And her one and only past lover.
It was little wonder the two were so inexplicably intertwined in her memory. Indeed, when Josef turned his back on her, so had her parents. Having done everything but legally disinherit her, they were under the impression that withholding their financial support would work even better than withholding their approval had over the years. Heather's decision to abandon her musical career and pursue a teaching degree hinged on being able to make enough money in the coming year to put herself through school on her own. It was imperative that she separate her personal feelings from her better judgment.
For the first time in her life Heather was going to have to count every penny. Luckily, Toby Danforth was a generous man. Whether warning lights were going off in her head like some spectacular Fourth of July fireworks display was of little consequence in the greater scheme of things. Whatever her instincts were telling her, Heather simply could not afford to walk away from this job.
"When would you like me to start?" she asked with a determined smile fixed on her lips.
"As soon as you possibly can."
Toby gestured apologetically around him. Though messy, the room was not so dirty or cluttered as to be impassable.
"I don't know if the agency told you, but my housekeeper retired two weeks ago due to serious health issues. To be quite honest, I'm in a real bind. A ranch doesn't run itself, and taking care of Dylan myself for the past couple of weeks has put me so far behind that I'm not sure I'll ever be able to catch up."
He looked so overwhelmed by his circumstances, so remarkably vulnerable and strong all at the same time, that Heather couldn't help but feel the stirrings of empathy. Not to mention the fact that she could no more turn her back on his cute little boy than she could walk away from a stranger bleeding on the street. She understood how difficult it must be for a proud man like Toby to ask for her help. The woman from the employment agency informed her in a conspiratorial whisper that the child refused to speak since his mother had walked away from them both. Heather wasn't sure if it was possible for three wounded hearts to be healed under the same roof, but she had little recourse but to trust in the infinite possibilities of tomorrow.
"My bags are in the trunk of my car. If you'd be so kind as to show me to my room, I'd like to get settled in and start right away."
The relief written upon Toby's face was so genuine that it made Heather grow prickly all over. She hoped in his exuberance that he didn't attempt to pick her up like he had Dylan and swing her around in the air. She was already feeling far too lightheaded to think straight. Toby's next statement did nothing to lessen that feeling.
"If you don't have a couple of nice dresses packed, we can pick some up in town over the weekend. I'm planning on taking Dylan to a family reunion of sorts in the next couple of days, and I'd really like you to come along."
Heather shook her head as if to rid it of cobwebs. Not the typical slow-moving rancher who drove his pickup down the road at a leisurely pace, Toby Danforth moved fast. Goodness, it was hard to process everything happening at once. She had been fired, rehired and invited to a family gathering all in the course of fifteen minutes.
"That won't be necessary," she said, struggling to overcome her innate shyness around large groups of people she didn't know. "While somewhat limited, my wardrobe should be adequate for any occasion. I don't suppose it should be too hard to get myself and Dylan ready for a little family get-together."
As long as it's no farther than the next county … and it doesn't involve getting on a plane, she silently amended. Her fear of flying had been the bane of a childhood dependent upon traveling long distances to perform across the country. Whenever possible, Heather made alternate arrangements involving buses or trains.
The tension in Toby's face was replaced by a smile as wide as the boundaries of his ranch. It was the kind of smile that made Heather want to attribute the accompanying flutters in her stomach to nothing more than first-day-on-the-job jitters. Certainly not to a sharp sense of feminine awareness making her ache deep inside.
"I'm glad to hear it," Toby said. "I'd suggest you pack light clothes for the trip. My sister says the weather in Savannah is unseasonably warm for this time of year. Did I mention we'll be flying out this Monday?"
Heather's mouth fell open in surprise as Dylan clapped his hands in delight.
* * *
Two
« ^ »
There was something so regal in the way the new nanny carried herself, it made Toby feel as if he were working for her instead of the other way around. Of course, it went without saying that much in the way of a superior attitude was forgivable as long as she was kind to Dylan. Youth and inexperience, eyes as gray and unpredictable as gathering storm clouds, a luscious figure and even a pair of tempting lips drawn into a thin, disapproving line when she leaped to the conclusion that he was teasing Dylan with that blasted cookie were all imminently forgivable.
And lamentably unforgettable.
Dylan never took to strangers like he had to Heather. He had always been reticent—often even around his own mother. The fact that Heather happened to be the catalyst for Dylan to utter his very first words since Sheila left was more than enough reason for Toby to set aside any reservations he might have about her. Since dear old Mrs. Cremins recently suffered a heart attack, he was desperate to replace her with someone suitable—someone willing to live in what Sheila had dubbed one of the most desolate spots in the entire world. Based on his ex-wife's decision to abandon country life and her family altogether, Toby seriously doubted whether he could keep such a beautiful, young woman like Heather around for long. He hoped Dylan didn't get too attached to her before she, like his mother, found her wings and left them to pursue a more exciting life.
