Simple. Then why did she have the unconscious urge to start chewing even though the nearest piece of gum was in the glove compartment of her cab?
Geez, her cab. “Where’s my Chevy?”
“It’s hidden away in the garage near the barn. I sent Jed and one of my part-time hands to pick it up.”
“But no one drives my cab but me,” she blurted out before she could think about how silly it sounded.
“I thought men were the only ones territorial about their cars.”
“I’m not territorial. Not exactly.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, maybe a little, but that cab is all I have.” All I have left of my father.
“I’m sorry,” he said as if he sensed her sudden melancholy. “I should have asked your permission first, but I’m sure Jed didn’t hurt it. If so, we’ll take him out back and have him whipped.” He flashed her that all-too familiar naked-stranger smile, and she couldn’t help but grin.
Great buns and a sense of humor. Lord help her.
“So what does the initial stand for?” she asked as they turned into the driveway and passed the gate where an R had been fashioned in black iron.
“Reata.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He stiffened and shook his head. A strange expression crossed his face and Lucky got the feeling she was prodding old wounds instead of making small talk. “So your father has a thing for the movie Giant?”
He nodded.
“Is it the movie in particular, or the fact that James Dean was in it?”
“Both.” Everything about the way he sat there, fingers gripping the steering wheel, gaze riveted straight ahead, told her to shut up. To mind her own business.
“Any particular reason why he picked a name from that movie and not some other James Dean flick?” she heard herself asking.
“It had... special significance.”
“Oh.” Silence fell around them as he braked to a stop and killed the engine.
“Come on. Jed’s picking up Helen and Merle right now. You’ve got just enough time to meet Bernadette before showtime.”
Lucky climbed from the truck, teetering dangerously when her heel sank an inch or so into the dirt. Tyler caught her a moment before she pitched forward.
“Maybe I could wear my own shoes tonight.”
“Tennis shoes don’t go with the outfit. Don’t stand up any more than necessary and just relax.”
Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on each step. She could do this. For a thousand dollars, for Granny, she could wear the shoes, the hair, the clothes, and do it all without a piece of gum.
“Where’s Dad?” Tyler asked Mabel when they entered the house.
“In his room, but he’s as grumpy as an old mule since I told him about Helen. Threatened to go after her with his shotgun whenever he manages to find it.”
“You have an awfully violent family,” Lucky told him.
Tyler shook his head. “Dad’s just temperamental.” He reached out and trailed a fingertip along Lucky’s cheek. “He wouldn’t have hurt you.”
Her body tingled, and from only the barest touch of his finger. If she ever felt more... A full hand, for instance, an arm locked around her, his lips on hers... She’d be a goner for sure.
As if he’d just realized what he was doing, his hand dropped away. “Hold tight, I’ll be right back,” he said and left.
Lucky closed her eyes and fervently prayed he would be.
“DAD?” Tyler called out as he walked into his father’s bedroom. He came up short in the doorway as he caught sight of Ulysses sitting in his rocking chair, a bowlful of ice cream on the tray in front of him, and a bottle of Maalox in his hand. “Dad!”
The old man’s head snapped around, his bandaged eyes directed at Tyler for a split second before passing him by. He tipped the bottle.
“Put that down!” Tyler reached him in two strides and snatched the bottle out of his hands.
“But I cain’t eat no dadblasted ice cream without syrup.”
“That’s not syrup.”
“Sure it is. Mabel put my syrup here on the left and my stomach medicine on the right. Said to take a spoonful right after dinner so’s the fried potatoes don’t get to me.” He groped for the bottle on his right, his fingers skimming over the handle and the sticky strawberry spout. He touched a fingertip to his lips. “Hell, boy, you know my stomach medicine-tastes just like Mabel’s homemade syrup?”
“That is Mabel’s syrup.”
Ulysses frowned. “Are you telling me I cain’t tell the difference between my stomach medicine and my syrup?”
“Exactly.”
“Hell, boy. I’m blind. I ain’t deaf. Syrup on the left, stomach medicine on the right. I know what I heard.”
“You have to be careful.” It’s a good thing Tyler was here. A damned good thing, otherwise Mabel would be rushing his father to the nearest emergency room to have his stomach pumped, or whatever they did for a Maalox overdose. “Dad,” he said gently, “maybe you heard wrong, or maybe Mabel got her left and right mixed up—”
“Damned straight she did.”
“Either way, you have to take it slow and easy and be careful about what you put in your mouth.” His father could down a bottle of the rat poison Mabel kept in the bottom kitchen cupboard, or take one too many pain pills, or turn his electric blanket on too high and bake himself to death or...a dozen scenarios raced through Tyler’s mind. All bad. He shook away the panic. Nothing so tragic was going to happen. He was here to look out for his dad now and things were going to be A-okay.
“My dadburned eyes.” Ulysses stared moodily at his bowl. “I’ll never see a dadblasted thing ever again.”
Tyler hunkered down beside him. “The bandages will be off tomorrow, and the doctor said there’s a ninety-eight percent chance your vision will be back to normal within a week or two.”
