The Rancher Next Door (7 page)

Chapter Seven

T
hree days. Caley had only worked as Ava’s nanny for three days, and already she’d intermittently wanted to strangle and—if she was painfully honest—kiss the girl’s father.

Neither was the smartest of options.

Across the dining room table, Ava hunched over her homework, mumbling definitions under her breath and occasionally scrawling something in a notebook. Caley folded another bath towel and added it to the growing stack, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the sight of Brady through the kitchen window, strolling in and out of the barn. She had no clue how one girl and one man could go through so much laundry, but somehow she’d folded two loads of towels alone in the three days she’d been there.

Too bad she couldn’t roll one up and smack Brady with it.

He had yet to speak to her since the incident with Spitfire yesterday, staying out past dinnertime to repair the fence, and then passing through the house with his head down and offering only curt sentences to Ava before heading for the shower. She’d arrived at the house just in time for Ava to ride the bus home from school that afternoon, and had yet to see him up close. Either he was majorly busy undoing Spitfire’s damage, or he was avoiding her.

And if it was the latter, it was only because he knew she’d been right, and he couldn’t admit it.

“What’s the definition for the word
aplomb?
” Ava scratched her head with her pencil, messing up her ponytail. “I’ve got to match them up and I don’t have a clue.”

“Let me think. English was never my best subject. I was more of a math girl growing up.” Caley slipped behind Ava’s chair and took out the hair band, smoothing the top of her hair flat before resecuring it. “
Aplomb.
I think it means bravery.”

Ava read the choices on her sheet, then pointed to one in the far column. “This is it, then. Self-confidence or assurance?”

“Bingo.” Caley slapped her a high five and then returned to the towels, this time sitting down and curling her bare feet up under her. “Good job.”

“Too bad I don’t have to use it in a sentence.” Ava lowered her voice as if reading a headline. “Young girl’s nanny shows major aplomb when rounding up a wild bull.”

Caley laughed as she straightened the teetering pile of washcloths. “That’d get you an A for sure.” Too bad Brady wouldn’t think so. Of all the words he’d use to describe Caley, she felt pretty certain that
aplomb
wouldn’t be on the list.

Of course, she had a few choice words for him as well, so maybe that was fair.

But nothing was fair about him shutting her out, ignoring what they’d experienced yesterday. Right or wrong, they’d lived through an adventure, and she thought they’d connected in those charged moments in her truck. Was he going to pretend it hadn’t happened? Well, she could do that, too. Denial was her specialty.

She just needed to know what the rules were, so her stomach could quit flipping in circles every time she glimpsed him outside the big bay windows.

“Is supper almost ready?” Ava set down her pencil and pressed her hand against her stomach. “My tummy’s growling.”

The timer dinged from the other side of kitchen in response.

“I’d say that’s a yes.” She shooed Ava off to go wash her hands in the bathroom, and hurried to peer inside the oven. The casserole she’d made for their supper looked done—maybe a little too done. She grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the large dish out to check its crispness just as Brady opened the back door.

He stomped his boots on the braided rug in the entryway, but Caley refused to look at him or acknowledge he’d come inside. Two could play whatever immature game he’d been playing, and she’d play to win. He’d made it clear he wanted her
serving
them, not actually participating in their lives. Fine with her. She set the casserole on the stove top—it would do, well-done or not—and shut the oven door, pulling off the mitt, and grabbed a serving spoon.

“Smells good.”

His deep voice filled the kitchen and sent unwanted shivers down her spine. She ignored him and the way his boots thudded toward her as he crossed the room and began to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. She dipped the spoon into the chicken and rice, turned the burner off under the pot of green beans and started pulling plates from the cabinet by the sink, uncannily aware of every move he made.

The water shut off. “Let me help.”

Oh,
now
he was Mr. Nice Guy. His damp hands interrupted hers reaching for the forks in the silverware drawer, and she jerked back, refusing to answer. She grabbed the knives instead and stacked them on the plates, then tore several paper towels from the roll on the counter and carried the lot of it to the table.

“Caley?”

