what she needed.
The part that chafed at Jon was that Big E had inconvenienced both him and Katie in the process. He was going to have to track down his grandfather. And in the meantime, if Big E and Zoe didn’t show up tonight, he would be forced to head over there and figure out what needed to be done so that Katie could keep things running smoothly.
Sofie was peering out the window above the sink. “Wait... Is that a car coming up the drive?”
Jon joined her. The vehicle drew closer and he could see it wasn’t a rig belonging to anyone he knew.
The nanny.
A lightness unfurled inside his chest, which had felt unbearably heavy for so long it was like he had an anvil for a heart. Maybe his girls could finally become the kids he knew they had the potential to be, have the life they deserved. Or as much of one as he could give them. What they deserved was a mom, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that.
He warned himself not to pin too much hope here. But that felt a lot like trying to push raindrops back into a storm cloud. And besides, he wouldn’t want to. He knew it was far from poetic, but he and the girls were like the parched ground after a long drought, eager and hungry to soak up every bit of life-giving water they could get. And this nanny... This nanny was the rain.
* * *
LYDIA CLIMBED OUT of the SUV and took in the sprawling, pale gray, white-trimmed home before her. Not overly large, but certainly not small, and everything looked neat and tidy and...new. Huh.
For some reason, she’d been expecting one of those ancient two-story farmhouses with half-finished projects and rusty tools scattered around outside. Inside there’d be faded, gingham curtains, noisy pipes and lots of tiny rooms with creaky floors. Basically, her nana’s little farm in upstate New York—the home Lydia had shared with her for the only two truly good years of her childhood.
She had to admit the JB Bar Ranch was storybook pretty with its neatly painted outbuildings in a matching shade of gray and two large, brick-red barns. Some smaller, greener tufts of grass sprouted here and there in the vast expanse of lawn, promising a lush green mantle once spring pushed into early summer. Reddish brown cows dotted the landscape beyond the barn.
Inhaling deeply, she attempted to smooth her crumpled wool skirt and silk shirt. She stared down at her expensive, impractical faux-leather boots and wished she’d had time to purchase suitable clothing for her stint as a rancher’s nanny.
“Not that I know what a rancher’s nanny wears,” she muttered wryly. She didn’t know anything about ranching. Although, aside from the basics of sewing and cooking, she hadn’t known much about waitressing, hair shampooing, baking, catering, dog-sitting, office assisting, or the myriad of other jobs she’d tackled over the years, either.
Besides, she’d gladly left most of her possessions behind. She didn’t want anything Clive had purchased for her with his dirty money, especially that engagement ring.
Shaking her head, she looked around to try and get her bearings and gather her shredded confidence. A lack of options was an incredible motivator and soon had her navigating the neatly cobbled walkway and scaling the steps of the porch.
A surge of nervous tension welled inside of her as she lifted a hand. The door opened before she could knock to reveal a handsome, serious-faced man and a pretty, smiling woman whose eager expression made Lydia think she was going to angle in for a hug. Then she swung open the screen door and Lydia felt her brain stall.
“Um... Hi, I’m...sorry. My name is Lydia...Newbury. I think I must have the wrong place? I’m looking for Jonathon Blackwell of the JB Bar Ranch?”
Jonathon Blackwell was supposed to be a single dad, not one half of an expecting couple. Had there been some sort of a mix-up?
“No, no, you’re not at the wrong place.” At the woman’s encouraging wave, Lydia stepped inside. “Please, come in. I’m Sofie, neighbor and friend.” Her honey-blond hair was neatly piled high up on her head and her warm brown eyes matched the kindness in her tone. “It’s wonderful to meet you. We’ve been expecting you. Did you have trouble finding the place?”
“It’s wonderful to be here finally. I’m sorry I’m late. I did have a little trouble finding the place, which would have been a lot of trouble if Deputy Tompkin hadn’t helped me out.”
Sofie smiled. “Oh, good. Scooter’s great.”
“Even after that I still wasn’t sure—”
“Why is that?” the man interrupted, his scowl morphing into more of a glare.
He’d moved a few steps back and now stood in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Lydia could see gleaming silver appliances behind him. Country music drifted softly from that direction. Tall and nicely muscled, he filled the doorway where he leaned against the wood frame. He slipped a hand into the back pocket of his dingy, faded jeans. All that was missing was a cowboy hat to cover his attractively mussed hair and a piece of straw poking from between his chiseled lips. Tension vibrated off him like an overtuned guitar string. A couple of six-shooters hanging from those lean hips and he could walk right onto to a movie set about a gritty, bitter cowboy. He definitely didn’t match up to the nice-guy impression she’d gleaned from Scooter.
Forcing herself to make eye contact confirmed her assumption—he didn’t like what he saw. She wondered if he knew how much his steely gray gaze gave away.
“Why is what?” she asked, forcing a friendly smile. Whatever his first impression had told him, it wasn’t good. Lydia needed to change his mind.
His next words were hard-edged, like it tried his patience to clarify his question. “Why did you think you had the wrong ranch?”
“Um, well...” Lydia tried to think of a way to condense her reasons. Because a pregnant woman opened the door and I thought you were a single dad, and you’re glaring at me, and I didn’t expect my new employer to be a grouch who disliked me on sight.
Sofie blinked wide brown eyes. “That doesn’t matter, does it, Jon? She’s here now.”
The little shake of his head was almost imperceptible. In a flat tone he conceded, “I suppose not.” He stuck out a hand. “Jonathon Blackwell. This is the JB Bar Ranch.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Blackwell.” Lydia offered her hand. He gave it a firm squeeze and then released it like they were playing a game of hot potato. His stern gaze skimmed over her and lingered on her boots before he glanced away.
A black-and-white dog sidled up to her, tail wagging.
“Hello, gorgeous.” Crouching, she held out a hand. The dog came closer and laid his muzzle on her thigh. Lydia relaxed a little and stroked his silky ears. At least the dog liked her. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing?”
“This is Trout,” Sofie said, beaming.
Blackwell loomed, his face a grim mask.
“How was your drive?” Sofie asked.
“Good. Stunningly beautiful. I’ve never seen this part of the country. Or much of rural America at all, unfortunately. Not since I was a kid, anyway.”
“Oh, but I thought you had... Where
