The Rancher Next Door. Betsy Amant St.
Читать онлайн книгу.
Ava tight and grinned, determined not to let the inevitable spoil the moment. “I think you’re catching on.”
* * *
Brady knocked on Caley’s front door, then stepped back while he waited. Scooter pranced at his feet, shamelessly begging for a treat. Caley must have left him outside while they unpacked. From the holes the dog had already dug in the poor excuse for a flowerbed by the porch, that had probably been a good idea.
Loud laughter suddenly rang from inside the house, followed by a blast of country music. Brady frowned and knocked again. Mary would have supper ready any minute, and after the afternoon he had spent on the phone, scrambling to find a temporary babysitter, he was ready to sit, eat—and pray for mercy.
The door swung open, offering a rush of boot-scootin’ lyrics and Ava’s wide white grin. But her face morphed into panic as their eyes locked. “Dad! I was going to come home on time, I promise.” She looked at her wrist, but must have forgotten her watch, because her arm was bare. She rubbed the spot it should have rested and turned pleading eyes to him.
The anxiety in her expression chafed Brady’s heart, and he cleared his throat. He knew they hadn’t been exactly close lately, but was she actually afraid of making him mad over little things now? He would have never given himself a Dad of the Year award, but this realization stung. When had he gotten so bad?
“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.” He plucked a dust bunny off Ava’s shirtsleeve and wiped it on his jeans. “Looks like you’ve been working hard.”
“We both have. It was fun—like a treasure hunt.” Ava’s face lit back up as though he’d plugged it in, and jealousy sparked in his stomach. His daughter had more fun with a near stranger in two hours’ time than she did with him. Though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent two hours in a row doing something with her other than chores—or fussing.
Ava slipped outside, half shutting the door to block the music from within. “And Caley has this really funny way of labeling boxes. You wouldn’t believe—”
Brady interrupted. “Miss Caley. She’s an adult.”
“Yes, sir.” Ava’s shoulders slumped, light extinguished. “I won’t forget again. Sorry.”
“It’s not—” Brady rubbed his fingers down his cheeks, frustration rising inside. He wanted to tell her not to apologize, not to think of him as an ogre, but he couldn’t find the words. So he dropped his hands to his sides and shrugged. “Listen, I’m sure you’ve done a great job for Miss Caley. I just wanted to walk you home, since it’s getting dark now. Supper’s ready.”
Ava nodded, though she still didn’t light up like she had before. Was the thought of going home that disappointing? His throat tightened into a knot. “Let me just tell Caley—I mean, Miss Caley—that I’m leaving.”
Brady stepped over the threshold, following Ava inside the house, and turned the corner of the short entranceway in time to see Caley standing on a dining room chair, dusting the ceiling fan with a feathery contraption on a stick. She swung her hips in time to the music still blaring from what had to be the world’s oldest stereo, perched on the dining table by the kitchen door. Brady couldn’t help the grin sliding across his face, and he leaned against the door frame, content to watch. Maybe supper could wait for some things.
“Miss Caley?” Ava cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled louder. “Miss Caley!”
Caley turned around with a jerk, balancing herself by catching a fan blade in one hand. Her eyes landed on Brady, and she flushed. “Oh, hey.” She grinned, cheeks flaming as Ava ran to turn down the music. “Um, I found the duster.” She wielded it as proof, whatever that thing was. Good thing Mary took care of the cleaning around the ranch house, though Brady had certainly never seen her do that.
He ambled upright and crossed his arms over his chest. “I see you’ve both been busy.” And had probably accomplished a lot more than he had, running into dead end after dead end in the babysitting department. The teens that his church secretary recommended were too young for his comfort level, and the older ladies had too many stipulations and couldn’t conform to his needed schedule. Looked as though he’d be calling an agency next—but what were the odds that residents of a small town like Broken Bend signed up for those organized programs? Would a nanny be willing to commute to town almost every day?
Caley hopped down from the chair, breaking his stressful chain of thought, and Brady mentally kicked himself for not having offered his hand to help her. Everything about Caley seemed so confident and capable, though, that it took him off guard. His wife had definitely been the opposite.
“We’ve gotten a lot done, though it still looks like a wreck.” She grinned. “I’m used to it, though. It always takes making a bigger mess before you get it clean.”
No doubt about that. His life could be a prime example. But he wasn’t interested in sorting through the rubble. He’d done that for years without seeing results—positive ones, anyway. He sat through church these days for Ava’s sake, and Ava’s sake alone. She needed the foundation, but his had long since crumbled.
Brady cleared his throat. “Ava and I need to get home for supper. It’s going to be the last decent one we have for a while.” Oops. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. He must be more tired than he thought.
Ava’s eyes narrowed with suspicion—probably because she knew he couldn’t boil a pot of water to save anyone’s life. “No luck finding me a sitter?”
“Not yet.” He ran a hand over his jaw, the stubble whisking across his palm. “I’m going to have to—”
“What about Caley?” The sparkle in Ava’s eyes burst into a roaring flame of hope as she brought both hands up to her chin in a pleading position. “I mean, Miss Caley.”
“Me?” Caley pulled slightly away from Ava to look at her more directly, overly dramatized shock radiating from her eyes. “Babysit? You?”
Ava’s face fell. “Is it that bad of an idea?”
Yes. Brady opened his mouth to speak the truth, to tell Ava that there was no way Caley needed to come over to their house—his domain—and take care of them. Feed them. Clean up after them.
Invade his territory with her cinnamon scent and uncanny ability to stir feelings long dormant.
“I’m kidding!” Caley laughed and hip-bumped Ava, who bounced off her side, giggling. “I think it’s a perfect idea!” Then she sobered. “As long as your dad thinks so, of course.” As if on cue, both of them linked arms and turned doe eyes on him.
Perfect idea? More like the worst. He needed a kind older woman who was in agreement with his firm rules for Ava—not a hip young woman who acted more like Ava’s older sister than an adult. Ava didn’t need fun right now. She needed structure. Security.
Safety.
So did he. One look at the playful pout turning down Caley’s full lips, and safe was the last thing Brady felt. Something about Caley seemed way too dangerous. Not in an ax-murderer-next-door kind of way, but in a she’s-gonna-weasel-into-your-heart kind of way. He hadn’t thought much about romance since Jessica’s death—who had the time between the frequent guilt trips and running a ranch?—but Caley’s teasing eyes and trim figure coaxed to life embers he’d thought long dead. Being around her any more than necessary seemed incredibly risky.
And he didn’t take risks.
“It’s not just babysitting, Ava. It’s cooking and housekeeping, too.”
Caley shrugged. “I’m still in.”
He started shaking his head, mind racing through the implications of letting Caley that close, until Ava piped up once again. “Dad, who else is there to hire at the last minute? Miss Caley just said today that she needed to find a job soon. This works for everyone!”
It did, didn’t it?