To Protect His Children
Autor
Linda Goodnight
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HarlequinChapter One
Wade Trudeau was losing his mind. What was left of it, anyway.
He slammed the landline back on the charger, pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and groaned.
“No news from the employment agency?”
Wade let his arms flop to the desktop and looked up as his cousin, best friend and business partner, Bowie Trudeau ambled into the home office of Sundown Ranch.
“The trouble is, Bowie, nobody wants to take on three babies, especially in an area as remote as Sundown Ranch.”
“We’re only ten miles from town.”
“Might as well be a thousand the way these town folks behave.” No woman, including their own mother, seemed willing to care for three little babies.
“We were making it work until Miss Janey’s brother got sick.”
Miss Janey, a diamond in a gray ponytail.
“I can’t fault Janey for putting her brother first. That’s what family does.” Wade’s mouth twisted at the irony. His own family wasn’t so adoring. “Or what they should do. And the two other housekeeper/nannies barely got unpacked before they were packing up again.”
“No calls from those index cards you posted in town?”
The little mountain town of Sundown Valley was friendly like that. People stuck ads for yard work, babysitting, hay-hauling and whatever on community bulletin boards in cafés and grocery stores. Even in the pink Laundromat.
Last year, with a simple index card and a phone number, Wade had given away a litter of abandoned kittens.
Babies abandoned by their mother, apparently, were a different matter.
“None.” Depressive air descended like morning fog over Jackfork Mountain.
Wade heard a familiar babble. One of the babies was awake. If he didn’t hurry, the fifteen-month-old would elevate to an ear-splitting pitch that would wake the entire trio.
He loped toward the nursery, then tiptoed into the triplets’ bedroom to scoop up the pajama-clad baby and quickly escape to the hallway.
“Good morning, nugget,” he whispered.
He should have known the babbler was Abby. She’d been trying to talk since she was born.
Abby burrowed her face into the space between his neck and shoulder, a spot where his babies fit perfectly.
Wade’s chest filled with pleasure. This was his baby girl. His daughter. A gift from God. No matter how difficult the journey, he was grateful for his babies.
Wade breathed in Abby’s sleep-warmed scent. The hint of last night’s bath marathon lingered in her hair. He probably hadn’t rinsed well enough, a real challenge with a slick, wiggling toddler and two more waiting in the wings.
He was still learning, still adjusting to being both mom and dad. Two cowboys plus three babies equaled chaos.
He patted Abby’s tiny back and headed for the kitchen for a fruit pouch to keep her happy while he rustled up breakfast.
Bowie had disappeared already, probably heading out to meet the vet. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about, some of the cows in pasture three were coughing and bull five had a limp.
As he settled Abby into one of the trio of highchairs crowding the kitchen island, the doorbell rang.
Wade looked toward the baby, then toward the ringing bell and let out a beleaguered mutter.
He knew better than to leave a baby alone in a highchair, even for a minute. He’d learned the hard way.
Quickly unbuckling the safety straps, he pulled Abby onto one hip. She wasn’t happy.
He pushed the fruit pouch against her lips and hurried to the door.
Then wished he’d ignored it.
“Keno,” he said, wary.
A red-faced Bud Keno shoved a piece of paper into Wade’s gut. Wade grabbed for it.
“What’s this?”
“A bill for the four calves I didn’t get out of my bull.”
“How’s that my fault?”
“Your bull busted through my fence, and now I got four calves that don’t fit my breeding program.”
Was that why bull five was limping? He’d been battling Keno’s bulls? “If you’d keep your side of the fences repaired—”
Keno stuck a finger against Wade’s nose. “Eight thousand or I’m suing.”
While Wade tried to regain his breath and hold his temper, Keno marched to his truck and sped away.
Wade crumpled the bill in one hand.
“Starting out to be a real bad day.” He sniffed at the baby. “And now, you stink.”
He managed to change the dirty diaper before the next interruption.
The doorbell. Again.
“Lord,” he said to the ceiling, “if that’s Keno again I may have to act first and ask forgiveness afterward.”
Storming through the house with his daughter on his hip and growing madder by the minute, Wade reached the door and yanked it open.
“What now?” he bellowed.
A startled young woman took two steps backward. “Have I come at a bad time?”
Was there anything other than a bad time lately?
“Sorry. It’s been a rough morning.” As if to prove his point, Abby slapped him upside the head with the fruit pouch. He felt a dribble down the side of his face and swiped a hand over it.
Nothing like first impressions.
“I’m looking for Wade Trudeau.”
“That’s me.”
“I’m Kyra Mason.” Eyes still wide and uncertain, she pointed. “You have a baby?”
He scowled. “You don’t like kids.”
