“Horsey,” Brett called out the second he spotted them.
Brianna followed the direction of his pointed finger and bounced in the seat of the stroller. “Horsey,” she squealed, too.
Brooke laughed at how animated they’d become. They lived on a ranch and probably saw the horses every day, but that didn’t seem to diminish their enthusiasm.
“Mrs. Brandt, if you’ll get Brianna out, I’ll get Brett. Henrietta packed carrots. We can show the kidlets how to feed the horses.”
Mrs. Brandt chuckled. “The kidlets?”
Brooke shrugged. “I nickname everyone.”
“Heavens, don’t tell me what name you’ve picked out for me.”
“I promise I won’t.”
Mrs. Brandt gave her a sideways glance, and then chewed on her lip to keep from smiling. “You have one for me already?”
She was rescued from answering when a tall man in jeans approached. “Is that you, Genevieve?”
Wyatt’s mother whipped around and appeared startled. “Oh, uh, hello, James.”
James was about the same age as Genevieve, and the hair under his black hat was almost the same silvery-pearl tone. A goatee shaped his chin and jaw and looked marvelous on him. He stared at Wyatt’s mother for almost five full seconds, his green eyes sparkling. “Hello.”
Brooke made herself busy taking Brett out of the stroller.
“And who is this young lady?” he asked.
“Hi, I’m Brooke. I’m the twins’ nanny.” With Brett on her hip, she walked over to shake his hand.
He took her in from top to bottom and nodded. “James. I’m the foreman here on Blue Horizon.”
“Nice meeting you.”
“’Bout time Wyatt saw fit to hire himself a decent nanny.”
“Th-thanks. We were just letting the children get some fresh air and hoped they could feed the horses.”
“Sure thing,” he said, his gaze going back to Genevieve.
She did her best to ignore him.
Brianna made noises, stretching her arms up, and James bypassed Genevieve to lift Brianna out of her confinement. “There, there, now, Brianna. Uncle James has you now.” He bounced the toddler in his arms and Brianna reached up to pull at the hairs of his goatee, as if she’d done it a dozen times.
Rich, deep baritone laughter poured out of him, the sound amazingly sensual, and Wyatt’s mother began fidgeting with the collar of her blouse.
“Don’t you have work to do?” she asked, her tone ice-cold.
“Well, now, I’ve done all that needs doing so far.” His chest expanded and he dug his heels in where he stood. “Like always.” He bounced Brianna again and she cackled.
Oh, wow. He wasn’t a man to be put down by the likes of a strong-willed woman. Watching James with her granddaughter, Genevieve looked lost for a moment, her light aqua eyes filled with something...longing or regret? It was sad in a way, but it wasn’t any of Brooke’s business.
“Here, let me have her,” Genevieve said to James, putting her arms out.
“Grammy needs a hug,” he whispered to Bri and when he made the transfer, his arm brushed Genevieve’s—maybe deliberately, Brooke couldn’t be sure. Wyatt’s mother sucked in a breath and stiffened her body.
“I get plenty of hugs,” she barked at him, cradling the baby to her chest.
“Not enough, I’d bet.” He stared into Genevieve’s eyes and for a moment, Brooke felt as if she needed to give the two of them some privacy so they could hash out whatever they really needed to say to each other.
“Brooke, you said there were some carrots?” Genevieve needed an escape from James’s intense gaze, and the excuse of feeding the horses came to the rescue.
“Oh, yeah. Let me get them.” Brooke reached for the bag under the stroller and by the time she had the carrots sorted out and ready, James had said a quick goodbye. She caught Genevieve watching his retreat, her gaze on his backside as he sauntered into the stable.
Wyatt’s mother turned around, her face flushed. It was hard not to notice...or comment.
“I’m a good listener, if you want to talk about it,” she said quietly.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Genevieve’s eyes flashed in cold defiance, a reminder for Brooke to mind her own business. There was something to talk about, but just not with the family nanny.