“What about the other two percent? Pretty flimsy success rate if you ask me.” He snorted. “Damn city doctors. Cain’t trust a one of ’em. Just after the insurance money. That fancy-schmancy surgeon’s probably lying on some beach in some foreign country, sipping one of those fruity drinks with the little umbrellas, while I’m sitting here blind, and with a ranch falling apart around me.”
“I’m taking care of the ranch.”
His dad’s frown vanished and a smile eased the lines around his eyes. “And doing a hell of a job, son. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He patted Tyler’s hand, then the smile gave way to another frown. “Now, if that old busybody mother-in-law of yours would keep her nose out of our business, things would settle down just right.” He grabbed his spoon to jab at his ice cream. “But no, she has to come running out here to mess things up.” He shoved a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth and swallowed. “And damn near dinnertime, too.” He waved the spoon at Tyler. “She’ll be sitting at my table, crowding my space. Why, I got just the right amount of elbow room as it is.”
Tyler swallowed. “I think you’re going to have even less.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, it’s like this, Dad.” Tyler launched into a quick explanation of the turn of events and Lucky’s new role as nanny. He ended with an optimistic “It’s just for one night.”
“One night too many,” his dad grumbled. “Forget the fried potatoes. Pass me the Maalox, son. I think I need a shot now.”
WHILE TYLER talked to his dad, Lucky spent fifteen minutes waiting and debating whether to sit or stand. She alternated between both, then the urge hit her. She’d had two more sodas at Earline’s and her kidneys were working overtime.
After a quick bathroom trip, she made her way back down the hallway. Passing the library, she spotted the shattered projector, the pieces still scattered across the hardwood floor.
Before she could stop herself, she walked inside. There was just something about mechanical parts that said come and get me, baby. She preferred car engines, but other things—appliances, TVs, even old movie projector
s—held the same appeal. The challenge. Lucky could fix anything. Almost anything, she thought, spying the pieces. This might prove more difficult.
Not that she had the time to fix the projector, she amended. She wouldn’t be here long enough to really sink her teeth into the project. She was a temporary nanny. A one-night stand.
Ah, well, a girl had to start somewhere.
A quick glance at the clock and she slipped off her shoes, hiked up her skirt and got on her hands and knees. Grabbing a nearby ashtray, she started gathering parts.
Five minutes later, she was ready to call it quits, when she spotted the camera lens. Setting the ashtray aside, she climbed under the desk and reached for it.
“What are you doing?”
Tyler’s voice froze her hand a fraction shy of her goal. Her head shot up, slamming into solid wood, and she screeched.
“Are you all right?” He knelt beside her, so close she backed into him when she tried to scoot out. Her bottom touched one hard thigh and heat shot through her, effectively refocusing her thoughts from her throbbing head to her throbbing hormones.
“I’m fine,” she managed to say, dragging in a deep breath before she scooted a few more inches out and away from him. “These parts were just lying here and it seemed a shame... Geez, you scared the daylights out of me.” She turned an accusing gaze on him. “Is this a trait that runs in your family?”
“What?”
“Sneaking up on innocent, unsuspecting guests.”
“Innocent, huh?” One eyebrow lifted and his gaze darkened to a deep blue as he stared at her stocking-clad legs. The skirt had slid a few inches higher and the hem straddled her upper thighs. “You don’t look so innocent to me.”
“Really?” She smiled, catching and holding his gaze, drinking in the feeling those eyes gave her when they stared at her the way he was staring at her now. She felt power. She felt desirable. She felt like a worn—
“Tyler? Bernadette?” The slam of the front door punctuated the woman’s voice. “We’re here!”
“Damn!” Tyler growled. “They’re early.” He climbed to his feet and pulled Lucky up beside him.
“Come on,” he said, yanking her along after him.
“But my skirt...” She pulled away from him and jerked at the hem. Tyler turned, and in one smooth motion swept the fabric down her thighs, leaving a sizzling path where his fingers had grazed her.
“Tyler!” The voice moved closer and panic swamped Lucky. “Where in the world...?”
One thousand dollars, she recited to herself. If she just concentrated on the words, she could do this. One...
“Your shoes,” Tyler said.
She whirled, scrambling for one pump while he reached for the other. thousand...
“Tyler Grant!” came the voice, slightly irritated and dangerously closer.
“Here.” He shoved one shoe on her foot, helped her on with the other, then hauled her out into the hallway just as a woman rounded the corner.
dollars. But it wasn’t enough, she realized as she stared at the older woman, into eyes as cold and assessing as the principal’s who’d nearly expelled her for chewing gum in the third grade. Then Tyler stepped up behind her.
“You look different,” he whispered, his voice deep and steady and soothing, “in a good way.”
And Lucky managed a wobbly step forward.
5
“HI, I’M LUCK—retia Myers.” Lucky thrust out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I’m Helen Bell-Whitman. I take it you’re the governess Tyler has been telling me about?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Cold black eyes swept Lucky from head to toe before shifting their attention to Tyler. “The first time I arrive for a visit, and no one has the decency to meet me at the door.”
“You’re ten minutes early,” he replied smoothly, obviously not the least bit intimidated by her Big Bad Mother-in-law stare.
“The flight in was smooth,” Helen went on. “We made excellent time.”