She whirled around, not expecting him to be directly behind her, and bumped into his hard chest, a solid mound of muscle. Their cozy, unexpected moment together in the truck flashed through her mind and she quickly started to back away, unwilling to tease herself with the memory another second. But he grabbed her arms and held her in place. “Will you be still? I need to tell you something.”

Oh, she was sure he had plenty more lectures up his sleeve about danger and safety and obeying the rules to the detriment of others. But she wasn’t paid to listen to them.

She tugged free, and he let her go, despite the pleading in his eyes. “I don’t think you do.” She began clearing Ava’s homework from the table, wishing she could just toss the casserole on the table and bail. But she wouldn’t leave without giving Ava a hug goodbye, and the girl still hadn’t returned from the bathroom. She met Brady’s eyes briefly as she crossed the kitchen to get the casserole. “You’ve said plenty already, trust me.” And in other ways, not nearly enough.

She grabbed the hot pan just as she realized she hadn’t put the oven mitt back on. Heat scorched her fingers, and she dropped the dish by reflex. The glass shattered to the floor, sending a tidal wave of overcooked chicken and rice across the tiles—and around her bare feet.

“Don’t move!” Brady jumped to her side, glass crunching under his boots, and scooped her up in his arms. The aroma of horse and hay and lemon soap wafted through her shock, drawing her in. She clutched the front of his work shirt in her uninjured hand, not caring about the dust and tiny white horsehairs that covered the material, and held on tight as he carried her to the kitchen table.

He deposited her on top of it, not appearing to care as a tower of her carefully folded towels toppled off and landed on the floor. He rushed to the freezer and returned with a bag of frozen peas. If she looked at the undoing of her hard work on the floor—either in fabric form or rice form—she’d cry. So she just looked helplessly into his eyes. They appeared compassionate. Concerned.

Big mistake.

Tears formed anyway, and she clutched the bag of peas to her chest, the cold seeping through her shirt and distracting her from the pain in her fingers. She wished Brady would just go back to ignoring her. Arguing and having a stubborn match was a whole lot easier to deal with than this nice guy before her. This hero.

Who apparently didn’t think enough of her to trust her opinions or advice. And why should he? She couldn’t even bake cookies or get supper on the table without catastrophe.

Pity parties weren’t normally her style, but this one was settling in and getting comfortable.

She fought the urge to break down completely, closing her eyes as Brady wiped a lingering tear from her cheek. “Does it hurt that bad?”

Yes, but in more ways than he realized. Still, at least he thought her pain was from the burn and not the totally uncharacteristic flurry of emotions fluttering through her heart. When was the last time she’d even been on a date? Had it been so long that her heart was desperately reaching out for company? Any company?

No. It was Brady. She’d been drawn to him from the moment he first crossed their dividing property line and shook her hand with his work-worn one.

The one that still lingered by her cheek.

She leaned away from his touch and removed the bag of peas to study her red fingers. “I’ll be all right. It’s just a first-degree burn.”

Brady gingerly took her hand, as if to determine her diagnosis himself. “I think you’re right.”

Of course she was. She was a firefighter and a certified EMT. Why couldn’t she be attracted to a man who had more in common with her? One who wasn’t grounded to this particular piece of earth like a thirty-year-old oak? One who didn’t raise his own child the way her father had raised her? Stifled. Cared for, but ignored in the ways that mattered most to a girl.

One who actually took her opinions and advice seriously and treated her as an equal.

On closer inspection, she really had no reason to feel the way she did about Brady and all of the above reasons
not
to.

But try telling that to the can-can dancers kicking across her stomach.

“I was trying to tell you a minute ago that I was sorry. You were right about Spitfire, and I was being stubborn. I just didn’t want you or Ava to get hurt.” Brady tucked the bag of peas back over her burn, glancing up to make eye contact.

Sorry. He was apologizing? Maybe there were more reasons to feel for Brady than she’d thought. When was the last time a man had ever apologized to her? In her field, it didn’t happen often. The firemen she’d worked with over the years were mostly good men, but certainly gave new definition to the term
macho.
The most she’d ever gotten was a grunt of acknowledgment for being right.

