Billionaire's Nanny (A Billionaire Romance)

by Alexa Davis

  The officer with me held up a finger to me to wait for him and met the other men in the middle of the driveway. He pulled his handcuffs from the pocket attached to his utility belt and proceeded to handcuff the brunette man who had been holding Skipper’s leash when I found them.

  “You can’t be serious!” the lanky man complained as they helped him into the back of the police vehicle. The blond man looked at me with renewed hatred as the remaining officer did the same with him.

  “You worthless bitch,” he muttered as he was led away. I looked back and forth between Daniel and his father, confused, but with hope dawning in my face. The older officer who had examined Skipper was named Poole. Officer Poole roughly shoved the blond man into the back of the Ford Explorer and sauntered back over to the Hargrave family and me. The other hands slowly drifted back to whatever the excitement had pulled them away from, but Pete stuck around to answer questions and help.

  “You’ll be needing to leave soon and get that pup some medicine, Miss,” Officer Poole drawled, tipping his hat back on his head. “I’m sorry that you got such a poor welcome from the people of Lake Austin so far. I’m sure it will keep getting better from here, though.” He smiled at me and tipped his hat to Mr. Hargrave before he strode away to his waiting ride. I sat still for a moment, feeling several pairs of eyes on me.

  “What just happened?” I asked. “Why am I not being arrested? I hit that guy. I hit him as hard as I could. Seriously.” I held up my right hand. “I have two broken metacarpals to prove it.” I glanced up at Daniel, who glared at me for a moment before forcing me to relinquish Skipper to Pete and examining my fingers.

  “Well, goddamn. You have two broken fingers,” he repeated my diagnosis. “Boxer fracture, she’ll be fine,” he explained when his mother gasped. “I’ve never thought broken fingers were sexy before,” he mused quietly, staring at my hands and not meeting my eyes. I was grateful that I was the only one who had heard him, but I still felt my face heat up as I blushed. Louder, he continued, “I’ve gotten to hold your hands twice now, and neither time has been nearly as romantic as I’m capable of. Maybe someday I’ll get it right.”

  His father snorted and walked away, calling over his shoulder that he’d bring the truck around and take Daniel, Skipper, and I to the clinic and then the emergency room, so my puppy and I could both get casted up. Daniel helped me to my feet, being careful of my hand and letting me lean on him when the stress release hit me and my knees buckled under me.

  “I’m fine,” I snapped as he put an arm around me to hold most of my weight.

  “If you’re going to be ungrateful, maybe I should let you go,” he drawled in my ear, tightening his grip instead of loosening it. The smell of his cologne and his skin made me dizzy, and I shut up before he took me at my word. The sensation of being so close to him was as heady as a shot of cheap whiskey; it burned into my stomach and went straight to my head.

  He helped me up into the truck and climbed into the king cab behind me. His father drove and as promised, he stopped at the animal clinic first. Dr. Levine was ready and waiting, and it was while watching his gentle, expert hands examine Skipper that I found out why I was sitting in the clinic, instead of in a jail cell.

  “So, Poole and Carter show up, right?” Daniel was relaying the whole story to Dr. Levine, and I’d been so upset about the how it all started I’d been tuning him out. Dr. Levine nodded and Daniel continued. “So, Carter walks over to that dickhead, Cal Preston, and asked him why he was bleeding. Cal’s so stupid, he tells him everything, how he beat up poor Skipper because he scared him so bad the dog had peed on him, and then, when tiny little boxer here,” he pointed to me as he spoke, “found her poor baby in this condition, she had hit him, once, to get the dog away from him.” Daniel shook his head in disbelief. “He actually said that she hit him to get her dog away from him!” he repeated.

  “Poole and Carter weren’t about to arrest the girl for defending her pet from them,” Mr. Hargrave added. “I’m sure this goes without saying, but they were also fired on the spot. Pete packed and will be taking them their things and their last check, which we’ll cut tomorrow.” I looked at each of the three men in turn. I couldn’t believe what had happened, and I was leery about telling my parents I’d fractured my hand punching a cowpoke in the nose on my first day.