She stiffened. “Of course I do. Everyone likes children.”
His mouth twisted. “Apparently not.”
Abby patted his whiskered face. So he hadn’t shaved yet today. No wonder the woman—Kyra Mason—stared at him with something akin to suspicion. He probably looked like America’s Most Wanted.
Had he even combed his hair this morning?
Wade glanced from the woman’s wary hazel eyes to the driveway and the tiniest blue car he’d ever seen. Was she a...salesman, er, woman? “Is there something I can do for you?”
She hitched a large shoulder bag and handed him a familiar white index card. He recognized his own handwriting.
Oh.
Well, now.
This could be promising. Maybe his lousy day was taking a turn for the better.
Thank you, Lord. Please let her be the one. You know I’m sinking fast.
He’d prayed over this nanny situation at least a hundred times. Maybe God was finally showing him some mercy. Except Kyra Mason looked nothing like the sixty-year-old grandmother he had in mind.
After a quick glance at Keno’s bill, now crumbled on the entry tile, Wade put on his nice face. If Kyra Mason was here about the nanny job, he didn’t want to scare her to death.
“You’re applying for the position?”
Her eyes went to the baby. “Maybe.”
Wade bit back a growl. What was it with women these days? Weren’t they supposed to be baby-adoring nurturers? Or was that only a TV fantasy created by a wishful-thinking male?
This woman said she liked kids, but the uncertainty in her expression made him wonder.
He wasn’t sure he could take much more rejection, especially when it came to his triplets.
But he’d invite her in and ask. He was that desperate.
Stepping back from the door opening, he hitched his chin. “Office is the first room on the right. Come in.”
He waited until she passed, then shut the front door and followed her into the ranch office.
The smell of her perfume trailed behind her, and Wade called himself seven kinds of idiot because he liked it. A woman’s perfume was a dangerous thing.
Giving his head a shake as a reminder of what the last woman and her delicious perfume had done to him and their babies, he settled behind his desk with Abby on his lap.
Kyra chose one of the beige armchairs across from him. She let her purse slide from her shoulder to the floor, placed a manila file folder on her lap, sat up fence-post straight and clenched her hands atop the folder.
She was either nervous or a prissy little prig, her posture perfect, her lips tight, her nose tilted up just so. Granted, hers was a cute nose. So was the rest of her face. Not Hollywood gorgeous but fresh and wholesome, like a spring morning.
Perfectly groomed in an interview-worthy floral dress and sensible black shoes, she had smooth shoulder-length red hair, the kind that caught sunbeams.
Yeah, so he’d noticed the shiny stuff on some subconscious male level while he’d barked at her on the front porch.
She was pretty, but he wasn’t looking for beauty. He’d had that. He wanted a woman willing to nurture his babies while he worked. Period. End of subject. Cut. Print. The end.
“Tell me about yourself, Kyra.” There. Didn’t he sound businesslike?
The redhead whipped out a printed parchment résumé and placed it in his outstretched hand. Their fingers touched. Only a brush of skin, and then she sat back, but not before Wade’s nerve endings reacted. His hands were hard and calloused. Hers were as soft as Abby’s.
Dropping the résumé on the desk as if it had suddenly burst into flames, he slid his hand beneath the desk and scraped his fingertips across the rough denim of his jeans. Rough. Not soft. Much better.
Abby made a dive for the pristine white paper. Reflexes always on the ready, especially since becoming the only parent of three babies, Wade rescued the résumé from her grip and slid the wiggling child to the floor.
She toddled off to explore. The house was babyproofed but he kept an eye on her anyway.
Babies, in his crash course of experience, had an uncanny way of finding things they shouldn’t no matter how a man tried. One person didn’t have enough hands or eyes. How mothers managed still mystified him.
He perused the slightly wrinkled résumé. “You’re a teacher.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“I was. I’m considering a change.”
“Teacher burnout already?” He softened the question with a slight smile. At least, he hoped it was a smile and not a grimace.
Kyra didn’t return his feeble attempt. Instead, her lips formed a tight line, as if she didn’t want to discuss the subject. “Something like that.”
Okay, fair enough. He wouldn’t pry. From the news and teacher friends, he had an idea of the pressures of dealing with twenty-five-plus kids in an enclosed space, half of those students without any home training. Teachers were leaving the profession in a stampede.
Still, a teaching education and her experience working with kids would be valuable when caring for toddlers. “Can you pass a drug test?”
She whipped out two more papers from her handy little folder. So organized.
“Most recent drug test and a background check. Standard procedure for educators.” She pushed her folder across his desk. “References in there, too. I can get more if needed.”
