His intentions? Cripes.
"Fine." He faced them both. "I intend to keep this between Amelia and me until we figure things out. And I expect you to butt the hell out until then. How's that?"
At that moment, Mitch cleared his throat and socked him in the arm. He looked up to see Amelia standing there, with a bright-eyed Timmy strapped piggyback in his baby carrier.
One look at Madonna and child, and Brooks's heart damn near stopped beating.
Until that moment, he'd half convinced himself she couldn't have been as pretty, as sexy as he'd thought. In his experience, women never looked as good as they did in the heat of the moment. "Warm afterglow" was just a sugarcoated term for "serious buzz kill."
Until now.
One look at Amelia Rigsby's milk chocolate eyes, her shimmering hair and clear, smooth skin, and Brooks's buzz was nowhere near killed.
She was stunning. More beautiful in the light of day than she'd been last night. More beautiful to him because of what they'd shared last night. And the simple fact made him alternately want to drop to his knees and run like hell.
"Morning." Her voice held false cheer.
How long had she been there? Had she overheard them?
Mitch and Dean sprung to action before he could open his mouth. "Hey, Amelia. How's it going? Watch your step. You look awful pretty today. Sure you're up to slopping around? You don't have to if you don't want. Is the chief too heavy on your back? Need a hand with that diaper bag? Here, take my arm." They fawned over a red-faced Amelia.
"I'm fine, guys. Thanks." Anxious eyes cut to him. "Brooks? Could I speak to you?"
His brothers narrowed their gazes, managing both to spur him on and glare in caution.
"Over here." He tipped his head toward the office and held out his arm, guiding them as they went inside.
"They know, don't they?" she asked the minute he closed the door.
He didn't try to tiptoe around it. "Dean delivered my wake-up call in person this morning."
She raised a hand to cover her eyes. "Oh, no."
Without thinking, he stepped closer and tucked her hair behind her ears. Surprised and annoyed by the easy, natural gesture, he dropped his hand, his voice gruff. "Nothing to be embarrassed about."
She opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say got cut off at the pass as her brows drew together. She reached up and took his chin, gently turning his head a fraction. "What happened to your cheek?" Her tenderness caught him off guard, freezing his diaphragm.
Gentle and tender were not common handling instructions for a cowboy. Especially not a burly, six-foot-two cowboy. Not even when his injuries warranted major plaster.
Brooks swallowed against the stupid locking of his throat and stepped back, his voice rusty with emotions he fought to keep in check. "Barbed wire. I'll live."
She nodded and folded her arms, taking a deep breath. "I … saw your note. In the kitchen. To call the agency. A-about me." Her voice dropped. "You want another nanny."
"No. God, no. Amelia…" It was his turn to take her chin. He lifted it with the curve of his finger, his heart pounding as he met her gaze. "I don't want anyone but you, honey." Mercy, that was the truth. "I swear it."
Tears welled in her eyes. "But the note…"
"It's nothing." He told her what Jo had said. "I'll straighten it out in two seconds."
"That … that's it?"
"That's it."
She expelled her breath in a rush. "I thought…"
"I know what you thought."
With a relieved laugh, she pushed her hair from her forehead. "Nothing like a good scare to put things into perspective." She stepped back, and he let his hand fall away. "Brooks, about last night…" she said, obviously uncomfortable with the subject but braving it head-on. "I know I caught you at a low moment. You were grieving and understandably upset."
She was giving him an out. An invitation to chalk it up to one reckless night.
"I'm glad I could be there for you." She swayed back and forth, rocking Timmy who had started to squirm in his carrier. "Settle down, sweetie. We'll go outside in a sec." But Timmy was having none of that. Having expended his patience, he kicked and grunted, gearing up for a wail.
"You're boiling in that coat and hat, aren't you?" She grimaced over her shoulder. "All right, we'll go out—"
"Here." Brooks gestured to a small side room. It had two cots and a bedside table with a lamp and an alarm clock in between. In the corner sat a folded playpen, a toy chest and a space heater.
