin, if you can’t even find the children.”
A wisp of anger twirled through Annie, and she was certain it showed in her face. She forced it away. “Very well.”
The