“Where’s Merle?” Tyler asked.
“Still out in the car. An important business call came just as we arrived. I’m sure he’ll be along shortly. So this is Reata.” Her disapproving gaze swept the paneled interior of the hallway. “This can’t be much larger than our guest house.”
“This house is over five thousand square feet with six bedrooms,” Tyler told her.
“Atrociously small,” she sniffed with disdain.
“Can we at least wait until after dinner before we start arguing?”
“I never argue, dear. I was simply pointing out that Bernadette would be much better off back home—”
“This is her home, Helen. Speaking of Bernadette, Miss Myers was just going to fetch her.”
“I was?” Lucky asked, then Tyler gave her a discreet nudge. “Oh, yes, yes. I was.”
Which way? Lucky’s brain screamed as she cast desperate glances in either direction.
As if Tyler had tuned in to her frequency, he touched her arm, just the slightest pressure that indicated she should turn and go the opposite way down the hall.
“Yes, I’ll just go see about Bernadette.” She retreated, leaving Tyler to deal with his mother-in law while she fixed every ounce of mental energy on keeping her balance and finding Bernadette’s room.
Neither proved very easy, but finally, after a few directions from Mabel and an occasional wobble. Lucky found the pink wallpapered room. The feminine decor went no farther than the walls, however. A double bed draped with a thick orange and white quilt dominated the room and Lucky wished she’d thought to grab sunglasses out of the cab. Maybe she could charge Tight Tush extra for eyestrain.
The thought stayed with her as she scanned the rest of the room. A pair of huge black rubber boots flanked one side of the closet, the soles caked in dried mud. A desk occupied another corner. Schoolbooks lay scattered across the top. Lucky thought she saw beige carpet beneath the mess of clothes on the floor. Overall, the entire room looked as if a tornado had whipped through.
Or the very sulky-looking girl who sprawled on a lime- green beanbag chair, her eyes glued to a handheld Nintendo game. She had dark hair the exact shade as her father’s, but hers was slightly longer and pulled into a haphazard ponytail. A bleep sounded and she frowned, her expression exactly the same as one Tyler would have worn. Her features were softer, more delicate, her complexion several shades lighter than her father’s, but otherwise the resemblance was eerie.
“Bernadette?”
The girl didn’t spare her a glance.
“I’m Luck—retia. Did your father mention me?”
The girl let out a heavy sigh. “The name’s Bennie. B-E-N-N-I-E,” she spelled. “And you’re another one of the agency nannies. A fill-in until the permanent nanny arrives to replace Miss Walker who left unexpectedly. Though I’m not supposed to mention any of that to my grandmother. As far as she’s concerned, you’re the permanent nanny. Grandmother would have a fit if she thought I’d scared another one away.”
So Bennie didn’t know about the con-artist nanny. That would make things harder, because she expected Lucky to act like a real nanny. To be the nanny.
Lucky cleared her throat and did her best Fran Drescher imitation. “Well, your grandmother’s here and your dad wants us front and center.”
Bennie shook her head. “You can report for duty. I’m not going anywhere.”
“But your grandmother came a long way to see you.” Lucky pushed aside some of the clothes covering the bed and sat down. Sighing, she slid her feet free of the heels. Her toes launched into a chorus of “Born Free.” “Don’t you want to see her?”
“Sure I do, but like I told Dad and Mabel, I’m not wearing that.” Bennie stuck her nose up at a white lace dress that lay several feet away.
“That...that’s something, all right.” It really was a beautiful dress, and that was the trouble. It was too pretty. A hands-off dress, the kind you wore for really special occasions, no
t the sort of dress you could really breathe in. Lucky was getting claustrophobic just looking at it.
“I want to wear jeans and I don’t see why I can’t.”
“But tonight isn’t just any night. Your dad’s trying to make a good impression on your grandmother.”
Bennie rolled her eyes. “But I look awful in that and it’s itchy and Grandmother would have a fit if I started scratching myself at the dinner table. One time I burped and she almost had a heart attack.”
Lucky caught a giggle with her hand and pretended to cough. “Well, can’t you just scratch discreetly?” Bennie seemed to give the idea some thought. “I’ll make you a deal,” Lucky went on, trying to tip the scales in her favor. “When you start to itch, you just wink at me. I’ll distract your grandmother and let you get in a few good scratches. She’ll never know.” When Bennie stayed silent. Lucky added, “Your dad’s trying real hard to impress her and he wants us to help him. I’ll let you in on a little secret, I haven’t gotten all dressed up like this in a long time, myself.” Try never. Oh, well, she was fibbing for a good cause. Surely that counted for something.
Bennie gave her a thorough once-over. “You should do it more often. Your hair looks real nice. The clothes, too.” Another quick glance and she started to giggle. “But I can tell you aren’t used to wearing heels.”
Lucky glanced down at her throbbing feet. “Does it really show that much?”
Bennie nodded, suddenly all serious sympathy, and got up to place a hand atop Lucky’s. “If you help me scratch, I’ll distract Grandmother whenever you have to stand up.”
Lucky smiled. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Gettin' Lucky (Love and Laughter) Page 6