The Way To A Rancher's Heart. Peggy Moreland
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she repeated and sank back on her elbows with a long-suffering sigh. “Hard to believe it’s only March. I can’t imagine what the temperatures will be by the time summer gets here.”
If the temperatures proved to be anything like the heat currently registering in his body, Jase couldn’t imagine, either.
Aware of the uncomfortable swell in his jeans, he knew he’d best leave while he was still able to walk.
She glanced up as he rose. “Are you going to bed?” she asked in surprise.
“Yeah,” he growled and pivoted quickly, heading for his room.
“Sweet dreams,” she called after him.
Yeah, right, he thought irritably. As if his dreams would be anything but X-rated, an affliction he could trace directly back to the day he’d arrived home and found the new nanny in his house.
Annie knew she had a let-me-kiss-it-and-make-it-better tendency that had gotten her into trouble more than once over the years. But knowing that about herself didn’t stop her from trying to think of ways to resolve the problems she saw building in the Rawley household.
In the week since Jase’s return home, she had watched Tara go from a talkative and spirited young girl to a sullen-faced, headed-for-trouble teenager, who spent more time in her room than she did with her family. While Clay, on the other hand, had metamorphosed from an easygoing, if a bit shy, teenaged boy into a bundle of tightly wound nerves who jumped at the slightest noise, as if he expected a bomb to go off at any minute. And, Rachel, bless her heart, who had tagged Annie’s every step since Annie’s arrival, soaking up every smile sent her way, every bit of praise, had begun to cling to Annie’s legs as if she expected Annie to disappear, leaving her all alone.
Though Annie tried to find another explanation for the sudden changes in the children’s behavior, she could find nothing to attribute them to other than their father’s return, a realization that both saddened and frustrated her.
Not having a family of her own, Annie knew the value of familial relationships and hated to see Jase and his children not taking advantage of all they had to offer each other. But what could she do to wake them up to what all they were missing?
“You’re not God,” she reminded herself as she checked her camera for film. “You’re just the nanny.”
Hoping to find some subjects or scenes to photograph that would take her mind off the Rawleys’ problems, she slipped her camera strap over her head and headed outdoors.
Jase stepped inside the barn, paused a moment to let his eyes adjust to the sudden change in light, then headed straight for his workbench. Finding the tool he needed to adjust the carburetor on his truck, he curled his fingers around it, then paused, listening, when he heard a rustling sound above. He glanced up at the rafters that supported the hayloft, then swore, dropping his head and blinking furiously when dust and bits of hay showered down on his face.
Dragging an arm across his eyes, he rammed the wrench into his back pocket and strode for the ladder to the loft, muttering under his breath, “If that damn skunk is back again…”
He climbed the ladder and poked his head through the narrow opening that led to the loft, glancing around. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he carefully navigated the last few steps, trying to keep his movements as quiet as possible, so as not to frighten the skunk. It would be just his luck to get sprayed by the varmint, he thought irritably.
Tiptoeing, he made his way along the narrow pathway created by the tall stacks of baled hay he’d stored there the previous summer, peering into the shadowed crevices. When he reached the end without finding a sign of the critter, he started back, but stopped when he heard a soft whirring sound.
Frowning, he turned and retraced his steps, then paused, listening again. Sure that the sound had come from behind the last row of hay, he wedged himself into the space between the hay and the barn wall, and edged his way to the end, silently cursing the loft’s oppressive heat that had his shirt sticking to his skin. When he reached the opposite end, he peered out…and nearly choked at the sight that greeted him. Annie lay sprawled on her stomach on the loft floor, her bare feet kicked up in the air, holding a camera before her face.
“What the hell are you doing!”
“Sshh!” she hissed, flapping a warning hand behind her.
Scowling, he stooped to keep from bumping his head on the low rafters and moved to hunker down at her side. He followed the direction of the camera lens to the far corner of the loft where dust motes danced a slow waltz in a slanted beam of sunlight.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured as he met the unblinking scrutiny of a mama cat who lay curled on a busted bale of hay.
Easing down to his hips, he drew up his knees, dropped his forearms over them and watched, enchanted by the squirming mass of kittens that suckled greedily at the mama cat’s swollen teats. The camera continued to click and whir at his ear, recording the event, frame by frame.
A hand grasped his and he glanced up, surprised to discover that Annie had risen. Smiling, she pressed a finger to her lips to silence him, then tugged him to his feet and led him back through the tunnel of hay.
When she reached the loft’s opening, she released his hand to grasp the ladder’s braces and grinned up at him as she started down. “Wasn’t that just the coolest thing you’ve ever seen?”
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