Claiming Their Nanny: A Cowboy Ménage Romance (Montana Ménage Book 1)

by Lily Reynard

  Abby with the now-happy baby in her arms was the very picture of ideal domesticity.

  It had been a while since he’d met anyone so sweet and gentle. She aroused more than the simple desire he was accustomed to, and that bothered him. As did the memories of Clara sitting in that very same rocker, Chris at her breast, with the same quiet expression of satisfaction that Abby wore now.

  "Well, I'll just leave you to it," he said awkwardly and beat a retreat to the kitchen to clean himself up.

  ◆◆◆

  Exhausted by his monumental spell of crying, Christopher fell asleep minutes after finishing his bottle.

  Feeling wrung out by her ordeal, Abby stood by his crib, wondering what she would have done if Jim hadn't helped her. Have I bitten off more than I can chew?

  Back home, she'd had Dora the housemaid and Mother to call upon if she really got herself in a fix. Out here, she had only Jim and Dan, and they were busy running the ranch. Without any other women around, she was on her own.

  Her neck and hair were clammy where the baby had thrown up on her after drinking too quickly. He had managed to miss the protective flannel cloth draped over her shoulder entirely.

  I need to wash up before supper, she thought wearily. Then she remembered the sight of Jim, coated in mud from hat to boots. Though I wonder if anyone in this bachelor household would actually notice if I didn't bother.

  Her brief moment of temptation vanished when she caught a whiff of the sour miasma that surrounded her. Now that Chris was sleeping soundly, she dared to leave his side for the first time in hours. She ducked into her room to fetch a clean shirtwaist, a towel from the stack thoughtfully left for her in the armoire, a comb, and a cake of her precious castile soap.

  Then she made her way downstairs to the kitchen, following the mouthwatering scents of baking bread and simmering stew.

  Over supper yesterday, Dan and Jim had told her that they stored a bathtub in the kitchen and that she could use it at her convenience.

  Apparently, the kitchen was the only room in the house with running water, and Abby realized that she should be grateful for at least that much, this far from civilization. She could have found herself hauling buckets of water from a well or a creek located some distance away from the house.

  Through the dining room window, she caught sight of Isaiah weeding the vegetable garden and realized that she had found the perfect moment of privacy.

  However, as she began to push open the swinging door between the kitchen and dining room, she caught a glimpse of movement inside the kitchen.

  She froze.

  Jim, naked as Adam, stood in a portable metal tub placed on the linoleum floor at the far end of the kitchen, vigorously plying a soapy sponge over his body.

  Abby wanted to retreat before he realized that she was there. But confronted with so much magnificent male nudity, she couldn't bring herself to move.

  Her gaze drank in the long, clean lines of his limbs. The muscles of his chest, back, and torso resembled the ancient Greek statues she had seen, but in warm, tanned, living flesh rather than cold marble.

  Unlike a statue, though, his chest was lightly furred with dark hair. Water and suds ran down from the sponge, across his flat stomach and belly. Her gaze tracked the foaming bubbles down to his nether regions.

  Abby's mouth went dry as she saw his manhood. It hung between his legs, as long and thick as a stallion's.

  She had only ever seen one other man naked, and James Brody put Arthur to shame in all respects. What if it had been Jim's body over hers that night, taut and heavy, pressing her into the mattress as he invaded her body?

  Would he have rejected me as cruelly as Arthur did?

  Would he have shamed me to my family and all those who knew me?

  Would the act of intercourse have hurt as much as it did?

  Abby had known Jim Brody for fewer than two days, but everything she had learned about him convinced her that he was incapable of hurting the weak and defenseless. Despite his bold flirtatiousness and suggestive remarks, his actions had demonstrated genuine chivalry, thoughtfulness, and a surprising gentleness towards the people and animals under his care.

  She was still staring at the shocking length of his penis when the movements of his sponge ceased.

  Their eyes met through the tiny gap she had opened in the door.

  He saw me! Abby gasped, sudden terror sending icy needles of panic shooting through her limbs.

  To her astonishment, instead of exploding in righteous anger, Jim gave her a slow, wicked grin that informed her that he'd guessed exactly what kinds of impure thoughts had been racing through her mind as she spied on him.

  Embarrassment supplanted shock. Abby spun and sprinted for the safety of her room, locking the door behind her.

  Why did I do that? Why? Burning with mortification, she sank into the chair by her writing desk. Her eye fell on a half-written letter to her parents, informing them of her safe arrival in Montana Territory and describing the ranch in glowing terms.

  Her stomach churned with the emotions roiling through her as she looked at it, wondering if she should just crumple it up and discard it. Because there was no way that the Brodys would permit her to stay here now. I've ruined everything!

  A firm masculine tread on the steps a short time later sounded like the drumbeats of doom. She stiffened as she heard footfalls approaching her door.