  I breathed deeply and tried to get my head around the craziness and that it wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t given in to my panic attack because I couldn’t, not when Skipper was on the line. That was the whole reason I had him. My parents had adopted Skipper for me when I was at my lowest, so broken and depressed that I’d even stopped riding Peacemaker. They’d told me that he was my responsibility, and when I was able to again, I could have Peacemaker back to take care of, as well. His soft, little face and silken, floppy ears had absolutely broken my heart and until I went back to school six months later, we’d been together every minute of every day.

  He was a forgiving, little guy, though, and had put up with me visiting through the week but never staying, and Caleb had taken good care of him for me when I was gone. Now, as he looked up at me from the examination table, where the vet was carefully wrapping his leg, keeping it nearly perfectly immobile, I saw that same love and trust in his eyes as I had the very first day we’d cuddled while my back ached and pulled from all the stitches and my abdomen felt like it had been torn out completely.

  Now, I watched him lying patiently on the table watching Dr. Levine wrap his ankle and tears burned the insides of my eyelids. I would’ve done anything to protect him, and I felt so much guilt for putting him in harm’s way.

  “Daniel,” I said to him as Dr. Levine finished with Skipper. “I know I said I needed to work the ranch for the summer, more than anything, but I don’t think…” My voice trailed off. I felt selfish for wanting to stay on at Lago Colina, but I needed to protect Skipper. He was my responsibility. If the men were willing to hurt him, what about Peacemaker? He was mine, but he was a serious investment for my father, as well. I had to respect and protect that, too.

  “Please don’t go, not like this,” he interjected. “There are only two other seasonal workers at the ranch right now; I’ll let them go before I let you go.” He touched my hand, but didn’t try to hold it. “We need you. I can’t imagine how you feel right now, and I’m just sick about it, but I won’t lose you over some asshole townie who thought he’d play a mean trick on the new guy, who just so happened to be you.” He settled his hand around my waist. I could feel the warmth of his palm barely hovering over me.

  “I feel like we just got off on the wrong foot, and I don’t know if I can fix it.”

  “We let you down, Rachel, not the other way around,” he whispered to me as we stood very still. I was afraid if he actually gripped my waist, I’d throw myself at him and release the tension that I’d been feeling since we met. He pulled away from me, and I shivered as he brushed my side. I just couldn’t make myself tell him I was leaving. “We’ll protect you – and Skipper and Peacemaker,” he promised in a whisper so low, I wouldn’t have heard had he not breathed it into my ear from so close I felt his lips brush my hair.

  My heart raced, and I struggled to breathe normally and not give away my feelings. After all, I’d heard about him from friends in the past. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know about the labyrinth of scars under my clothes. He had no idea that I wasn’t conquest material, but if he kept it up, I’d be the first to educate him.

  Dr. Levine let us take Skipper home with us right away, but I still needed to at least x-ray my hand, although it was likely nothing could really be done for my little fracture. When we explained the situation to the vet, he took me back to his x-ray suite while Daniel cuddled Skipper, and took a couple pictures of my hand from different angles. There were two actual fractures. The boxing fracture was hairline, and immobility was, well, in my eyes, optional. The second facture was in my middle finger and needed more direct attention.

  I explained
the issues to Daniel and his father. They decided that they’d take me to the hospital and leave me there, then Daniel could come back to give me a ride back to the ranch after, and Skipper would be made comfortable inside the big house where everyone could keep an eye on him. We rode to the hospital in silence, and Daniel helped me out of the cab and walked me in and made sure I was checked in to be seen before he left.

  I sat in the waiting room and watched people, the cartoons playing on the flat screen television, and surfed Amazon.com for almost an hour, doing anything and everything I could think of to take my mind off the pain in my hand, the shock of the day, and most of all, off my growing curiosity about what I’d find if I got Daniel Hargrave out of his clothes.

