The Rancher's Twins
Page 9
“Wherever you are, are you okay?”
“Yes.” Saying the word cemented how much she felt it. She felt safe at the JB Bar Ranch, safe and needed. For all the bravado she’d felt and shown Jon, when the day came, she wanted him to ask her to stay. She knew it wouldn’t be an easy task convincing him. Sofie had inadvertently told her that. Without providing much detail, she’d alluded to the trauma he’d experienced at his ex-wife’s hands. Ava had hated the ranch and everything that went with it. Lydia couldn’t quite wrap her brain around the idea that she’d left her children, but it wasn’t her place to judge. And certainly not a miserable, unhappy woman whom she’d never met. Lydia felt a tiny stirring of sympathy for the fact that she’d been so desperate. Lydia knew desperation all too well.
“That’s part of the reason I’m calling. I’m, uh, I’m working with some kids and I could use your expert aunt advice.”
“Oh, that’s awesome. You’re great with kids.”
“Yeah, well, I love kids. I’m good with teens. But these kids are preschoolers. I need some help.”
“How old?”
“Just turned five.”
“They’re not that much different than teenagers really,” she joked. “Smaller vocabulary but less attitude and way more common sense.”
Lydia laughed. “They should be ready for kindergarten this fall, but they’re behind. I found some guidelines on the internet, the basics they should know and stuff.”
“That’s my favorite age. Their brains are like sponges. Molly is four and Scotty is six. You’ve helped me babysit lots of times.” Meredith’s sister Hailey homeschooled her six kids. Molly and Scotty were the youngest.
“Yeah, but when we babysit, it’s all fun and games.”
“Exactly. That’s the way learning should be, right? Hands-on. Engaging. Keep them busy and tell them everything while you do it. Dance, do crafts, science projects... And bake with them, they’ll love that.”
“Okay, yes, been doing all of that.” She was glad she’d called. She was already feeling better.
“Ooh! Make some slime. You can do science and colors and letters... I’ll call Hailey and have her send me links and stuff. Or even better, can I have her text them to this number if I don’t tell her who they’re for?”
Lydia hesitated for a second. Tanner had been adamant about the phone. But it was his job to be paranoid. And this was, if not an emergency, then extremely important. Chances seemed slim that Clive’s tentacles would spread as far as Meredith’s family. “Yeah, sure, that will work. I appreciate it, Meredith. Now, remind me how to play that counting game with the buttons...”
CHAPTER EIGHT
JON HAD NO trouble admitting how nice it was to walk into his own house and be greeted by the smell of a home-cooked meal, especially one he hadn’t had to cook after ten or twelve hours of ranching. The meals Dusty prepared in the bunkhouse were just fine, but the food was plain, made to appeal to a wide range of hungry appetites. Sofie hadn’t exaggerated to Zach about Lydia’s cooking. Every day he found himself anticipating mealtime. He would miss it when she was gone.
Between the soft music playing in the background, the giggles and the clanking and banging of kitchen sounds, nobody noticed him and Trout when they stepped around the corner. Perched on stools at the island, the girls were elbow-deep in some sort of mushy green gunk.
“Hope that’s not dinner,” Jon joked, stepping closer to examine the mess.
Abby giggled. “Yep, it’s dinner all right. Here, try a bite, Daddy.” She held up a gob for his inspection. The girls erupted into fits of laughter.
“It’s called slime.” Gen pulled a handful of the goop through her fingers.
“Are you sure it’s not called disgusting?”
More laughing. Abby said, “No way. It’s awesome. Lydia says all the kids in Philadelphia play with it.”
Hmm. Jon was seeing a pattern here. The girls seemed almost always to be having fun when he came inside. So much so that he suddenly wondered when the learning was going on.
“Oh, hey.” Lydia came out of the pantry carrying a sack of flour and a can of corn. “Didn’t hear you guys come in. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. I didn’t want to cook the vegetables until you got here. I know the chickens get all the fruit and veggie leavings, but can Trout have table scraps?”
Hair up in a high ponytail, eyes sparkling, she seemed to be settling in so easily. Too easily? Jon glanced over at the girls and then back at her. “Yes, he can have a bit. Can I speak to you in the other room for a second?”
“Sure.” Setting the supplies down on the counter, he caught sight of the I Love NYC T-shirt she wore. Who in their right mind would love any city? He couldn’t believe his brother Ben chose to live there.
He followed her into the living room, where she spun toward him. “What’s wrong?”
“Why do you think something is wrong?”
“You’ve gone all Rancher Grouch-Face on me again.”
“Rancher what?”
“You’re scowling like you were the day I got here.”
“Oh.” Shifting on his feet, he made an effort to compose his features. “It’s not that I’m upset so much as it is that I’m concerned.”
“Okay. About what?”
How to word this exactly? “It seems like you’re always having an awful lot of fun with the girls.”
She stared up at him and Jon was struck once again by how pretty she was. “I would say thank you but I’m sensing there’s an issue buried in there somewhere.”
Jon sighed and scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “I guess I’m wondering what you’re teaching them. When are they learning? Whenever I come inside, you’re rarely sitting down and teaching them anything. Except for bedtime with the reading, which I do approve of.”