Brooke recovered quickly and handed Genevieve a few carrots, then grabbed a few for herself. “Shall we?” They walked over to the corral fence. The horses had a sixth sense when it came to treats, and they’d wandered over, nudging each other to get to the carrots.
“Here you go, Brett. Hold it out,” Brooke said.
Genevieve followed suit, giving little Brianna instructions.
“You know your way around a ranch.” Brooke was impressed at Genevieve’s ease with the animals.
“I know horses,” Genevieve said. “And cattle for that matter. My husband saw to it that I knew everything there was to know about his business. God, I loved him, but ranching wasn’t in my blood the way it was with him.”
It was obvious Genevieve’s tastes were far more refined. She wasn’t one for living out on a remote ranch, gorgeous as it was, without people, nightlife and high fashion.
“But I miss these babies. And my son.” She stroked the bay’s mane gently. “Though I think he’d rather not have me here.”
It was a confession that surprised Brooke. “I don’t think that’s true.”
Genevieve shook her head and chewed her lip, most likely regretting letting that nugget of information slip. Maybe Wyatt didn’t want his mother here right now, but James sure had his eye on her. From all indications, he’d probably like her to stay on at the ranch indefinitely.
Genevieve reached into her pocket and unfolded a hand filled with sugar cubes. “Watch this, Brett and Bri.” She put out her hand and moved from one horse to another feeding them the sugar. Afterward, she graced each horse with a loving pat on the head. “Sugar cubes are like cupcakes to horses,” she said. “Who here likes cupcakes?”
Brett and Brianna grinned and shouted, “Me! Me!”
“Well, maybe tonight, Grammy will give you some, if you eat a good dinner.”
Brooke smiled at the joy on their faces.
So far, so good.
The twins’ accidental nanny hadn’t blown her cover.
* * *
Brooke’s tummy heaved and bile rose in her throat. Henrietta had insisted on cooking liver and onions for dinner, and the steamy aroma filled the entire room. Apparently, it was a Brandt family favorite. Lucky for Brooke, the housekeeper also fried up a plate of chicken fingers for the twins. Okay, so she wouldn’t starve; she’d eat with the children. But the pungent smell and onion was doing a number on her. Blood drained from her face, and she imagined she’d turned a pale shade of avocado right then.
She wanted so badly to put her hand on her stomach, to somehow make it feel better. But standing near Henrietta and Genevieve, two women who’d carried a child, she feared that gesture would be like drawing a bull’s-eye on her belly.
Instead she rubbed at her forehead.
“Something wrong?” Wyatt asked, coming up from behind. She hadn’t seen him enter the kitchen.
She gave him a half smile. “Just a little headache.”
Struck by the concern in his eyes, she put her head down. “I’ll be all right in a minute.”
“Why don’t you go lie down?” he said.
“Yes, dear,” Henrietta said. “I think between the three of us, we can manage the twins. Dinner will keep.”
Darn right it would. If she ate a bite right now, she wouldn’t be able to hold it down.
“Are you hungry?” Wyatt asked.
“Not really.”
“The
n go lie down. There’s headache medicine in your bathroom.”
He glanced at Henrietta and she nodded.
Wyatt, Henrietta and even Genevieve had sympathetic expressions on their faces.
“Okay, but just for a little while. I’ll get the twins their baths and put them to sleep later.”
“Take the night off. I can do all that.” Genevieve seemed eager to spend precious time with the children.
“Thank you, Mrs. Brandt.”
Wyatt’s lips went tight. He wasn’t a fan of his mother’s insistence on formality.
“I’ll walk you up,” Wyatt said.
“No, no. That’s not necessary.” She gave Wyatt a solid, don’t-argue look, and he relented. “Thank you,” she said to everyone.
She made her way up the staircase and entered her room none too soon, flopping on the bed facedown, and closed her eyes. Getting away from the ungodly smell of liver and onions was half the battle. She immediately felt less nauseous and was grateful she hadn’t made a spectacle of herself in the kitchen. She gave herself up to rest.