  To justify talking to him without admitting I just wanted to, I texted him about Peacemaker and asked him to step into the stables and check on him for me. He replied almost immediately that he had just finished taking him carrots and was on the road back to get me. I let him know the doctors hadn’t seen me yet and pretended I didn’t feel a thrill at his quick reply. Just as I put my phone back in my purse, my name was called by a young, tired-looking nurse. He led me back to the triage area and took my vitals and history. He then took me to an examination room.

  I asked him to let Daniel in if he asked to be, and sat quietly in the room for several minutes before I heard a knock at the door and the emergency room doctor walked in with Daniel on his tail, looking haggard and worried.

  “I’m Dr. Harris,” the first man introduced himself. “I heard you beat up a man twice your size for kicking a dog.” He looked over my intake forms.

  “My dog,” I corrected him. He glanced up at me and asked me to repeat what I’d said, so I did. “I beat up a man twice my size because he kicked my dog.” He snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

  “Well, then I guess the rumors, in this case, were not exaggerated. Where is the man now?”

  “He’s in county lockup,” Daniel interjected. The doctor looked over the clipboard at me with his eyebrows raised. I nodded in agreement.

  “Well, that’s good,” the harried young doctor replied. “Let’s just get that hand of yours back in fighting form, then. Don’t want you out of the fight if someone picks on this guy in the bar,” he teased as he pointed to Daniel with his thumb. Daniel looked perturbed, but I smiled at the teasing, and he started to lighten up, as well.

  Another hour and a battery of examinations, x-rays, and assorted tests later, our doctor was certain he could fix my hand non-surgically and it was immobilized, casted, and I was sent home with some really good pain pills, instructions on care of my dressings, and a list of activities to avoid.

  It had gotten late and was dark out, so I read the list by the makeup mirror on the passenger-side mirror. The Vicodin had kicked in, and I was giggling to myself about some of the items on the list. Soon, Daniel was looking at me funny out of the corner of his eye, as if I was crazy.

  “Don’t look at me like that, this list is hysterical,” I babbled when I realized what he was looking at. “I am definitely not to play basketball or football or any game that requires the use of my hands, or could cause me to fall on my hands.” I looked at him and shrugged. “I guess I’ll just have to win the women’s world soccer championship next year.” I sighed.

  “The world soccer championship is every four years,” Daniel replied drily. “It isn’t happening again until 2018.” I waved him off and went down the list some more, snickering to myself, but refusing to share with my too-sober-to-be-fun driver.

  “You know, I don’t usually take pills,” I slurred to him a few minutes later. “I do not like the way I feel right now.” He looked concerned, but when he asked if he needed to stop, I informed him that I had no intention of vomiting in his truck. However, the moment I stepped out of his truck, I amended, all bets were off. He picked up the speed as I closed my eyes and tried to focus on breathing and the cool air flowing from the air conditioning.

  It wasn’t until the quality of the cool air on my face changed that I realized the truck had stopped and my door was open. My limbs were heavy and I was moving slowly, but when I opened my eyes, Daniel was there, reaching across me to unbuckle me and lifting me out of the cab. I stared at him while he carried me into the house and to the room that had been made up for me. Skipper was already there, asleep in his kennel beside my bed. Daniel laid me down and smoothed his hand over my forehead.

  “Are you sure I don’t need to take you back to the hospital?”

  There was a tightness to his voice that made me want to pull him to me and kiss him until he was happy, but I still felt dizzy and disjointed from reality, and I wasn’t sure the concern I heard was real or if it was hallucinated.

  “I should’ve known not to take anything they gave me,” I spoke slowly, so that I wouldn’t slur my words like a drunk. “I had a bad reaction after the accident, too. The pain was so bad that every once in a while, I put up with feeling like this, but my hand wasn’t bad enough. I’d just forgotten to check that this wasn’t like the other.” I shuddered. “Ugh. That time it was OxyContin. So bad.” Daniel looked at the bottle he pulled from his pocket.

  “This is Vicodin.” I nodded and waved it off.

  “I don’t want it. Please just get rid of it; I won’t be taking another. Ibuprofen will work just fine,” I assured him. He touched my face, and I closed my eyes to revel in the sensation. I forgot to breathe when, without warning, his lips pressed gently against my mouth in a chaste kiss. I stared up at him, and he leaned in for a second kiss, which I gladly returned.

