The Nanny's Texas Christmas

by Lee Tobin McClain

  The Cowboy’s Christmas Family

  As foreman of the Lone Star Cowboy League Boys Ranch, single father Flint Rawlings knows all about troubled kids—he just never imagined his son to be among them. Logan needs more looking after than Flint can provide, so he’s relieved when the boy’s teacher, Lana Alvarez, agrees to be his nanny over Christmas break. But having Lana nearby sets Flint on edge. He’d vowed never to let another woman get close after Logan’s mother left them, but Lana fills a hole in their lives Flint didn’t know was there. Can he embrace love again and grant Logan his Christmas wish: a new family?

  Flint had to think of his son.

  His desire to keep Lana at a distance tried to raise its head, but his gratitude about Logan’s safety put his own concerns into perspective.

  Logan took priority. And if Lana would agree to be Logan’s nanny on a temporary basis, that would be best for Logan. And Flint would tolerate her nearness. Somehow.

  “Can she, Daddy?” Logan asked, his face eager.

  He turned to Lana. “Can you?” he asked her.

  Lana drew in a breath and studied them both, and Flint could almost see the wheels turning in her brain.

  He could see mixed feelings on her face, too. Fondness for Logan. Mistrust of Flint himself.

  Maybe a little bit of… What was that hint of pain that wrinkled her forehead and darkened her eyes?

  Finally, Lana gave a definitive nod. “All right,” she said. “We can try it. I’ll be your nanny, Logan.”

  * * *

  Lone Star Cowboy League: Boys Ranch

  Bighearted ranchers in small-town Texas

  The Rancher’s Texas Match by Brenda Minton

  October 2016

  The Ranger’s Texas Proposal by Jessica Keller

  November 2016

  The Nanny’s Texas Christmas by Lee Tobin McClain

  December 2016

  The Cowboy’s Texas Family by Margaret Daley

  January 2017

  The Doctor’s Texas Baby by Deb Kastner

  February 2017

  The Rancher’s Texas Twins by Allie Pleiter

  March 2017

  Lee Tobin McClain read Gone with the Wind in the third grade and has been a hopeless romantic ever since. When she’s not writing angst-filled love stories with happy endings, she’s getting inspiration from her church singles group, her gymnastics-obsessed teenage daughter and her rescue dog and cat. In her day job, Lee gets to encourage aspiring romance writers in Seton Hill University’s low-residency MFA program. Visit her at leetobinmcclain.com.

  Books by Lee Tobin McClain

  Love Inspired

  Lone Star Cowboy League: Boys Ranch

  The Nanny’s Texas Christmas

  Rescue River

  Engaged to the Single Mom

  His Secret Child

  Small-Town Nanny

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  THE NANNY’S

  TEXAS CHRISTMAS

  Lee Tobin McClain

  Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, unto Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end.

  —Ephesians 3:20–21

  To my coworker Judith Reyna, who always makes time to answer my silly Spanish questions; and to my farmer friend Ben, who helped me understand ranch equipment and ranch foreman duties. And to Shana Asaro and the amazing writers who worked together on the Lone Star Cowboy League: Boys Ranch books—Margaret Daley, Deb Kastner, Jessica Keller, Brenda Minton and Allie Pleiter. It’s been a pleasure writing with you!

  Special thanks and acknowledgment

  are given to Lee Tobin McClain for her contribution to the

  Lone Star Cowboy League: Boys Ranch miniseries.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from Mistletoe Daddy by Deb Kastner

  Chapter One

  “Not again.” Flint Rawlings frowned as he clicked up the volume on his cell phone and backed into the barn. He motioned to the three teenagers in front of him to keep working on the hay swather that lay disassembled in the dirt parking area.

  “I’m terribly sorry.” Mrs. Toler, his son’s elderly nanny, sounded upset. “I’ve looked all around the cabin and yard. I suspect he’s run off with that gang of hooligans from the ranch.”

  “He won’t have gotten far. I’m sure he’s up at the main house, just like last time.” At six, Logan had developed a habit of running away, but he always went to the same place. “Don’t you get yourself stressed out, Mrs. Toler. I’ll go right over there and find him.”

  “All right, but, Flint...” Mrs. Toler paused, then spoke again, her voice shaky. “This just isn’t going to work.”

  “What’s that?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as the rising sound of a teen argument came through the barn’s open doors.

  “He’s picking up some of the same bad habits that brought those delinquent boys to the ranch. Why, you wouldn’t believe how he mouthed off when I told him he couldn’t have a second piece of cake.”

  “The mouthing off will stop. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Please, do. But meanwhile, I’m too old to be running all over the Triple C looking for that boy. I’m giving notice.”

  Flint restrained the groan that wanted to emerge from deep in his chest. “You go home and get some rest, and we’ll talk later tonight.” More like he’d beg her to stay on. “Don’t worry about Logan. I’ll find him. I always do.”