"What's this? A mini bunkhouse?"
"Nah, just a place to crash. Comes in handy when we're working 'round the clock."
"Looks like Timmy's broken the place in." She sat on a cot, eased the baby off her back and out of his carrier, and unzipped his coat while Brooks took his hat.
"There're few places on this ranch he hasn't touched." He unfolded the playpen and crouched by the chest to pull out an armload of toys. "Check it out, chief. All your favorites." He rattled plastic keys on a ring and tossed them into the playpen, grinning as Timmy's eyes widened in anticipation of an all-you-can-eat buffet.
But it was Brooks whose mouth watered when Amelia leaned over the playpen, her coat riding up over her shapely little rear. A fist of desire nailed him below the belt, slamming home the fact one night was nowhere near enough.
He itched to pull her hips against him, to unzip her jeans and find his way back to the promised land. He wanted to make her burn until she melted in a rush of pleasure so intense the thought of her leaving would never cross either of their minds.
Good God. What was happening to him?
He turned his back and gulped large quantities of air, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Are you going to play on your own, little one? Yeah? Not going to be Mr. Clingy? Good boy." She rustled behind him. "Brooks, I… Oh … I remember now…"
She remembered.
Brooks went still, his heart paralyzed in an iron fist. A trickle of sweat dripped between his shoulder blades, his mouth as dry as dirt.
"This is part where the guy goes cold and distant, and the girl wants to talk, right?"
His head swam, and he nearly doubled-over from relief. He took off his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He didn't know how much time they had, but it wasn't up yet.
"This isn't easy for either of us," she said.
"No, it's not." He straightened and faced her, still holding his Stetson, his neck muscles aching with strain.
"Maybe we could keep it short, sweet and to the point?" At his curt nod, she clasped her hands together. "As I was saying… About last night…"
"It was incredible."
Her eyes softened, and she drew her lower lip between her teeth. "Help me out, Brooks. Tell me where we go from here." She lifted her shoulder as if it was no big deal, but the way she worried her lip told him otherwise. "I don't have expectations. I just need to know where I stand."
She didn't have expectations. How many times in his past would such a declaration have made him whoop with joy? Countless. So why did it tick him off to hear it from her?
Because it was a sorry reflection of a woman's self-worth, that's why, and he wouldn't stand for it. A woman comes along and bends a guy's mind and body into a pretzel—she ought to know she's got some leverage, damn it.
Brooks wrestled with a lifetime's defenses. He'd never stepped out from behind his walls, opened up enough to let a woman be special to him. He'd never wanted to this badly. He thought of Timmy. "Where do you want to stand, honey?"
She blinked as if no one had ever put the question back to her. "I—I don't know."
"Well, then." He dragged a hand through his hair and stuck his hat back on. "I suppose you better think it over and get back to me." With that, he stooped to get Timmy's coat and hat from the cot. "We should get going—"
"Wait a minute. Not so fast. Are you saying you don't have a preference?" At her belligerent tone, his gaze shot up. She was giving h
im the evil eye, one hand on her hip, her foot tapping her impatience.
And just like that, something loosened in his chest, making him suddenly, absurdly happy.
A week ago, she never would have talked to him like that, never would have lasted two minutes cooped up in a small room with him blocking the only door.
She felt free around him.
Maybe not completely. But enough. Enough to speak her mind. Enough that she didn't see him as a physical threat.
Brooks felt his face breaking into the dumb, happy grin his brother had expected. "Yeah, I've got a preference." He wanted to kiss her, wanted to lock the door and take off her clothes and have his way with her on the cot. He clamped down on his jaw and clutched Timmy's coat and hat tighter to keep from doing just that. "I prefer to give you what you want." His voice was thick, hoarse with the strain of his suppressed needs. "Whatever you want."
Her eyes searched his, suspicion warring with hope, as if she couldn't believe he didn't have something hidden up his sleeve. "I don't know how to play this game, Brooks."