While he read the glowing references, Abby toddled toward the newcomer, chattering with every wobbly step. She patted the woman on the knee, smearing a dab of applesauce on the blue floral dress.
Wade watched from the corner of one eye. Kyra didn’t react to the smudge, a major point in her favor. Babies were messy. Sticky. Smelly. Noisy.
He cast an ear toward the nursery. Why weren’t the boys up? Not that he was complaining.
Abby reached up with chubby arms. As natural as could be, Kyra Mason lifted his baby girl against her shoulder for a messy hug. If the former teacher even noticed the smears and dribbles of pureed fruit soiling her nice clothes, she ignored them.
What kind of woman did that?
Wade clapped the folder shut. “Looks good to me. When can you start?”
To say she was startled by Wade Trudeau’s sudden decision was a massive understatement. Kyra batted her eyes so many times in an attempt to get her bearings she lost focus.
“Wait. Wait. Mr. Trudeau.”
“Wade.”
“Right. Yes. Okay. Wade.” She was stuttering. But she hadn’t expected an immediate job offer. “I’m not sure yet if I want the position.”
The handsome cowboy fell back in his chair. His voice became a despairing murmur. “Is it because of the applesauce?”
“What? Applesauce?” She followed his gaze to her sleeve. “I was a special needs teacher. I’ve had far worse things on my clothes than pureed fruit.”
The cowboy tilted his head back against his office chair and closed his eyes for one long breath.
For a second, Kyra felt sorry for him. He looked tired. Frazzled. Beneath the uncombed brown hair and whiskery face, he was a good-looking cowboy, in a rugged Scott Eastwood kind of way.
The sleeves of his blue chambray shirt were rolled to the elbows over muscular forearms. Strong hands. Muscled chest. Broad shoulders.
Did ranch work keep all cowboys in such great shape?
Heat rose up the back of her neck.
This was a job interview, not a speed date.
To hide her foolish thoughts, she pressed her face against the baby’s neck. She smelled like baby shampoo.
“Then what’s the holdup?” he asked. “The job’s open now. Today. I can pay you well.” He named a satisfactory, though surprising sum, considering the nature of the job.
Which begged the question.
What exactly was she required to do to earn that amount of money?
“Stay long enough and I’ll even put you on our medical.”
“Mr. Trudeau. Wade. We haven’t even discussed a job description. Your card said housekeeper. What exactly does this housekeeping position entail?”
“Well, uh—” He ran a finger beneath his shirt collar, a weird action because the top button was open on the casual shirt. “I might have left off the nanny part.”
“Nanny part?”
This was supposed to be a job without children. In fact, bearing the responsibility of a child was the very thing she’d hoped to avoid.
Besides, what kind of parent hired a stranger on the spot to care for his child without even calling references?
Her opinion of the handsome cowboy, already questionable, hit rock bottom.
An hour ago, she’d driven away from a school parking lot too anxious to go inside to the scheduled interview for a teaching position. She’d thought she was ready to teach again. The cold sweats and shaky hands proved she wasn’t.
At a coffee shop in the sleepy town of Sundown Valley, she’d seen Wade Trudeau’s index card on a bulletin board advertising for a housekeeper at the Sundown Ranch. No mention of a child at all. On an impulse she still didn’t understand other than her love for the Kiamichi Mountain area, Kyra had taken the card and driven to the ranch.
She needed a job. But did she want one with a child involved?
“Your card didn’t mention a baby.”
“Three.” He held up three fingers, spearing her with a pair of tired blue eyes as if awaiting her reaction.
“Three what?”
“Babies.”
Shock reverberated down Kyra’s spine. Three babies? As in triplets?
She picked her chin up off the floor to consider exactly what she’d walked into.
Nanny to three children.
“Not a housekeeping job at all?” Had her voice squeaked a tad on the ending?
“Light housekeeping. We pick up after ourselves, but the triplets don’t. Maybe a little cooking if you’re willing, but if not, Bowie and I will go on handling KP duties.”
“Who’s Bowie?” She was starting to sound like a five-year-old, answering every statement with a question. But really, this man was so rattled, he was confusing her.
“Didn’t I mention him? My cousin and business partner. He lives here, too.”
Kyra raised her eyebrows. “Anyone else I should know about?”
And why didn’t she put this cute baby down right now and head for the door? This obviously was not the job for her. Nothing, not one thing, was the way she’d imagined.
The cowboy’s mouth gave a wry twist. “No one else at the moment. I have a wayward brother. Yates. But he hasn’t been around in several years.”
From the sad look in his eyes, the wayward brother was an issue he had yet to resolve. She couldn’t think about that. She had issues of her own.
“So you’re telling me, two men live in this house, but no women.”