But Brady was saying the words. And, from the look in his eyes, meaning them.

“But then you decided to throw my supper on the floor, so I guess we’re even.” He winked, and her heart dipped into her toes.

“Thank you.” She licked her dry lips, wishing she had the words to express how much his apology really meant to her. But opening her heart to that degree wouldn’t be helpful for either of them. Best to keep it light. “And, well, I’m sorry about your dinner.”

Together they stared at the heap of overly crisped food and glass on the floor, and Brady began to laugh. “Would it make things better or worse if I told you I’m a little relieved?”

Caley removed the peas long enough to smack his bicep with the dripping, defrosting bag. “Worse.” She grinned, then shrieked as he swiped the bottom of the bag and wiped the condensation across her cheek. “Cut it out!” Laughing, she reached for revenge, then stopped at the sight of Ava in the doorway.

“What in the world?” Ava braced against the frame, her eyes roving across the casserole, the glass and the pile of towels. They darted between Brady and Caley twice before coming to rest on the melting bag of peas.

Brady took a quick step back from the table, and Caley took her first deep breath since being in his proximity. She offered Ava a sheepish smile. “There was a little mishap with the casserole.”

Ava narrowed her eyes with suspicion—and hope. “Does this mean we’re ordering a pizza?”

“Why not?” Brady took the bag of peas from Caley and tossed it in the sink. “Grab the phone. I’ll get a large with everything.”

Ava scrambled for the phone as Brady grabbed a broom from the pantry and began to sweep the glass.

This was all her fault, and yet she was sitting helpless on the table. Some nanny she was. “Let me get my shoes on and I’ll help.” Caley hopped down from the table, wincing as her thawing finger began to throb with the sudden motion.

“Oh, no. I think you’ve done enough.” Brady tossed her a rogue grin over his shoulder as he swept.

And Caley realized she was in very real danger of getting burned a second time.

* * *

Brady opened the refrigerator door, light puddling on the ground at his bare feet and illuminating a shard of glass he’d missed during cleanup earlier that evening. He plucked it from the floor and tossed it in the trash can, then returned to the box of leftover pizza.

Caley hadn’t stayed for supper, claiming she needed to get home and tend to her fingers. He’d offered to help her do first aid with the burn cream in his bathroom cabinet, but she’d tossed him a funny look and assured him she had everything she needed at home. He knew she’d said before that she was a certified EMT, but that didn’t necessarily mean she kept a bunch of supplies at her house. Oh, well. Of all the things puzzling about Caley, that was the probably the least so.

He picked the remaining slice from the box and bit into it cold, wishing she had stayed for supper. Mary hadn’t ever stayed, but this situation was obviously different.

And that’s why Brady was standing in front of the open fridge at midnight, once again unable to sleep. If he didn’t figure out how he felt about Caley soon, he’d be useless on the ranch. He definitely couldn’t afford to let that happen, yet every time he tried to sleep, her face filled his eyes, her laughter teasing the silence in the recesses of his mind. He knew better than to go for a stroll tonight to clear his head, in case he ran into her again on her roof. Another close encounter under the stars and he’d be toast.

Would it be terrible if he asked her out?

The question had taunted him for days, escalating to a pitch he couldn’t ignore after rescuing her this afternoon. Normally he’d forbid himself, since she was an employee of his, but as Max had uncouthly pointed out, that was only temporary.

But Caley seemed to have a feisty side that didn’t match with his lifestyle—and more importantly, the lifestyle he was trying so hard to create for Ava.

Brady shut the fridge and finished his pizza in the dark, staring out the kitchen window at his moonlit fields. Was he truly ready to date? He hadn’t done more than a casual dinner with a woman since Jessica’s death, and even that had been hard. During the entire meal, his thoughts had been consumed with Ava and the past and what he was missing at the ranch, rather than staying focused on his companion.

But somehow he couldn’t imagine himself being so distracted if he was sitting across from Caley.

Well, he had to do something. No doubt the spark he felt went both ways. He’d recognized it in her touch, seen it in her eyes as they’d huddled in the truck and as he carried her across the kitchen in his arms. She’d say yes.