THE NANNY'S SECRET

by Monica McLean

  There was nothing to block out, or let slide, or deny.

  If she let it, every memory they'd made would play in her mind not as a horror flick but an old, favorite movie. Brooks rocking Timmy and reading to him from the Farmer's Almanac … making her hot chocolate … getting her through her panic attack at the hospital … giving her pep talks when she needed them most … taking her shopping to cheer her up … the way he touched her.

  While one brother had nearly destroyed her, the other had brought her back to life.

  Yes, time and distance had given her the objectivity to connect the dots, to see the pattern that had been there all along: From the first moment they met, Brooks Hart had given her everything of value he had to give. Ultimately he gave her Timmy—his heart, the most precious thing in his entire world—without a fight.

  I just want you to be happy. Whatever makes you happy, that's what I want.

  Dear God. It finally hit her full force. She'd ripped his heart from his chest, and he'd done nothing to stop her.

  He'd given up his heart for her.

  A Wyoming-size boulder dropped in Laura's gut.

  He loved her. Brooks really, truly loved her.

  * * *

  Laura lowered her window, and both she and Timmy perked up at the musky-mint scent of sage, lifting their faces to inhale the freshness of spring in all its glory, poised to burst into summer.

  In their absence, the vast landscape had undergone a complete facelift. Gone was the endless blanket of white, replaced by a sea of emerald-green grass that swished and rippled in the wind, its symphony like the soft clapping of a thousand hands. Cottonwood trees grew lush and bountiful, dancing and swaying in the breeze as the sun descended, spilling golden amber like magic pixie dust.

  Along the ribbon of the two-lane road that led to the Triple H, drivers of oncoming pickups lifted their hands in greeting, and Laura did the same. Soon, they crested a hill and caught sight of the first familiar windmill, its silvery arms stretched to the wide, open sky. As she followed the fence lines, the rambling ranch house and barns appeared.

  Laura's heart swelled, and she smiled. "We made it, Timmy." She stroked her son's cheek and coaxed a giggle.

  In the late afternoon, she found the house deserted as expected and took a few minutes to savor the familiarity on her own. It was just as she remembered. Heaven on earth.

  The back door was unlocked, and the mouthwatering aroma of Clara's chocolate chip cookies drifted into the mudroom. She must have baked them after dinner, figuring no one would be around to steal any from the cooling rack.

  Wrong.

  Laura broke off a piece for Timmy, noticing a dozen of his photos on the refrigerator. There were more, scattered throughout the house. Some framed, others pinned, all of them on public display. Including the ones with her.

  Just then, a door slammed, followed by Clara's excited voice. "Laura? Is it really you?"

  "It's us," she called back, suddenly nervous as she carried Timmy into the kitchen. But then, one look at the unmasked joy on Clara's face, and she didn't hesitate but gave the mother of her heart a big hug. "Look, sweetie. Who's this? Is it Grandma Clara? Yeah?"

  Timmy grinned and held his arms out to Clara.

  Tears sprung to Clara's eyes as she took him, then she swiped a dishcloth from the counter and swatted Laura's arm. "What'd I tell you about making an old lady cry? I swear, Laura, you ain't changed a lick."

  Laura laughed through her own tears.

  "Oh, let me look at you." Clara dabbed her eyes, her gaze wandering over both Laura and Timmy. "I take it back. You have changed. Your hair's longer, and you finally put some meat on your bones. You got color in your face, too. And this one…" She poked Timmy's tummy. "You've grown!"

  Timmy chortled, wrapped one small arm around Clara's neck and dropped his head on her shoulder.

  "We've both arrived in a lot better shape this time." Laura smiled. "So, where is everyone?"

  "Pete, Mitch and Dean went to fetch supplies in town. Brooks is still up at the house. Pete Stewart's old place, that is. Don't suppose he got a chance to tell you yet."

  "Tell me what?"

  But Clara shook her head. "Nope, ain't gonna ruin the surprise. Take my truck. Keys in the ignition. Oh, wait. Here. I fixed him a basket. Sun goes down so late, he gets on a roll and forgets to come home for supper." She bustled around the kitchen, Timmy on her hip. "Don't mind, do you?"

  "No. No, of course not." She wiped her damp palms on her shorts, shy and eager all at once. She'd thought of little else on the drive—what she would say to Brooks, how she would say it, knowing the instant she laid her eyes on him again every well-rehearsed line would fly from her mind.

  "Good. Head for the west pasture. Only one road there. Follow the compass."

  "All right," she said. "I should be back—"

  "No hurry. There's food enough for two." Clara rubbed her hand over Timmy's back, turning her gaze to the window with a faraway look, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Best sunset you ever did see."

  * * *

  Brooks stepped back and surveyed his work. The Stewart place was shaping up nicely. A small two-bedroom, it had triple dormers and a wraparound porch, plus the option of adding two more bedrooms and a bath on the second floor.

  They'd gutted it earlier that week and finished framing the rooms today. With any luck, they'd wrap up electrical, plumbing and drywall by next week. He'd gotten ambitious and power-washed the porch. Satisfied, he stripped off his shirt and turned the hose on himself to wash away the day's sweat and grime.