A gnawing ache in her stomach woke her and she snapped her eyes open to darkness. She waited a second for her eyes to adjust to the barest glimmer of moonlight streaming into her bedroom. Slowly, she sat up in the bed and got her bearings. The bedside clock read midnight, and another grumble of her stomach reminded her she’d gone to bed without dinner.
Now she was famished.
She rose and walked into the bathroom. Under dim light she washed her face and changed out of her wrinkled blouse. She ran a brush through her unruly hair, then wove the strands into one long braid, letting it fall down the middle of her back.
Barefoot, she ambled down the hallway and peeked in on the twins. She smiled at their peaceful sweetness and air-kissed both of them. The rest of the house was equally quiet. Carefully, she tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen, bracing herself for the awful scent of liver. Thanking all things holy, she was happy to find that the horrid scent was gone. Instead the kitchen smelled sweet, and she remembered Genevieve had promised to bake cupcakes for the twins. The aroma of chocolate was a much better scent, but she wouldn’t dare. She opted for a piece of French bread, no butter.
She sat at the kitchen table with the bread and a glass of milk.
“Want some chicken to go along with that?”
She jumped in her seat, startled by Wyatt’s voice. “My God, you scared me half to death.”
He grinned. “Sorry.”
“Why don’t you look sorry?”
“Because I heard a noise and was hoping it was you.”
“You mean, you’d rather face me than a burglar?”
“I’d rather face you, period.”
Oh, wow.
He grabbed a chair, turned it backward and straddled it. His feet were bare, his jeans riding low. A T-shirt stretched tight over his arms and chest, exposing his solid strength. He didn’t look like a filthy rich billionaire, but a father of twins with a bad case of drop-dead gorgeousness.
“Sorry about the meal tonight. Liver’s a staple around here. I’ll make sure Henrietta doesn’t cook it again while you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
“How’s your head?”
“My head?”
“You had a headache.”
“Oh, I slept it off and then woke up hungry.”
“Well, eat up.”
She nodded and chewed for a few seconds, aware of Wyatt’s gaze resting on her.
“How was your day with my mother?”
“It went well.”
“Really?”
“Really.” She wouldn’t tell him that Genevieve had been curt at times and seemed out of sorts when James showed up. “We took the babies for a walk and I met some of the crew and your foreman, James.” She searched Wyatt’s face hoping for a clue about his relationship with Genevieve. “He seems comfortable around the babies. Brianna adores him.”
“He’s a good man, likes kids. He’s been with us for twenty years.”
“Hmm.” She took a swig of milk.
“I bet my mother wasn’t thrilled to see him.”
She snorted and milk spewed from her nose and mouth.
He chuckled. “That bad?”
She nodded her head and grabbed the napkin Wyatt offered. Dabbing at her mouth, she kept her thoughts to herself.
“Ah, that’s what I was afraid of. It’s no secret James is smitten with my mom. They dated once, last year when she was here for a visit. James was over-the-moon happy and then Mom called it off. She didn’t want to have anything to do with him after that.”
“Do you know what happened between them?” She was dying to know. It was a great diversion from her own problems. And maybe she could help.
“I have my suspicions. Mom likes James, a whole lot. And that’s the problem. He’s a threat to her life in New York. If she got seriously involved with him, it would mean moving back to Texas.”
Brooke mulled it over for a few moments. From what she gathered about Genevieve, it made perfect sense. “Maybe that’s exactly what she needs, Wyatt. She misses the babies very much, and being near you.”
“Ah, but she made her choice when she pulled Dad away from the ranch as soon as he retired. I think she believes it would be a step backward if she gave in to her feelings now.”
“So James, I take it, isn’t a pushover. He gave her grief over it, right?”
“That would be my guess.”
She nodded. Now she understood Genevieve’s reaction to James today.