  “Just get better,” he said to me, placing a last kiss on my forehead. “I still have to prove to you that you made the right choice in staying.” He winked, or at least my narcotic-fogged mind thought he winked, before he exited the room quietly, while I wondered if I had just become conquest material after all.

  The next morning, Hannah brought me breakfast in bed and remarked that she had half expected me to be dressed still, after the way I had come home. She clucked over my bare abdomen and legs as I struggled to get under the covers and hide the scars that ran over almost half of my body, thick and thin lines of pale tissue that connected and diverged in roadways, tracing the paths where tree branches and glass had traversed my body as the car I was in spun, then flipped and rolled until stopped by the tree stump that had nearly impaled me.

  Horrified that she’d seen me, I watched her face for the disgust, or worse, pity, that always met my eyes when someone saw me. I nearly cried when she seemed not to notice at all, simply straightening the covers over me and setting a tray over my lap. I looked over at the kennel when I heard Skipper whine, but Hannah informed me that Daniel had already taken him out, and he was just begging for my bacon.

  Sure enough, the tray held a breakfast the likes of which I hadn’t seen in ages. Thick sliced bacon was cooked to crispy perfection and hanging over the edge of the plate. Whole wheat toast and a single egg covered the remainder of it. There was fruit, yoghurt, and a glass of orange juice.

  “This looks amazing. You didn’t need to do this,” I objected.

  “Nonsense,” Hannah countered. “You are part of the family now, and you’re under the weather. Even if what happened yesterday wasn’t entirely our fault, and it was, we would take care of you. Besides. Something you said has Daniel all fired up, and he needs you to ‘fulfill his vision.’” I stopped mid-bite on a slice of bacon and arched an eyebrow at her. “Oh, I have no idea.” She replied to my unasked question. “If he needs you, it has something to do with horses, right?” She patted my foot and strode out as quickly as she’d come.

  Horses. I wiggled my toes happily, trying to keep the tray on my lap as steady as possible. I had always wanted to train a racehorse of my own. All my veterinary training, all my schooling, were to help and serve the animals I loved. But horses, especially breeds like Arabians and thoroughbreds, had fascinated me all my life. I picked at as much of the breakfast as I could handle, then set the tra
y on the desk across the room from the bed and looked for my luggage.

  I found my suitcases in the closet, empty. I considered panicking, then realized that Hannah had likely put my things away for me. Grateful that I’d had the good sense to put my certain personal items in storage rather than bring them, I opened a bureau drawer. Sure enough, my clothes were organized and folded in neat piles. I grabbed the clothes easiest for me to get on, which turned out to be a black scoop neck tee and yoga pants. I struggled a little with doing everything left handed, but soon enough I was downstairs, standing outside the library door, listening to Mr. Hargrave talking to Daniel.

  “But thoroughbreds, Daniel? That’s not only a high risk investment, it’s ridiculously expensive.” He sighed. “It’s a sport for the elite to prove that they are just that. You can’t expect me to hobnob with those yahoos, do you?” His voice grew and faded as he spoke, and I realized he was pacing the room as he talked.

  “I’m not asking for a triple crown winner, Dad,” Daniel sounded exasperated. “I can start small. This is something I’ve always wanted, and I’m tired of waiting for you to be out of the business of the ranch to do something about it.” He shifted in his chair, and the creak made me jump, thinking I’d been caught. “Just stop shutting me down, as though the only ideas that are valid in this room are yours.” Daniel huffed and went silent.

  My feet started moving of their own volition toward the room, in spite of better judgment screaming in my head.

  “Actually,” I offered, slipping into the room uninvited. “You do want to start with a winner, or at least the bloodline of one.” I shrugged and looked at Daniel. “What you want to do with those beautiful Arabians out there, is breed them to the thoroughbred stud with the winningest family ties.” I spread my palms wide at Mr. Hargrave. “I already have a stud for you, if you’re interested.” Daniel motioned me to carry on, and I used the computer to pull up an image.