  This is it, she thought. Her hands curled into fists in her lap, her short nails digging into her palms. He’s going to fire me for peeping at him and order me to leave his house. How could I have been so utterly stupid?

  "Abby?" Jim asked. His voice sounded amused rather than angry, and that was almost worse than the rage she had been bracing for. "You okay in there? You took off like a spooked filly."

  "I'm sorry, really I am!" she exclaimed. "I don't know what came over me! Christopher spit up on me, and I wanted to wash my hair. I honestly had no idea that you were in the kitchen!"

  "You had no reason to expect to see me naked as a jaybird in the middle of the afternoon. I didn't mean to discombobulate you."

  She drew a shaking breath and stared at the closed bedroom door in disbelief. He's apologizing to me? He isn't going to send me packing?

  "The bathtub is all yours," he continued, and the amusement was back in his voice. "I've set a fresh batch of water on the stove to heat and asked Isaiah to make himself scarce for a while longer."

  Abby stood there for a long moment, trembling with relief as she heard his footsteps move away from her door.

  It seemed rude, not to mention silly, to keep hiding in her room, so she gathered up her courage and cautiously opened her door a crack.

  The hallway was clear, so she snatched up her supplies and change of clothes and scurried downstairs…to find him waiting next to the tub, fully dressed now, with a cake of soap in his hand and a towel draped over his arm.

  "I thought you might need someone to scrub your back. I'm volunteering." His tone was teasing, but his eyes were hot above his lazy grin.

  "I—" Her throat tightened as she met his gaze. Is he joking?

  She should object, but she was consumed with the memory of him standing in the tub…and the thought of his big hands sliding over her skin, slick with soap.

  "Or at least let me help you wash your hair." His grin widened. "Think of it as your punishment for peeking at me."

  Abby felt like a deer staring down the barrel of a shotgun. She tried to summon up shame, but her only emotion was annoyance and embarrassment that he had caught her peeping.

  Jim would be well within his rights to release her from her employment on the spot. Was yielding to him the price he was demanding for her indiscretion?

  "Don't look so scared," he said, apparently misinterpreting her expression. "I'm not asking you to get naked. Though that would be only fair," he added.

  Abby gulped. What does it say about me that a part of me wants him to undress me?

  "But I won't take
any liberties," Jim's gaze dropped to the cake of castile soap in his hand. In a voice so low that she could barely hear him, he continued. "Clara always said it was easier to wash her hair with a helper."

  The pain radiating from him was almost palpable, just as it had been with Dan last night.

  Despite his roguish manner, it was clear to her that James Brody was still mourning his sister, hiding the raw wound of his grief under a dressing of bold flirtation.

  Abby chewed nervously on her lower lip as she looked him up and down. Can I trust him?

  Every fiber of her being ached to offer him surcease from the pain lurking in the back of his eyes.

  "All—all right." Abby tried to suppress a frisson of excitement at the thought of those big, callused hands moving through her hair.

  "Well, then," he said, looking surprised.

  Perhaps he wasn't serious? Abby's face heated. Have I made a fool out of myself? Again?

  "Go ahead and have a seat." Jim pointed at a wooden stool pulled up next to the tub. "I'll be back in a moment."

  He headed across the kitchen to the big black cast iron range, where a large enamel stockpot stood, wisps of steam escaping from under its lid.

  The kitchen was fragrant with the scents of baking bread and a meaty stew simmering in a lidded cast iron Dutch oven next to the stockpot.

  Her heart beating with a mixture of excitement and fear, Abby sank down on the stool and began pulling the pins from the long braid coiled into a bun at the back of her head.

  "And you needn't worry," he said over his shoulder as he ladled hot water into a large pitcher. "Dan's helping the ranch hands round up calves today. He won't be back until suppertime."

  What on earth does that mean? Does this mean Jim isn't going to tell his brother about this? She glanced out the window but could see only blue sky and branches. And what about Isaiah? Surely he suspects that something improper is going on in here?

  Jim added cold water to the pitcher from the hand pump next to the kitchen's large tin sink before returning to where Abby sat.

  Abby pulled the last of the pins from her hair and put them carefully in her skirt pocket before untying the bit of thread that fastened the end of her braid. Jim stopped to watch as she began to loosen the long plait that now fell over her shoulder.

  "I suspected that your hair might reach your hips, and it appears I was right," he commented.

  The look in Jim's eyes finally drove home what Mother had meant when she said that a woman's hair was her crowning glory. Until this moment, Abby had not understood how powerfully attractive her long tresses would be.

  Now she was glad that she had stuck to her routine of faithfully brushing them out every night and conditioning them with a raw egg or beer after washing.

  Her face heated under his admiring gaze, and she looked away self-consciously as she finished undoing the braid and combed through the thick, wavy mass with her fingers.

  Jim pulled up a second low stool and hunkered down next to her.