  The stack of overdue paperwork he’d hoped to tackle this afternoon seemed to glare at him, but he turned away and headed outside. The teenagers were arguing over what engine part went where. Flint put a stop to that and explained to the boys that they’d have to take up their large-equipment-repair lesson tomorrow after school.

  Then he headed up to the main house double time. He’d spoken reassuringly to Mrs. Toler, but the reality was that Logan was just six. Although the two of them had moved to their little cabin on the Triple C Ranch over a month ago, Logan didn’t know the Triple C nearly as well as he’d known the Silver Star, the previous location of the Lone Star Cowboy League’s Boys Ranch.

  What if Logan had gotten lost? The days were at their shortest in early December, and the weather was getting steadily cooler. Logan was notorious for forgetting to grab a jacket before running outside.

  And Flint, rushed as he’d been with the move and the general craziness of a working ranch for at-risk boys, didn’t always think to remind him.

  A familiar sense of inadequacy rose in him. He’d been doing his best to raise Logan alone, but he wasn’t one of those cookie-baking, playgroup-organizing kind of fathers featured in the parenting magazines he dutifully subscribed to. He was a ranch foreman, a veteran, a man’s man. Which worked great with older boys, but as t
he single dad of a six-year-old, he wasn’t passing muster.

  Two of the teenagers he’d been working with raced ahead toward the main ranch house. Automatically he turned to see whether the third boy was coming, the one who’d looked the most disappointed when Flint had postponed the lesson. Robby Gonzalez was a new resident at the ranch, thirteen but big for his age, and he was kicking at a stone as he walked along behind.

  Flint felt a twist of sympathy despite his own troubles. “C’mere, Robby.” He gestured for the boy to join him. “Need some help.”

  Robby brightened and jogged to catch him. “¿Qué pasa? I mean, what’s up?”

  Flint considered trying to answer the kid in Spanish and decided against it. He knew a little, like most folks in this part of Texas, but he was too worried to find the right words. “Know where the younger kids are hanging out?”

  “Sí. Most of them were going to the library. They said Senorita Alvarez was doing story time.”

  Miss Alvarez. Logan’s pretty teacher, who volunteered at the ranch after school. Flint’s certainty about where Logan had gone bumped up a notch, along with his discomfort.

  “I saw Senorita Alvarez,” Robby continued with a sly grin. “She could read me a story anytime. Es muy atractiva!”

  “Respect, Robby,” Flint said automatically. The boy was probably too young to be interested in girls his own age, or at least, too awkward to know how to interact with them. But a crush on an older teacher? Maybe. Or maybe the kid was just trying to get attention—something all the at-risk boys craved. Flint thumped Robby’s shoulder. “You did a good job helping to take apart that swather,” he told the young teenager. “Make sure you show up tomorrow, and we’ll put it back together.”

  Robby beamed and turned toward the main ranch house, and Flint veered off toward the little library behind it. He wished he could put his life back together as easily as a broken piece of farm equipment.

  Mrs. Toler, their third babysitter this year, had seemed like a perfect solution to Flint’s child-care problems. But Flint should have known it wouldn’t work for long. The Lord didn’t tend to look out for Flint and Logan. Never had.

  Consciously relaxing his fists, Flint strode toward the library. Once inside the doorway, he stopped dead.

  Amid a small group of the ranch’s youngest residents, Logan was cuddled up on a low couch right beside his slender, long-legged teacher. His towhead shone bright against her dark, wavy hair.

  The sight hurt. It was what he’d imagined he’d see with Logan’s mother, until Stacie had decided she was too young to be tied down and dumped them both. As he’d scrambled to learn to care for his baby son alone, he’d vowed he wouldn’t let a woman get close again, lest she break Logan’s heart.

  Never mind his own heart. After six years, it had pretty much frozen over.

  Which didn’t explain why he felt compelled to stand, watching, just one more minute. Watching his son laugh and cuddle in a carefree way, looking happier than he had in weeks. Just one more minute before he went and tore Logan away from the things he wanted most in the whole world: a big family of boys, and a whole lot of warm mothering.

  Flint forced down his emotions. Logan wasn’t one of the ranch’s troubled residents. Whatever Flint’s failings as a father, he’d provided his son with a safe home and good discipline. Flint didn’t mind Logan’s befriending the residents—after all, they all rode the same bus to the local public school and played together on the playground—but from what Mrs. Toler had said, Logan was picking up some bad habits. And while Flint didn’t consider the young residents hooligans and delinquents, as Mrs. Toler did, he had to acknowledge that Logan might have learned some inappropriate language and attitudes.

  Which had to stop.

  Not only that, but Logan was distracting Lana Alvarez from the boys clustered around her feet, the ones she’d come to work with. He was taking attention from kids who truly needed her help.

  And in the process, Logan was getting way too attached to his teacher. No more. Flint needed to get his son out of there.

  He’d just take one more minute to watch Logan looking so happy.

  * * *

  Lana Alvarez’s heart went out to the little boy who kept pressing closer and closer to her side. Funny, Logan Rawlings wasn’t one of the at-risk residents, but he seemed just as needy as they were. She wondered if his single dad even knew where he was.