Personally, Toby loved the isolation and stark beauty of the Double D Ranch. It was, in fact, the culmination of a lifelong dream to break away from his politically connected and sometimes dysfunctional family to stake out a life for himself and his son. It was a dream based on the American ideal of pride in owning something built with one's own hands from the ground up. The Danforths had roots so deep in the soil of the Old South that Toby's decision to relocate to Wyoming had initially been perceived by some of his relatives as an affront to the glorious memory of the Confederacy itself. Indeed, Toby's choice to make something of himself in a way completely separate from his family's influence was the equivalent of the Emancipation Proclamation that set an entire nation free.
Nestled against the base of the magnificent Snowy Range, the Double D was Toby's idea of heaven on earth. It was his belief that a man could think clearly beneath clear, cloudless Wyoming skies that went on forever. Such country had a way of putting technology and politics in their proper place. They challenged a person to rely on his wits and the goodwill of neighbors who still put their stock in a hard day's work rather than a volatile marketplace run by crooks and thieves—who somehow managed to protect their mansions while their small, unsavvy stockholders were forced to declare bankruptcy.
It was hard to explain why Toby had felt so strangled by the gracious living of Southern gentry. It wasn't that he didn't love his family, but rather that he'd somehow felt like a changeling growing up in his own home. Ever since he'd fallen in love with his first cowboy movie as a little boy, Toby knew what kind of life he was cut out for. And it wasn't one that involved luxurious golf courses and hoity-toity social events requiring black ties invented to choke the life out of a man so some Southern belle could drag him around by the end of it wherever she had a mind to go.
As eager as Toby had been to leave Savannah four years ago, he nevertheless felt it important to keep his family ties strong—if only for Dylan's sake. Devoted to his own father, Toby would do anything that Harold Danforth asked of him—including returning home to show support for an uncle of whom he'd never been overly fond and enduring the kind of stuffy formal affair that he personally deplored. According to his father, Abraham Danforth was on the
verge of making a political bid for the Senate. At Uncle Abe's behest, Toby's father had called his own children together for a Fourth of July extravaganza at Crofthaven, the family mansion overlooking Savannah's harbor. The mansion had been in the Danforth family for over a century, and though it held no special, warm memories for Toby or any of his cousins as far as he knew, it was the perfect spot for an impromptu family reunion. Not to mention a fabulous backdrop to launch the political campaign of a man, who in Toby's opinion was more devoted to promoting himself than raising his own family.
Toby felt no jealousy for the wealthier side of the family. When his wife died years earlier, Abraham Danforth had promptly rid himself of his children by sending them off to exclusive boarding schools. Busy making a name for himself, Abe farmed them out over school breaks as well. Consequently, Toby's cousins spent many of their holidays and summers at his own childhood home making happy memories, and eventually coming to regard Harold as a surrogate father in place of the one who had so little time for them.
Toby didn't mind sharing his father with the cousins who were like brothers and sisters to him. Kind and loving, Harold Danforth was the kind of man that little boys wanted to grow up to be like and little girls wanted to marry. It was just one of the reasons that Toby was so anxious to have his son get to know his grandfather better. He hoped exposing Dylan to his extended family would encourage the boy to express himself more openly.
Heaven knows, whenever the Danforths got together there was plenty of talking and laughing and debating everything from the latest in politics to varying points of view in recalling their youthful antics. Toby knew his family would do everything in their power to make Dylan feel at home and bring him out of his shell. Bringing Heather along would give the child an anchor—and unfortunately free Toby up for any number of his sister's ill-fated matchmaking attempts…
Despite his repeated protests that he had little interest in dating again, let alone getting remarried, there was no doubt in his mind that Imogene would have every available belle lined up for his perusal when he arrived in Savannah. As much as Toby appreciated the fact that she had his happiness in mind, he wished his family would accept his decision to raise his son as he saw fit—as a determined single father who didn't need the added pressure of belonging to one of the most influential families in Georgia.
As much as he hated to spring this trip on Heather so soon, Toby hoped the extravagant salary he was paying would help ease any misgivings she might have about accompanying him. Her dismayed reaction to his invitation made him wonder if she had an aversion to flying—or just to spending time with him. Using Sheila as a gauge, it would appear he had that effect upon women in general.
Heather Burroughs certainly wasn't the grandmotherly type with whom he had been hoping to replace Mrs. Cremins. Nor the mousy sort of shy musician that made her presence easy to overlook. A man could mentally forswear the opposite sex all he wanted, but unless his body cooperated, there was little chance he could convince himself, let alone someone as tenacious as his sister Genie.
Something jumped in his belly at the mere memory of Heather whirling into his living room like a tiny tornado. In a pair of tennis shoes and worn jeans, with her blond hair falling loosely about her shoulders, she'd looked more like a popular rock-and-roll diva intent on smashing a guitar over his head than the classical pianist he'd been led to believe was refined and aloof by nature. The fire he'd seen in those smoky-gray eyes left him wondering if the right man might be able to spark an even hotter blaze behind that wall of ice.
Toby didn't like the direction his thoughts were taking. This sparsely populated region of the West was not known for its liberal attitude, and Toby didn't like the idea of compromising this pretty young woman by placing her in a situation that might cause loose tongues to wag. Living under the same roof with a single man in such a remote area couldn't be good for a lady's reputation. Nor for his own standing in a community he claimed by choice as his own.
