his face some, but she didn’t judge him to be terribly old. Maybe forty? A far cry from her twenty-four, but not that huge a leap. Under any other circumstances, she’d have considered him a hunk. Even in the midst of her overwhelming anxiety she felt a prickle of attraction, but quickly quashed it. Never again.
Attractive or not, right now, this guy might be a threat or a savior. She had no idea which.
He walked to the front door with that loose stride shared by people who spent a lot of time in a saddle. He opened it, waving to the grumpy woman who had served her. “Howdy, Maude. How’s it going?”
Maude frowned. “Barely getting by, as usual.”
“Well, that’s good I guess.”
Then he turned to scan the small diner with eyes so blue they almost seemed to cast their own light.
“Coffee?” Maude asked him.
“And a slice of your pie.” His gaze settled on Hope. “And bring one for the lady here.”
Taking off his hat to reveal dark hair that silvered a bit at the temples, he crossed the short distance and thrust his hand out to Hope. She reached up to shake it, finding it warm and work-hardened. “Jim Cashford,” he said. “Most folks call me Cash. You’re Hope Conroy?”
“Yes.”
He smiled. It was a dazzling smile that nearly took her breath away. “Good. I’d hate to be scaring off strange young ladies who weren’t looking for me.”
He slid into the booth across from her and didn’t say anything more until Maude had brought them both huge slices of apple pie with a side of vanilla ice cream. Those plates hit the table with a sharp clatter, but Jim Cashford didn’t seem disturbed by it. A mug of coffee followed.
“Want some coffee?” Cashford asked Hope. “Maude makes the best.”
“No, thank you. Water is fine.”
He forked some pie into his mouth, his blue eyes scanning her. “I’ll be up-front,” he said when he had swallowed. “I’m not experienced at interviewing for a nanny. I usually interview ranch hands. But my ex died, I’ve got one unhappy thirteen-year-old, I can’t seem to connect with her and I’m working too much. So I want someone closer to her age to be a friend to her as much as anything, but someone old enough to have some sense. You said you studied psychology?”
“Yes, I have. It was my minor.”
“You got a driver’s license? A reference?”
She felt everything inside her start to crumble. A reference? She hadn’t counted on that. With shaking hands, she opened her purse and took out her license.
He studied it. “Dallas?” At that he looked up. “Suppose you tell me what you’re doing in the middle of nowhere this far from home?”
There it was. The impossible question. Part of her thought it was time to get up and walk out. But a more desperate part of her took charge. At least she managed to hold back the tears that were trying to make her eyes burn.
* * *
Cash waited, studying the young woman in front of him. Pretty enough to knock the wind from a guy. He might not get around much, but there was no mistaking that she was expensively dressed in a well-fitted green slacks suit, perfectly made up, and that her highlighted hair had been maintained by a better hairdresser than any around here. She smelled like money. Was this some kind of game for her?
But there was a pinching around her eyes that told a very different story. This woman had troubles. Aw hell. He was a sucker for a sad story. Maybe he should just finish his pie and head on home.
But then he remembered what would be coming home from school around four o’clock: Angie. His daughter from hell. A teen full of attitude and anger who refused to talk to him unless it was to say something nasty. A hellion. He was sure that somewhere inside he loved his daughter, but that was getting increasingly hard to remember.
So he waited on high alert for whatever tale of woe this woman was selling. What the hey, anyway. She was certainly eye candy, worth a few more minutes of his time with her ash-blond hair and moss-green eyes. Didn’t see many like her around here. They tended to get snatched up fast, turned old faster by hard work...or they left on the first bus out.
“You look desperate,” he finally said when she seemed unable to speak. Were those tears moistening her eyes? “Look, as long as you’re not wanted by the law, I probably won’t give a damn.”
“I’m not running from the police,” she said quietly.
He kind of liked the soft Texas twang in her voice. Just the hint of it, not overpowering. “So tell me what’s going on.”
She cast her eyes down. “It’s very personal.”
“Easiest person to tell something personal is a stranger.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you don’t have to keep me around like a reminder if you don’t want. Get up, walk out, pretend we never talked.”
She lifted her gaze, and the faintest smile curved her lips. A little of her anxiety eased. “Are you really that easygoing?”
“I was. I got a daughter who’s making me less so. So let me start the truth or dare game. My daughter, Angie, is thirteen. Her mother died four months ago unexpectedly, so now she’s living with me. Thing is, she hates me. She can barely stand the sight of me.”
“But why?”
“Hell if I know. It’s always been that way. But now she’s living with me. I’m at wit’s end. I spend every minute of my working day worrying that when I get back to the house she’ll have run away. She’s always spoiling for a fight, too. I need someone to watch her. I hope this someone might get past her granite wall. At this point I don’t much care if she ever stops hating me, but I’d be a whole helluva lot happier if I knew someone was keeping her safe. So this isn’t going to be an easy job.”
She nodded, clearly listening and absorbing. At least she didn’t look quite so close to tears.
“So there you have it. An impossible job, an incorrigible kid and a desperate father. You get room and board and lousy pay for the package. Wanna run away now?”
She lifted her hands from her lap, pushed the pie with melting ice cream to the side and folded them together tightly. Slender, delicate fingers, well-manicured. Oh, yeah, he could smell the money. Whatever the outcome, his curiosity became overwhelming.
“Your turn,” he said.
She nodded. He tried to wait patiently and filled his mouth with more pie and ice cream to ensure he didn’t speak and push her into flight. Even if this came to naught, he wanted to hear the story. It wasn’t often anymore that he got to hear a new one. All the stories in these parts had been coming his way for years. An awful lot were reruns just to make conversation.
“I ran away from home,” she said finally.
He stiffened. This woman embodied the thing he most feared about Angie. Maybe he should stop