“Right. Plus three fifteen-month-old babies. We need a nanny in the worst way.”
“Do you actually expect a woman to move in here, miles from the nearest town, with two strange men?”
That silenced him. His shoulders slumped. The frown, which seemed permanent, deepened.
Finally, he muttered, “Is that why no one wants the job?”
“It could be one reason.”
“Do I look scary to you?” He touched his unshaven face, then held up a hand stop-sign style. “Don’t answer that.”
Kyra almost laughed. The poor guy was beside himself.
“Have you considered alternative lodging for your nanny?”
“Alternative...” His fingers scraped over the whiskery jaw as he considered. “Well, let’s see. We have an old bunkhouse around back, but the place hasn’t been used in years.”
“Separate living quarters, I think, would help in your nanny search.”
“Will you take the job if I fix it up?”
“What about time off?”
He looked thunderstruck. “Babies don’t take time off.”
“I wonder if that’s another reason you’re having a hard time finding a caregiver? Everyone needs some free time.”
“I’m a rancher. I don’t even know what free time looks like. But if you’ll take the job, pick your days. Any days. Ranch work doesn’t care. It keeps going. Like babies.”
He sat up straighter, seemingly bolstered by what he thought was a great offer, as if normal days off would turn the tide in his favor.
It wouldn’t, though she felt sorry for the three babies whose daddy seemed so eager to escape them.
“To be honest,” Kyra said, “a nanny position wasn’t what I was expecting. I’ll have to say no. I don’t think I’m interested.”
She didn’t know why she’d come here in the first place.
She started to put Abby on the floor.
“Wait. Hear me out. I’ll pay a bonus.” Wade’s voice rose in anguish.
He leaned those fit forearms on the desk and stretched his hands toward her.
A plea. A pitiable, desperate plea.
“Why not take the job on a trial basis?” he was saying. “Three months. Until the end of summer. Three short months of sunshine and mountain air and country peace and quiet. School is out for the summer, anyway. If you choose to return to teaching in September, so be it. I’ll pay you the fat bonus, anyway.”
“For only three months?” She could definitely use the money. And she loved the idea of mountain solitude.
He nodded, solemn as a gravedigger. “Three months gives me time to look for someone else. Not that I hold out much hope. I’ve been searching for months.”
“Have you considered a male nanny?”
“I want a woman.”
When she tilted her head, he added, “What I mean is, I don’t want a woman personally.” He made a face. “Not ever. No thanks. The gain is not worth the pain.”
He was certainly adamant. She’d be insulted for the entire female population if the man weren’t desperately seeking a female nanny. “Then why not a male nanny?”
“Call me old-fashioned, but no. They have plenty of men in their lives. I want a woman. The balance thing. God’s design.”
Kyra understood where he was coming from. In her studies and in her classroom, she’d noted the importance of both a female and a male in a child’s life. Thus, the value of mentoring organizations like Big Brothers and Big Sisters.
That Wade Trudeau needed her was evident, and she’d always been a soft touch, especially where kids were involved.
She wanted to help the babies. She really did. But a ranch with two men and three toddlers was out of her comfort zone.
“Have you considered a day-care center rather than a nanny?”
“Yes and no.” He made a growling noise and pulled a face. “I’ve considered a day care and weighed the pros and cons. The answer is still no. Too far away and too expensive. Don’t you get it? I want the triplets here, with me.”
The sincerity in his voice went straight to Kyra’s heart. Maybe he wasn’t the jerk she’d assessed him to be.
He had a ranch to run. Having the triplets on site, in his house, allowed him to pop in from time to time to see them.
Was that his intent? Or was she reading her own emotions into the situation?
Poor little babies.
If she stayed in this office another minute, she might seriously be tempted to say yes.
“Let’s do this,” Kyra said, in a pity move as she reached for her folder. The baby squirmed at the pressure. Kyra sat her on the floor and took a pen from her purse. “Give me three character references I can contact. I’ll check them and call you with my answer sometime tomorrow.”
Saying no was easier over the phone.
Suddenly, loud cries erupted from somewhere in the house. Extremely loud, angry, frustrated someone-save-me squalls.
Kyra’s head snapped in that direction.
The other two babies, apparently, had awakened.
Should she offer assistance? Or get out while she had a chance?
Wade bolted to his feet. His chair clattered backward on its rollers. “I missed the signals.”
“What?”
“The babies babble first. Screaming comes after they’re tired of waiting for me.”
He raked his hand over his head. Messy brown hair shot straight up.
Abby toddled to him. He bent to pick her up.
Kyra took pity on him.
“Go,” Kyra said. “I’ve got her.”
The poor guy galloped away like a juiced-up racehorse.