Nor for a man's libido, for that matter.
Especially a man who was so lonesome at night that he preferred falling asleep rocking his son than facing the demons that tormented his own empty bedroom.
The immediate necessity of hiring somebody to replace Mrs. Cremins overshadowed Toby's apprehension. The possibility that Heather might get his son to speak again gave him a sense of hope that had been missing in his life since Sheila walked out. While it was probably just coincidental that Dylan chose to speak when Heather arrived, Toby couldn't overlook the possibility that she was in fact the catalyst for that momentous event. He was willing to cater to Heather's needs if she proved to be a miracle worker.
Only time and patience would tell.
* * *
"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Dylan."
Heather extended her hand to the little boy who was looking up at her with a skeptical expression on his face. His father had left them alone to take care of pressing ranch business. Clearly hesitant to leave Dylan with a stranger, Toby promised to be back in time for dinner, one Heather expected she would have to rustle up after getting herself settled. The sound of the front door closing behind him echoed through the house.
"You can call me Heather," she told the boy, "or anything else you'd like."
She took his dimpled hand into her own and gave it a grown-up shake. When the woman at the employment agency told her that Dylan was developmentally delayed, she had made it sound as if the child was mentally handicapped. After meeting Dylan herself, Heather was convinced that there was nothing at all wrong with his mind. Behind those bright-blue eyes, she could see the cogs of his brain spinning, sizing her up.
"What are you thinking?" she said, touching a finger to his forehead.
A clever little monkey, Dylan mimicked the gesture by tapping softly on Heather's brow.
"Me?" she said, supplying the words for him. "Oh, I'm thinking that since you and I are so very much alike, the two of us are going to get along famously."
Heather didn't let the serious expression on his face deter her from holding forth on the subject. Dylan's special needs had drawn her to this job, rather than deterred her from it. Having made the decision to put her musical training behind her and embark upon a new career in the field of education, she was eager to test herself in a real-life situation. That way, if her father and mother were right and she truly was making "the biggest mistake of her life," she wouldn't have wasted any time and money at the university. Heather certainly hoped no professor would ask her to subscribe to the kind of degrading motivational theory that Dylan's speech therapist sold his father. Heather believed that such techniques were as counterproductive as the blistering lectures her teachers gave their pupils for "their own good."
Threatening to drown her, memories of Heather's own difficult childhood came flooding back. A musically gifted youngster, her early years were filled with unbalanced adult expectations and a grueling practice schedule interspersed with high-stakes performances that inevitably left her feeling just short of ever being good enough. Valued more for the prestige and potential income she would someday generate for her own ambitious parents rather than as an individual with a will of her own, Heather was shuffled off to an exclusive music conservatory at the tender age of seven. Hundreds of miles away from home, she grew up under constant pressure with little consideration given to her emotional wellbeing. By the age of seventeen, she was a weary veteran of the recital circuit and talent shows…
"Again…" Mr. Marion demanded over a pair of owlish glasses that intensified his disapproving scowl. "And don't bother sniffling like some urchin who stumbled in here off the street. Your parents are paying a hefty sum for me to discipline you. Let me assure you, tears are wasted on me. You will play that piece again until it is right. Until it is perfect…"
Heather preferred beginning her training with a challenging student who knew his own mind rather than a compliant one who accepted the scripts other people had written for him without so much a
s questioning their motives. Like she herself had done until so very recently. She had firsthand knowledge of just how much easier it was to beat the vitality out of a pup than to put it back in once its spirit was broken.
"Don't worry, Dylan. I won't try to make you talk if you don't want to," she said with a gentle smile, assuring him that it would be far easier learning the rudiments of housekeeping and cooking without a little chatterbox demanding all her attention.
"For what it's worth, I'm not much of a talker myself. That's one thing we have in common. You know, I wasn't much older than you when I was separated from my parents. Whenever I was lonely, I used to let music do my talking for me."
At that, Dylan cocked his head showing the first real sign of interest in what she had to say. He gestured toward the piano in the corner of the room.
"Would you like to play a song for me?" Heather asked.
He responded by bouncing a wooden block off the hardwood floor where he had halfheartedly stacked them. Heather bent down to pick it up and aimed it at the base of his crooked-looking chimney. Not even the tiniest hint of a smile toyed with Dylan's lips as the structure toppled and blocks scattered in all directions.
"So much for the Learning Tower of Pisa," she said, amusing herself with word play that was lost upon her charge.
Sighing, she rose to her feet and approached the grand piano with an air of confidence that belied her true feelings. Having come to associate music with her broken heart, it took an effort to lift the lid from the keys and drag a hand absently along the keyboard. Just as Dylan was drawn to that melodic sound in spite of himself, Heather couldn't help appreciating the quality of the instrument at her fingertips. She didn't know whether Tobias Danforth was a musician himself, but the man obviously placed a high value on providing his son with the best money could buy.
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