  Excitement pumped though his veins when he thought of the finished product, picturing that catch phrase Laura had repeated in her plan: rustic charm with modern conveniences.

  Laura.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. God, how he missed her and Timmy. Just when it didn't hurt to breathe every minute of every day without them, when he could get through her weekly packets of photos and letters without wanting to bawl like a weaning calf, she had to call.

  In the past months, he'd learned to embrace the pain, telling himself yeah, it hurt like hell, but it was a good kind of hurt, like the satisfaction of sore, aching muscles at the end of a hard day. The hole in his heart proved he didn't share his father's and brother's weaknesses. If he could survive this agony, he could survive anything.

  He told himself all this. He thought he was getting better. Then she called. And his heart shattered again.

  He couldn't even talk to her, too afraid he'd lose it right there on the phone, cut open a vein and start gushing all over the place. Tell her all the things he'd wanted to before, only he'd held his tongue.

  No, it was going to take Brooks a lot longer before he could exchange polite chitchat with her. Like breaking and resetting a bone—that's how it felt in his heart. Now, he had to heal all over again.

  He turned off the water hose and pushed wet hair from his face. Looking west, he calculated a few more hours of light. Might as well start on the railing.

  He'd gotten back to work when he thought he heard the sound of gears grinding. He paused and listened. Nothing and then—there it was again.

  He winced and looked up the road. Sure enough, Clara's pickup crested the hill, barreling straight for him, kicking up all kinds of dirt in her wake.

  His pulse jumped. Clara didn't usually drive this fast. Or grind gears. Something was wrong.

  Brooks dropped what he was doing and headed down the driveway. But when he squinted at the horizon, he realized it wasn't Clara in the driver's seat after all. It was…

  No way. He was seeing things. He rubbed his eyes.

  Laura!

  His jaw hit the ground. He was sure he heard the thud. Then his mouth went dry with fear.

  What happened?

  He practically ran to the truck. She practically ran him down. He yanked open the door the second she stopped.

  "What's wrong?" he demanded.

  "Nothing's wrong. I—"

  "Timmy?"<
br />
  "He's fine. He's at the house with Clara."

  "And you?" He stepped back to catalog her body parts, barely registering denim cutoffs and a red tank top. "Are you sick? Hurt? What?"

  "No. Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine."

  Without thinking, he hauled her into his arms, hugged her hard, then set her away. "Geez, woman." He raked his fingers through his damp hair and realized he was shaking something fierce. "Give me a heart attack, why don't you."

  Her liquid brown eyes softened as she smiled. "It's good to see you, too."

  He stared at her, unable to believe she was really there, in the flesh, not a product of wishful thinking.

  She was more beautiful to him than ever. Her face had filled out, and it had a healthy, sun-kissed glow. The same could be said for the rest of her. She sat sideways on the bench seat of the truck, her long, shapely legs hanging out the door. Her hair went past her shoulders, the color of honey graham crackers, tied loosely with a red ribbon that matched her top—a tank that molded small, high breasts.

  Perfect breasts. Perfect heart. His perfect woman.

  God, he wasn't strong enough for this.

  Then he realized those big, brown eyes were moving over him, and he really wasn't strong enough for that.

  He stepped back and half turned toward the porch where his dirty shirt hung from the rail, wanting to put it back on but opting not to offend her with its odor. "Are you… Did you come for a visit?"

  She nodded. "Timmy should celebrate his birthday with his family."

  Brooks swallowed hard. "Great. That's … great." He turned his gaze to the Stewart place, more as an excuse to look someplace besides at her. "You, uh, want to see what we've been doing?"

  "Sure." She slid down. "Clara sent a basket." When she reached back inside, the denim of her shorts riding up, he turned his back and sucked in a sharp breath.

  "Leave it," he said between clenched teeth.

  "Aren't you hungry?"

  Famished. But what Brooks wanted, she wasn't serving.

  "No," he said, closing his eyes. Behind him, the truck door creaked shut. He needed to oil those hinges. He added the task to his mental to-do list. Now seemed like a good time to think about lists. Recite them. Backward and forward.

  He started for the house. She fell into step beside him, close enough that he could reach her hand. He didn't.

  "Wow." She peeked in between rail posts to see in the window. "This is great."

  "Rustic charm with modern conveniences."

  She spun around, the pleasure in her eyes unmistakable. "You're doing it?" Excitement tinged her voice. "The dude ranch?"

  He shrugged but couldn't help the grin that tugged up one corner of his mouth. "Got this great business plan. Spelled everything out nice and easy. Thought we'd start simple."

  "Phase one," she whispered, as if remembering.

  "Two, actually. Sold a bit of land for an outrageous price. Paid off the loan and had money leftover to invest, so…"

  "So I love it." She stepped past him onto the porch. The air stirred beside him, and his gut pulled tight. He'd been dying to tell her, dying to hear this very reaction from her. So why did he feel so hollow inside?

  Because nothing felt as good, as rewarding without her here to share it.