  She couldn't help jumping a little when he slid his left hand under her locks and curved it around the nape of her neck. It felt like a deeply intimate gesture, even though both of them were fully clothed and likely to remain so.

  "Go ahead, lean back," he urged. "I promise I won't let you fall."

  She took a deep breath and relaxed into his hold. He cupped the back of her head and the top of her neck, supporting her.

  With his free hand, he gathered the heavy fall of her hair into the tub, lifted the pitcher, and poured a stream of warm water over her head.

  Abby closed her eyes and felt herself relaxing as he slowly and gently massaged soap into her scalp, combing his fingers through her long tresses to distribute the suds.

  It felt unbelievably good, a sensual, utterly decadent experience beyond anything she had ever experienced.

  I'm not doing anything improper, she told herself even as she fought to keep from imagining him sliding those skilled fingers over less innocent parts of her body.

  Only if you ignore the fact that you're alone with a man who's practically a stranger, and you let your hair down for him.

  The voice in her head sounded eerily like Mother, who had told Abby that she should only ever unpin her hair for a man on her wedding night, and then only in the privacy of the marital bedchamber.

  She opened her eyes the tiniest crack. Jim looked lost in thought as he bent to his task. His expression was simultaneously tender and haunted.

  Like she had with Dan yesterday evening, Abby felt a strong, inexplicable urge to comfort him.

  Then he noticed her looking at him, and his face instantly transmuted from pensive to the wicked smirk that she was getting accustomed to seeing.

  "Almost done," he said softly, setting aside the cake of soap and reaching for the pitcher. "Close your eyes, Abby."

  He spoke her name like a caress, and suddenly, she felt consumed by the desire to find out what kissing him would be like.

  But Jim remained frustratingly true to his promise to be a perfect gentleman as he rinsed her hair with the remaining warm water, wrapped it in a towel and raised her to a sitting position.

  "Thank you," she said, words inadequate for describing much she had enjoyed that.

  It would be dangerous for both her position here and her precarious self-control if he realized how deeply his touch had affected her.

  "Believe me, it was my pleasure," he said, grinning, and handed her the comb she had brought.

  Then he rose. "Let me empty the tub."

  She admired the flex and bunch of his broad shoulders as he lifted the tub and walked to the door that led from the kitchen to the garden.

  At the same time, she felt horribly confused by what had just happened. It had been intensely sensual and tender, and now she ached with forbidden desire. And yet she felt that Jim hadn't intended to seduce her…or not entirely.

  Something else was going on. She only wished she understood what it was.

  ◆◆◆

  When they all sat down to supper two hours later, Abby’s hair was once more braided and pinned up, much to Jim’s regret.

  Isaiah had served them his freshly baked bread, along with his tasty beef and vegetable stew, then departed to go supervise the cooks over in the bunkhouse where the ranch hands ate.

  Now Abby seemed withdrawn, her attention focused on mashing a piece of potato with her fork and feeding it to Christopher. His bottle sat next to her plate, and she alternated feeding him milk with bits of solid food.

  After their interlude in the kitchen, which had left him so hard that he could barely walk, Jim hadn't been able to resist watching her as she sat in the garden.

  Chris had woken from his nap, so he'd fetched his nephew downstairs and brought him outdoors.

  Abby's glorious golden tresses had been spread over a towel draped across her shoulders, the summer breeze drying them as she watched Chris crawling around the grass and playing with a colorful set of painted wooden blocks.

  Dammit, what was I thinking? Jim asked himself.

  Their encounter this afternoon had left him shaken to his core. He'd started by wanting to see her glorious hair freed from its captivity. He hadn’t counted on how deeply her vulnerability—and her trust in him—would affect him.

  She had looked so peaceful as she relaxed against his hold, and the sight had spread a balm over wounds that he'd been trying to deny even existed.

  Now, he couldn’t stop looking at her. It didn’t help that she was seated in Clara’s usual seat at the table with Clara’s son on her lap.

  His chest ached at the sight, which reminded him of everything he'd lost on that snowy March day. He was staring at Abby right now like the worst kind of lovesick fool, and it didn't help that she seemed to be actively avoiding his gaze.

  "I'm glad you enjoyed your bath this afternoon," he said, hoping to get her attention.

  Dan, who was seated across the table, gave Jim a sharp, questioning look. He mouthed, Bat
h?

  There would likely be fireworks later, but Jim didn’t care, because Abby was finally looking at him.

  And that oh-so-appealing blush was back on her cheeks. "It was fine, thank you."

  He couldn't help himself. "And did you enjoy the view?"

  Her eyes widened. But instead of blushing this time, she paled. He saw terror in her expression and instantly felt like a cad.

  "Out the kitchen window," he said hastily. "Dad built that window for Mom, and those panes of glass were shipped all the way from Independence by wagon, just so that she could look out at the garden while she was washing dishes."