"It's no game, honey. It's the way you deserve to be treated. You … have a right to certain expectations." At the words he'd never spoken before, Brooks braced for some natural disaster. But there was no flood, no hurricane, no tornado. The sky didn't fall. The earth didn't move. He exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Now we can stand around and analyze this to death, or I can show you the range and let nature run its course. Your choice."
She blinked. "Gee, when you put it like that…" She turned toward the playpen but not before he caught a flash of hurt she tried to hide. "Come on, Timmy. Uncle Brooks is going to—"
"One more thing."
"What?"
He waited for her to look at him, then opened his arms. "Come here," he said gruffly, a muscle pulsing in his jaw.
Her stiff upper lip gave way, and she launched herself at him. He heard a tiny catch in the back of her throat as he caught her, sucking in his own breath at the feel of her soft body against his again. Dropping Timmy's coat and hat on the cot, he held her tighter.
"Damn women." He kissed her forehead. "Always wanting to talk everything into the ground." He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, inhaling the clean smell of her shampoo. "I'm no good at this, lollipop."
"Yes, you are." This was what she'd needed, what she'd been waiting for—to be held in his arms again, a place that had fast become her favorite in the world. All the pretty words meant nothing if they weren't backed up with action. "I'm not ready to move. Can we stay like this all day?"
"I don't know." He brushed his cheek against her hair. "I was thinking those cots never looked this appealing…"
She laughed against his chest, then turned her head and listened to the steady beat of his heart. When he moved his hand to her hair, she sighed and let her eyelids slide shut.
"Are you sore?"
"A little."
"Anything … I can kiss and make better?" His voice was deep, rich, intoxicating with promise.
Liquid heat spilled through her body. "C-careful, that sounds like an offer."
"Take it any way you want." At the sexy smile in his voice, her breasts grew heavy, her limbs weak, a familiar, hollow ache throbbing inside her.
All the right words. All the right gestures. Why did it feel so strange, so foreign to her?
She drew back and lifted her face, peering up at him through hooded eyelids. "You could spoil a girl this way, Brooks Hart."
His eyes darkened as he dusted a fingertip along her nose from the bridge to the tip, then dipped his head and brushed his lips over hers. "That's the plan."
She rose on her toes, seeking his mouth again, but he groaned and pulled away.
"That's it, honey. I can't take much more temptation. I wasn't kidding about the cots." He crooked a rueful grin, straightened his arms and set her away.
At the loss of his body heat, she shivered and eyed the cots with longing. "Maybe if we didn't have an audience…"
He groaned again. "Hold that thought. The kid's gotta sleep sometime."
Her eyes cut to his. Where was this going? Where did she want it to go? How could she even begin to contemplate having a relationship when she didn't have her memory?
How could she not?
No one had ever made her feel like this. She was sure of it. Her body wouldn't forget. This was something new.
New and exciting. Exhilarating and terrifying.
And yet, it was like walking a tightrope knowing she had a safety net. She could actually let herself go and bask in the adrenaline rush without fear of physical harm.
"So." Brooks shifted. "You gonna take that ranch tour, or bail on me?"
She was too fragile from the get-go. Wimpy little thing, not cut out for ranch life, or anything else that takes a backbone.
For some reason, Clara's description of Brooks's mother had struck a nerve, made her want to prove herself different.
She smiled. "A woman would be crazy to bail on you." Was that vulnerability that tempered the heat in his eyes before he averted his gaze and brushed past her?
"All right, chief. Up and at 'em. Time to show Amelia how we check calves." He hoisted Timmy onto the cot, bundled him up again and planted him on his shoulders, to which the baby squealed with glee and drummed his hands on Brooks's hat. "Hey, buckaroo. What's the first lesson we learned about hats? That's right—if it ain't yours, don't touch." He laughed and plunked his Stetson on Timmy's head.
It engulfed him, settling well past his eyes. With one chubby fist, Timmy pushed up the brim, his tongue lolling to the side with his happy, toothy grin.
"Wait! The door!"
"Relax, lollipop. I'm an old hand at this." He bent his knees and covered Timmy's head with his hand, clearing the door frame without incident.