Wyatt took hold of her hand, lacing their fingers together. It was clear the conversation about Wyatt’s mom was over. Tingles ran up her arm, and her mind got a little fuzzy.
“Come into my study with me, Brooke,” he whispered, leaning close. She suppressed the urge to run her hands through his thick hair. “I want...us.”
God. She squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted “us,” too. It was wrong. They’d made an agreement. While she was here as his nanny, they had to keep their distance. And yet, as she glanced at their entwined hands, the power of his simple suggestion was a pull she couldn’t resist. She wanted to be with him. He excited her and made her long for more. They shared a child, and whether he knew it or not, the bond was there, nestling inside her.
She nodded.
A gleam sparked in his eyes and he smiled, pushing all her female buttons. He stood to pull the chair out for her. Then he grabbed her hand and gave a squeeze as they ambled down the long hallway that led to his study.
With a click, they were locked in.
“The babies?” she whispered.
“We’ll hear them if they cry out.”
And then his mouth was on hers and his kisses washed away all her worries and doubts. Within minutes, they were naked on a wide comfy leather sofa. Atop her, his body was steel to her softness, his chest rock solid as it grazed her tender nipples, his hands threading through the braid that had come loose. In haste and urgency, they explored and pleasured each other in the near-darkness. Wyatt spoke sweet words, loving her body, offering her anything she wanted. He wanted to please her, to make it good for her. The gesture made her fall deeper under his spell.
She loved him.
It was not a big surprise. She’d been falling steadily. He was the kind of man a woman didn’t forget. Wyatt made her see and feel the difference between the superficial kind of love she felt for Royce and the love she had for him. He was a real man. A good, kind, solid man, and she had fallen head over heels in love with him.
She rode the wave of his passion, giving him all she had to give, making it good for him, too. When they were joined, his flesh deep inside her, she felt safe. Protected. The connection was real, and not just physically. They shared something wonderful,
a compatibility and understanding that carried over to their day-to-day living. She’d never felt more encouraged than now. The urge to speak the truth and get it all out in the open was never stronger. Tonight was the night she would tell him about the baby she carried. His baby.
The joy in her heart led to a wild, furious release. Wyatt joined her, and they shared the amazing climb together, the grind and arch of their bodies in complete sync with each other. “Let go, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice tight and tense.
“Wyatt,” she moaned, and the pressure rose to an extreme high.
Both shuddered. Both cried out. Both were bathed in sweat and heat. And then they both came down, Wyatt cupping her head and bestowing kisses on her face.
She’d never been happier.
And afterward, when they were poking around in the dark, retrieving their clothes and attempting to dress, she whispered, “I can’t find my panties.”
Wyatt chuckled. “It’s all part of my plan.”
“Wyatt!”
“Hold on a sec,” he said, and scrambled for the light switch. Soon the dark study was awash in dim light. And oh, if only her panties weren’t missing. If only she could’ve walked out of that room blindly and gone on with her plan.
But clarity was a bitch. Clarity brought pain. Clarity made her see what she didn’t want to admit. Wyatt’s study, his most private place and the room where he relaxed and retreated to whenever he needed an escape, painted a very telling picture. There on all four walls, the fireplace mantel, the massive desk and bookcase, were dozens upon dozens of framed photos. Madelyn smiling into the camera. Madelyn riding a horse. Madelyn pregnant with the twins. Madelyn in her bridal gown. The two of them, the four of them, the entire Brandt family. Everywhere.
Yes, she’d seen photos of Madelyn in some rooms in the house. Henrietta said Wyatt wanted to make sure the babies never forgot their mother. Brooke got that. It was understandable. She’d worry if there were no pictures around of his wife and the mother of his children.
But this? The room Wyatt considered his sanctuary wasn’t merely a study, but a cluttered cathedral meant for worshipping at the altar of Madelyn. This was a wall-to-wall depiction of their life together. Every photo, every scene, every unabashed smile told the story of their love.
Twins for the Texan Page 12