“Sitting down?” she repeated. “Have you met your daughter Genevieve? She can barely sit still through a meal. Abby isn’t all that much better.”
“I understand they’re busy girls—that’s why I hired a professional.”
Nodding slowly, she seemed to be pondering his words. “Mmm-hmm. I see.”
Jon felt relieved. She was taking this surprisingly well. “Even though you’re not going to be here all that long, I think every minute you can, you should spend teaching them and preparing them for kindergarten.”
“Can you follow me back into the kitchen?”
He wasn’t quite through explaining himself but she took off without giving him much choice.
Stepping toward the radio, she turned it way down. “Hey, Gen, what color is that slime?”
“Green.”
“And what rhymes with green?”
“Mean, clean, preen—chickens do that, Daddy, did you know that’s what it’s called when they pick at their feathers? Jean, keen... Bean!”
“What letter does slime begin with?”
“Es-s-ss,” she hissed it out and then formed a string of slime into the letter’s shape. “Same as snake. And there’s an S in horse, too, but it starts with an H.”
“How about slime? What rhymes with that, Abby?”
“Lime! The same color as our lime slime. Time, dime, mime. Mimes are those white-faced guys who don’t talk but do this with their hands.” She held her own dripping green ones up for effect. “Have you ever seen one, Daddy? Lydia has.”
“No, I can’t say that I have,” Jon said, wishing he’d been one when he’d gotten the big idea to critique Lydia’s teaching techniques.
Lydia grinned. “Right on, girls.”
“Abby, do you know your dad’s phone number?”
She rattled it off. Jon had never thought to teach the girls his number. It had seemed too complicated, especially when they could just pick up the house phone and press one button.
“Gen, what is Tom’s phone number?”
He swallowed around the tractor-sized lump of shame in his throat. “Wow. You girls have been working real hard. I’m so proud of you.”
The girls beamed at him and went back to playing with their lime slime. He could feel Lydia watching him and he had to force himself to make eye contact. Anyone would expect a glare or at least a frown in return—Jon knew it was what he deserved. That’s not what he got.
Lips flirting with a smile, mischief dancing in her eyes, she said in a voice as gentle as a breeze, “We’re having one of your favorites for dinner tonight. Pot roast with baby potatoes, carrots and brown gravy. Peach cobbler for dessert. At least the girls told me it was your favorite.”
At his nod, she went on, “They helped me make it while we learned how to count and measure from a recipe.”
“A teep-spoon is real small,” Gen volunteered. “Like this.” Reaching across the counter, she retrieved one and held it up.
Abby corrected her sister more gently than Jon had seen in a good long while. “It’s a tea-spoon, Gen. Like Sofie drinks.”
“Yep, that’s what I meant, teaspoon.” Brow furrowed, she added, “Ssss-poon. That’s an S, too, huh, Lydia?”
“Yes, my s-s-s-weet, it certainly is.”
The girls giggled. Jon’s stomach felt like a knotted mass of bailing twine. He leaned over and kissed the girls, one smooth, grinning cheek at a time. Standing straight, he cleared his throat and offered Lydia a sheepish smile. “I think I’ll, uh, go wash up for dinner.”
“Why don’t you do that. We’ll have dinner on the table when you get back. Maybe you could ask the blessing for us tonight?”
* * *
WASHING UP FOR DINNER, Jon decided that was undoubtedly the softest and smoothest yet most thorough chastisement he’d ever received. He liked the notion that Lydia was using a similar technique on the girls. He felt stupid for even thinking what he had. But the sting of his pride could no way compete with the smell of pot roast.
Bracing himself, he headed to the table. The girls were already seated, napkins in their laps. Lydia walked out of the kitchen with a platter in one hand and a gravy bowl in the other. Her smile seemed genuine, his gaffe all but forgotten. Jon realized that he didn’t entirely trust that reaction. He knew people who did not necessarily forgive and forget. They could appear calm and collected on the outside and all the while be coiled like a rattlesnake on the inside, waiting and ready for the right time to strike. Ava’s memory had been like that—long and vengeful.
The girls kept up a steady stream of chatter through dinner, in between bites, because they seemed to be making a concerted effort to chew with their mouths closed. Lydia corrected them a few times, but gently. She’d say their name and then show the proper way to use a utensil or wipe at her own cheek with a napkin.
When they’d finished, they asked to be excused, a habit Jon had never established. Lydia reminded them to take their plates into the kitchen. “The show is ready for you to watch. Just hit the button like I showed you.”
After depositing their dishes in the kitchen, they headed out to the living room.
Lydia gestured at his plate. “Would you like dessert?”
“Yes, but I can—”
“Jon,” she interrupted, standing and scooping up the plate. “I appreciate the way you don’t expect me to wait on you. But I know how hard you work. I can see how tired you are. My fetching you dessert doesn’t have anything to do with women’s rights or you treating me like a servant. I’d do it for anyone. Besides, I’m getting some for myself, too. Would you like ice cream with the cobbler?”
“In that case, then yes, I would.”
