The Rancher's Twins. Carol Ross
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customer-service smile.
“Did you break down?”
“No, Officer. Thankfully, I did not.”
“Then is there a reason your car is sitting here on the side of the road?”
“An embarrassing one.” Shrugging a shoulder, she flashed him a cringe-smile. “I think I might be lost. I’m on my way to a ranch where I’ve been hired for a job.”
His mouth pulled down into a frown. His name tag read Deputy Tompkin.
“Not the Blackwell Guest Ranch, I hope? They don’t open for another month or so.”
Blackwell Guest Ranch? That couldn’t be a coincidence. “Maybe. I don’t know... I thought I was looking for Jonathon Blackwell of the JB Bar Ranch.”
“Oh! Of course.” He did the finger-snap-point as his face erupted with a smile. “You’re the new nanny. Oh, man, this is great.” Sticking out a hand, he said, “Deputy Scooter Tompkin. Pleased to meet you.”
Lydia felt a rush of relief. “Lydia,” she said, not quite able to bring herself to say her new last name. Shaking his hand, she added, “It’s wonderful to meet you, Deputy.”
“I can’t wait to tell the guys I met you. Jon Blackwell is a friend of mine. And I can assure you, he is going to be one happy camper to see you arrive. He’s got his hands full, that’s for sure. My sister babysat for him for a spell. A real short one.” He shook his head. “He’s certainly in need of a professional.”
Lydia felt a niggle of concern. She knew Jonathon Blackwell had a fourteen-year-old daughter. As a single dad, she’d assumed he would need more of a shuttle service than a babysitter. She imagined days of ferrying her charge to school and various lessons and activities, providing healthy meals and snacks, and asking the requisite questions about homework completion. At least, that’s what her nannies had done. Back when she’d had them, before her parents’ divorce. The idea of a troubled teen didn’t scare her, though. Having been one, coupled with her years of volunteering at Hatch House Group Home for Teens, meant she was fluent in troubled teen.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence. I’m pretty excited about it myself. If I can figure out how to get there.”
“You’re real close and it’s easy to find. Take the next exit ahead. Follow the signs for Falcon Creek until you come to a four-way stop, where you want to go straight ahead, not into Falcon Creek. After a few miles you’ll cross a bridge. Take a right—don’t take the spur that heads east. A ways after that, there’ll be a fork. You’re going to want to go straight, but don’t. Stay right and Old Tractor Road will be off to your left. Then you’ll see the sign that says JB Bar Ranch.”
“Um, okay, can you let me grab a pen and then start over at spurs and forks?”
He chuckled. “Tell you what, follow me, and I’ll take you right to the driveway.”
“Really?” Was this guy for real? “Deputy Tompkin, I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate that.” Lydia gave him a grateful smile, one she felt to the depths of her toes.
“Call me Scooter.”
“Wow. Okay, thank you, Scooter. You’re a lifesaver. I will find a way to repay this kindness.”
“Ah, it’s no problem. I’d do anything to help Jon.” Then he tipped his hat and said, “Welcome to Falcon Creek, Ms. Lydia.”
“IT’S OFFICIAL, I’M TERRIFIED of our unborn child. I know Jon’s twins are only five, but because there are two of them it’s like you can double the devious factor. No, not double—quadruple.”
Sofie was speaking to her husband, Zach, in that hushed tone people use when they’re all worked up and think they’re being quiet, when in fact the opposite is true. Jon could hear every word from where he sat on the long antique church pew that stretched nearly the length of one wall in the mudroom, the rectangular entryway adjacent to his kitchen. Since his foreman, Tom, had fixed the cattle guard, Jon had been able to medicate the calf and check on the pregnant cows and heifers. With the weather holding, he and Tom decided the generator could wait.
The opposite wall was lined with a shoe rack, two boot dryers and a series of pegs and hooks for various layers of outdoor clothing necessary when working daily in the elements of Montana—rain gear, wool jackets, parkas, hats, gloves and the like. The other end of the narrow room led to a half bath, while taking a left brought you into the kitchen.
As always, Trout sat patiently on the thick rug waiting for Jon to towel off his muddy paws and belly. Jon had heard the water running when he entered. That, mingled with the soft music from the satellite radio, the one extravagance he allowed himself, explained why Sofie and Zach hadn’t heard him yet.
He tensed at Sofie’s comments even though he knew what she said was true. His girls were out of control—“holy living terrors” their last babysitter had called them. She’d lasted three days. He did his best to tamp down the despair eating away at him like a slow-moving but persistent acid. Mercifully, some of that feeling would be alleviated today.
The sound of Zach’s chuckle made Jon smile. He removed his boots, not feeling even remotely guilty for listening in on his best friend’s conversation with his wife.
Zach said, “They remind me of Brenna and Tess. Trust me, Sofie. They’re normal. They’re growing up without a woman’s influence and thousands of acres of ranch land as their playground. They’re a little rough around the edges is all. Our kids probably will be, too. This is good practice for you.”
Even if Zach didn’t entirely mean it, Jon loved him for saying it. Brenna and Tess were Zach’s younger sisters. Not twins, but at only thirteen months apart, they might as well have been. Jon would be thrilled if his girls grew up to be like the Carnes sisters.
Sofie, on the other hand, had grown up in Seattle. Despite the fact that she seemed to be settling in well with Zach, she didn’t get it. Not really. Not in the way that someone who grew up on a ranch did. He said a silent thank-you that he didn’t have to worry about that with his new nanny.
She went on, “Oh, they’re adorable, don’t get me wrong. And they can be sweet, but so can grizzly bear cubs. That’s the problem. Cute and out of control is a dangerous combination. I found Gen in the small pasture with the cows and newborns this afternoon. Abby was literally climbing through the fence to join her when I caught up with them. All this, after I expressly forbade them from going anywhere near there. I’m getting too pregnant to keep up with them.”
“Sofie, honey, they’re fine, though, right? Nothing happened.”
“Okay, next time Jon is in a bind you’re going to watch them. It will be good practice for you. You’ll see. If one of the cows would have seen Gen as a threat...” Her voice trailed off. “I don’t even want to think about what could have happened. And the scary question is, what were they planning to do once they both got in there? Gen had a rope.”
Jon stepped into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Sofie. There won’t be any more binds, or there shouldn’t be, anyway. Not with a real nanny on the job.” The conversation illuminated why Jon had chosen this particular nanny agency. He’d been able to request specific criteria regarding his new employee. They were sending him a nanny with ranching experience.
He looked around. “Speaking of, I’m assuming she’s not here yet?”
“Nope. Hasn’t shown.” In a softer tone, she asked, “You’re sure she’s coming?”
“What, you think I’ve been blacklisted? Like there’s some sort of club or network where nannies and babysitters go to talk about their bad experiences? Stay away from those Blackwell cubs. They look cute but they’re nothing but trouble.”
Zach