  “Scoot in closer,” she said to the five other first-and second-grade boys clustered around her, patting the couch on her other side to encourage shy little Timmy Landon to sit there. He slid in, hesitantly, and Lana smiled at him.

  No question, she adored kids. All of them. And even though she probably wouldn’t have any of her own—not now, not after her single humiliating attempt at a normal relationship—she was blessed to be able to love so many kids through her day job as a teacher and through her volunteer work.

  She turned the page of the illustrated book they were reading together and held it so all the boys could see the picture. “What do you think’s going to happen next?”

  “I know!”

  “Me, me!”

  “Uh-oh.” Beside her, Logan tensed, looking toward the door.

  Through which a very big, very handsome, very displeased-looking cowboy was coming their way.

  Flint Rawlings. That curious flush she felt every time she saw him came on strong. It was probably annoyance, because he had to be the most aloof, inattentive father on the planet.

  At least from what she’d seen. She knew she shouldn’t judge, but when a child’s best interests were at stake, it was hard for her to help it.

  She put a protective arm around Logan, who’d pressed even closer as his father reached their little group.

  “My son’s not supposed to be here.” His voice sounded accusatory, and she felt Logan cringe.

  Men. If it weren’t for that fact that she needed to model politeness to these young boys, she’d chew out the cowboy for his sharp tone and the way he was speaking to her instead of his son.

  “Nice to see you.” She allowed the slightest hint of censure to show in her voice as she extended her hand.

  His face reddened. He reached out and wrapped his hand around hers. “Likewise.”

  The gravelly voice and the feel of his work-hardened hand raised her heart rate, and she pulled away, feeling suddenly flustered. What was that all about?

  “Come on, Logan,” Flint said, squatting down. “You’ve worried Mrs. Toler so much that she had to go home. You’ll have to come back to work with me.”

  Logan drew closer to Lana, his lower lip thrusting out. “I want to hear the rest of the story.”

  “Logan.” The word was stern, sharp.

  Too stern and sharp for a little boy, in Lana’s opinion. But, she reminded herself, everyone had a different style of parenting.

  On the other hand, this was working into a family fight that the rest of the boys didn’t need to see. “He’s welcome to stay with me,” she offered. “I’m here until five. I’ll be tutoring some of the kids after story time, and I’m sure Logan would be no trouble.”

  “Please, Daddy?”

  Flint’s eyes narrowed, and a shadow crossed his face. “No. I want him to come with me.” He reached down, effortlessly picked Logan up, and set him on his feet outside the group.

  Two big tears rolled down Logan’s face despite his obvious attempt not to cry, and Lana’s heart broke a little. She opened her mouth to protest, but a look from Flint quelled her.

  Of course, a parent had more say over a child’s life than a teacher. She had to remember she was just a teacher.

  Would always be just a teacher.

  “Thank you for looking out for him,” Flint said stiffly. Then he took Logan’s hand, and they walked away, the small boy straightening
his back and trying to match his cowboy-booted steps to his father’s longer strides.

  Lana’s throat felt tight. She beckoned for one of the boys to hand her the water bottle she always carried, took a long drink, and then forced a smile onto her face. “Okay, boys. Where were we?”

  * * *

  Two days later, Flint walked into the tack room to get out some saddles for the younger boys’ evening riding lesson. His two-year-old black Lab, Cowboy, trotted along beside him.

  Only, the saddles weren’t there.

  He looked around, wondering if one of the riding instructors had moved them, and then walked out into the main barn. Five minutes of searching didn’t turn them up.

  That left one likely culprit. “Logan!”

  Since Mrs. Toler had definitively quit, he’d had Logan around the barn after school, which had meant some extra trouble and mischief. But last night, Flint had called around, and the result was a friend for Logan to play with today. A friend from school, not the ranch.

  Flint liked the kids here at the ranch, knew that most were decent boys who’d gotten in trouble due to home problems that weren’t their fault. But he didn’t want them to be Logan’s only friends. Martin Delgado was the son of a local doctor and, according to Logan, the smartest boy in the class.

  What he should have asked Logan, Flint realized now, was how often the boy got in trouble.

  Logan’s blond head peeked in the barn door and was immediately joined by a dark one. Both faces looked guilty.

  Flint restrained a smile. “Did you take the saddles that were in the tack room?” They were heavy for Logan to carry alone, but with his friend’s help they could definitely be moved.

  “We didn’t touch them.” Logan came farther in, relief on his face, and Martin followed.

  At which point he saw why they’d been looking so guilty. Somehow they’d gotten into the paint he’d been using to touch up some fencing. They each had a white stripe down the backs of their shirts.

  After he’d gotten an explanation—“we were playing skunk!”—and had taken the paint away from them, he set them to sweeping the barn floor under Cowboy’s watchful eye while he took one last look around for the saddles. He didn’t find them, and a couple of phone calls ascertained that no one else from the ranch had taken them anywhere. No adults, anyway.