Flashing him a warm smile, she headed into the kitchen.
Jon enjoyed the sound of the girls talking and giggling. Music from the program drifted into the room. They quieted.
Bowls in hand, Lydia returned. That’s when he noticed her feet. They were bare, but the right one sported a big Band-Aid on the top and a smaller one around her big toe.
She set a bowl in front of him and he peered a little closer. “What happened to your foot?”
“Oh... It’s nothing.”
“You’ve got Band-Aids on it.”
“It’s pretty well healed.”
Jon realized he was staring again when she said, “I probably should have asked you about allowing them to watch a show. Do you not have television because you don’t want the girls watching it? It’s an educational program about animals. And they said they’re allowed to watch movies.”
“Oh, no...yeah, I mean it’s fine. I trust you. I don’t want them sitting in front of the TV mindlessly. And to answer your question, I’m not a TV watcher myself and it’s an unnecessary expense.”
She nodded and scooped a bite of dessert.
“Lydia, I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have doubted you. Or at least I should have gone about it differently. Or at least, more, uh, stealthily.”
“I understand. I didn’t make an effort to share with you what we’ve been learning, or how. I’ve been meaning to, of course. I’ve been assessing where they’re at academically, so I haven’t finalized my lesson plans.”
“Nice of you to try and let me off the hook.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “So you want to be involved, consulted?”
It seemed strange to be having a conversation about raising his girls, a task he’d been wholly in charge of since Annie had died. But that relief he’d been hoping for with a nanny’s presence overrode it. “Yes, I would.”
“Great. I feel confident about teaching them academics and more practical matters like table manners, personal hygiene, making their beds, et cetera.”
He felt himself scowling and made an effort to correct it. The fact that they were lacking in so many areas made his heart hurt. Was he that bad of a father?
As if sensing his doubts, she said, “They’re wonderful, amazing girls, Jon. Kind and bright and curious and thoughtful. You’ve been doing a fantastic job. I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you being a single dad and running a ranch. And now with your grandfather... I’m getting a sense of how thinly you’ve been stretched. But there is one area I’m concerned about...” Trailing off, she nibbled on her lower lip and Jon realized this wasn’t the first time he’d been staring at her mouth.
Forcing himself to look away, he scooped up another bite. “This is the best peach cobbler I’ve ever tasted. I’m getting spoiled. What has you concerned?”
“I’m glad you like it. It’s my nana’s recipe. I’m afraid... I’m wondering if they might not be getting enough socialization.”
“They see people here on the ranch every day.”
“Horseback riding with Tom, eating in the bunkhouse and talking cattle with cowboys is nice but I think they need more. They need to see some other kids.”
“Oh.” She was probably right. Willa had recently raised this subject as well. Jon used a thumb to scratch his cheek. “They, uh, we have church on Sundays. Normally. We’re not going this Sunday because I gave some of the boys the day off, so I need to be here.”
He was fascinated by the little dip that formed between her eyebrows when she was thinking.
“So, there’s Sunday school,” he added.
“Sunday school?”
“Yep.”
“Mmm.” Her expression hinted at longing, like she was remembering a happy place. “I like church.”
Why did that surprise him, that she liked church? “You’re welcome to join us. I assumed you’d want Saturdays and Sundays as your days off, but we usually have dinner over at the Carnes place after church. Big family. Lots of kids. It’s fun. And you already know Sofie.”
The brow-dip was b
ack. “Does Sofie cook this dinner?”
He felt a stirring of amusement at the question. “She helps. They live with Zach’s parents, Pete and Willa. Not with them in the same house, but right next door. Willa does most of the cooking. She’s an excellent cook. Zach’s brother and sisters come, too. Everyone brings a dish.”
She grinned and this time her twinkling blue eyes spoke loud and clear. “That’s good. About dinner, I mean.”
He winked at her, but he didn’t know if she was blushing because of that or because she felt bad about insulting Sofie. “I knew what you meant.”
“She’s a lovely woman.”
“I knew that, too.”
She pointed her spoon at him. “If you repeat what I just implied, it will not be good for you. I think she’s becoming my friend.”
He chuckled. “Hey, I agreed with you, didn’t I? It wouldn’t be good for me, either. So that’s a yes to church?”
“Absolutely.” And she looked so genuinely happy about the notion that Jon knew she meant it. He’d never had a woman go to church with him before. She’s not a woman, Jon, he reminded himself. Not in a bring-a-lady-to-church kind of way. She’s your nanny. And she’s leaving in a week.
Lydia scooped up a bite of her cobbler. “How are the cows doing? Tom said you’re more than halfway through the calving now and it’s going well. But it’s supposed to rain tonight. Will they be okay?”
And that’s when something occurred to him. Lydia had been here a week, but she hadn’t seen much of the ranch, hadn’t ventured out to see the cows or the horses. To his knowledge, she hadn’t been farther from the house than the chicken coop. Surprisingly enough, he hadn’t heard one word of complaint about that chore or seeing to the goats, housed right next door. He’d popped in there every day to make sure all was well. Eggs had been gathered, animals had been fed and watered.