  "We can do this later," he said gruffly. "You must be tired. Let's head back—"

  "No." She gave a nervous laugh and leaned up against the post, rubbing her arms. "Sorry. It's just I've been rehearsing what I wanted to say because I wanted it to come out right. But I knew once I saw you, my mind would freeze, and I wouldn't remember any of my really great sentences. Except one. The one I was kind of hoping to lead up to…"

  "Women." He smiled and blew out an exasperated breath. "Never can get straight to the point, can you? It's genetic or some—"

  "I love you, Brooks." The words drifted on the breeze, soft and sweet with the slightest tremble, an iron mallet to his fool heart, smashing it into a million friggin' pieces. Again.

  But. He knew she was leading up to a but. And God Almighty, he couldn't take it anymore. He shot from the porch.

  "Damn it, Laura. What do you think, I'm made of steel?" He reeled around and rubbed a hand over his face. "We need new ground rules. You want me to stay away from you, you can't say these things to me. Come and go as you please, but give a guy some notice. And don't wear things like that around me. Because if you can't keep up your end of things, I'm gonna start spewing things like I love you, I want you, come back and marry me for God's sake." He turned his back and covered his eyes.

  "Brooks—"

  "I'm not there yet, okay?" he gritted out. "I don't know when I'm gonna be, if I'm ever gonna get over you, but I sure as hell can't do it this way. I can't take this…" he ground out, pressing the heels of his hands over his eyes. "I see you in my dreams at night. I hear you when you're not even there. Sometimes, I forget, and I catch myself talking to you. I can still smell you. I can still taste you. I close my eyes, and it's like you never left. Then I remember." He drew a ragged breath. "Go back to the house. Just go … and let me … get a grip."

  Around them, the sounds of spring grew louder. The whistle of the wind. The ripple of the leaves. The chirp of crickets. A meadowlark's mating call. And then, the sound of feet on the steps, coming down, coming toward him, stopping.

  She stood so close he could hear her breathing, smell her scent on the warm breeze, stirring the hairs on his arm.

  He didn't turn around.

  He couldn't.

  In another second, he was going to die.

  "Do you remember when you told me your fear?" she asked softly, not waiting for his answer. "I never told you mine. I've gone through most of my life afraid of being alone. I thought anything—even a bad relationship—was better than nothing. As if I was nothing… I had to prove to myself I could survive on my own. Learn to like myself. Be happy in my own skin. Now I've done those things, and I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not here because I'm afraid of being alone but because what I feel is true, and I trust you—with my heart. With my life."

  Brooks spun around, his eyes searching hers. "You…?"

  "I love you. I have loved you from that day at the mall when I bought that lipstick. I've never stopped. So if there's any way you'd consider actually spewing some of those things—" her voice broke "—I'd really like to come home now. Did you mean…?" She gestured lamely with her hands. "What you just said…?"

  He couldn't breathe. He didn't think. Blindly he reached for her, picking her up off her feet, burying his face in her hair, shuddering at the feel of her in his arms. "Yes. God, yes," he said, struggling to pull air into his oxygen-starved lungs. "I hoped … I prayed…" He kissed her head. "If this is a dream…"

  "No dream." She wrapped her arms around him, her damp face against his bare chest. "I've missed you so much. And Brooks, what you said about your fear…? You have to know now you're nothing like Luke. You keep me in your life by making me happy." She pressed her lips to his chest. "I finally figured out you gave me a piece of your heart when you let me leave with Timmy—"

  "Not a piece," he said, lowering her to the ground, framing her face in his hands, feasting his eyes on the woman he adored, the woman he'd waited for his entire life and believed he'd lost forever. "All of it, lollipop."

  "I know," she whispered. "I know…"

  "And I know I can live without you, if I have to." He wiped her tears with his thumbs. "But you give me a choice, honey, and I'll choose you every time. I love you so much."

  She smiled through her tears, reaching up to cover his hands with hers. "I know you do. You let me go. Now I've come back."

  "I swear I'll cherish you forever," he solemnly vowed.

  Her eyes softened. "I believe you."

  Something loosened in his chest. All his life, Brooks thought himself unworthy of such trust. Because of Laura, he'd learned the truth about himself, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, he would honor her until he died.
"So we'll be hiring a manager for the dude ranch." He lowered his head, his lips hovering scant inches above hers. "Know anyone with hospitality expertise?"

  She laughed, a puff of air tickling his face. "As it happens, I do. And you're in luck… She's moving to the area." She tugged his head down and kissed first his top lip, then the lower. "Permanently."

  Brooks groaned, capturing her mouth, tracing his hands along her waist, her rib cage and the sides of her breasts, reacquainting himself the shape of her, his woman. "I don't know if I can top her current salary…" His mouth moved to her neck, kissing and nibbling a path across her collarbone.

  She gave a broken sigh and tipped her head to the side. "You could offer benefits, in the other coin of the realm."

  "I … could … do … that." He punctuated each word with a gentle nip, sliding her tank top off one of her shoulders.

  She shivered and trailed her hands down his bare chest to his belt. "A signing bonus would be nice, too."

  He laughed. "Whatever you want, lollipop. Whatever you want."

  "I want you, Brooks. Forever and ever."

  "Done." His mouth closed over hers, sealing his vow.

  * * * * *