She blew out a breath. "Okay, I'm impressed."
"You ain't seen nothin' yet, city girl." He winked, and her stomach turned over.
* * *
They buckled Timmy into his car seat, went out the gate Mitch was kind enough to open and close for them and started up one of the ranch roads. Amelia was glad to have Timmy as their chaperone. The cab was intimate enough before. After last night, the effect only multiplied. Every glance, every sound, every body part had new meaning.
She found herself greedily cataloging small details about Brooks—the scars on his hands, the lines on his face, the shape of his earlobes. All the places she'd touched. Places that had touched her.
Places she wanted to know again.
She looked at him, and she no longer saw just the outer trappings of a drop-dead gorgeous cowboy in faded jeans and a Stetson. She saw him naked—physically and emotionally. She saw a man who, when stripped bare, possessed a deep, intense passion surpassed only by his gentle soul, his boundless patience and rare generosity. A warm glow of excitement hummed in her veins, the idea of a day in his company making her giddy as a teenager on her first date.
"So, where are we going?" she asked.
"North pasture," Brooks said as they crested a hill and started down into a valley. "We move cow and calf pairs out here after the calves are a week old. Before then, we keep them in corrals closer to the barn, so if there's a problem, they're easy to get in and help." He bent and reached under the seat, pulled out a clipboard with pages of computer printouts and handed it to her. "Hang onto this for me?"
"Sure." She scanned the top page. "What is this?"
"Calving log. Every calf's got a number and tag. Every morning, we ride through and check them off."
"All of them?"
"It goes quickly."
Not too quickly, she hoped, smothering the unease that never completely left but lingered below the surface. The feeling she was somehow living on borrowed time, that sooner or later, the black hole of her repressed memories would open up and claim her.
She smoothed Timmy's hair, and in the short time it took to look up again, she'd lost all sense of direction. The ho
use and the red-and-white buildings had disappeared from view. All around them, an endless, white blanket of pasture stretched to the bottom of a cornflower blue sky.
"This is amazing," she whispered in awe.
"Yeah, it is." He smiled and shook his head. "I swear sometimes it seems like yesterday I was sitting where you are, Pete was driving, and this car seat held Mitch or Dean. So much has changed, yet this view… It's timeless."
God's country. The thought whispered through her mind.
Soon, they were driving through a herd of grazing cows. The hay appeared a startling green against the bright, white snow, and steam billowed from the cows' noses and mouths.
Amelia wondered what it would be like to live here, day after day, year after year beneath the big, open sky on this unspoiled, remote land where the animals outnumbered people. Would the novelty wear off? Would the incessant wind blow loneliness into her soul, or would the mysteries of Mother Nature continue to captivate her? What kind of a backbone did ranch life require, and did she have it?
"This is a good time to check calves," Brooks said. "The cows are busy stuffing their faces, so they aren't too concerned with the calves. See there." He pointed out her window where calves bucked, charged, frolicked about, often colliding into one another.
"They're like kids at recess," she said as four calves in a row ran by, playing follow-the-leader.
"You remember coming out here, chief?" Brooks rubbed Timmy's tummy. To her, he said, "He was a regular hand the first month since we were on the waiting list for a nanny. He's helped mend fence, chip ice from windmills, feed and water the herd, tag and check calves…" He animated his voice for Timmy's benefit as he rattled off ranch chores.
Timmy chortled and kicked up a storm. Happy feet.
She smiled. "Looks like another born cowboy, huh?"
Something flashed in his eyes then, something fierce and proud. He left one hand on Timmy's tummy, taking it away only to shift gears, steering with the other. "This land's his legacy. I want him to grow up to have the same choice the rest of us had—whether or not he wants to stay and raise his family here."
Timmy latched onto his uncle's fingers with both hands, trying without success to get them into his mouth. Watching their interactions, Amelia's heart crowded her lungs. She swallowed. "He really loves it here. He … loves you."
THE NANNY'S SECRET Page 17
