The Nanny And The Reluctant Rancher. Barbara McCauley

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      “Katrina, my darling,” Sydney purred as she moved in for the kill, “you look absolutely radiant tonight. I refuse to budge until you tell me who the lucky man is.”

      Katrina sighed. Sydney’s words were not a threat, but a promise. If she suspected even the tiniest deception, she’d clamp down like a bulldog and never let go until she got something. Tonight was one night Katrina could not afford to humor the woman.

      With the ears of an elephant, Max Straub, Katrina’s business manager, quickly moved in. Publicity was the man’s job, and every move his clients made, especially Katrina, was carefully orchestrated. Tomorrow, when he found out what she’d done, Katrina knew that Max was not going to be a happy camper.

      “What lucky man?” Max looked at Katrina and lowered his dark bushy eyebrows in disapproval.

      Katrina hadn’t time to respond before her mother and father suddenly joined the growing circle around her. Married in Russia thirty-six years ago, Larisa and Nicolai had immigrated to the States one year before she was born. Katrina had the same amber brown hair as her mother, and though the older Delaney woman was nearly fifty-five, heads still turned when she walked into a room. Katrina’s father, darkly handsome and terribly protective of not only his wife, but his only child, as well, scowled constantly at every one of those heads that turned toward wife or daughter.

      “A man?” her father asked gruffly. “What’s his name?”

      “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” Sydney cut Katrina off before she could speak.

      “Don’t be ridiculous.” Katrina’s mother smiled. “Katrina hasn’t time right now for that. Do you, dear?”

      “Of course, she doesn’t,” Max answered. “Which reminds me, Katrina, you have a two o‘clock tomorrow with Warner Records, a five o’clock with a reporter from the New York Times and a six o’clock with a photographer from Classical Weekly. I’ll pick you up at noon and we’ll have lunch to go over the rest of the week’s schedule.”

      Katrina simply nodded, but then, when Max started in on scheduling, there was little to say. He wasn’t listening; he was planning.

      “I thought you were spending the day with me tomorrow,” Katrina’s mother said.

      “She promised me an interview.” Sydney pouted.

      “She’s practicing tomorrow,” her father stated with authority.

      They all started to argue then. Katrina sighed, then glanced at the head waiter, who nodded, then promptly refilled everyone’s glass standing around her. A hand on her elbow gently tugged her away from the heated discussion surrounding her.

      Oliver. Thank God. The second essential ingredient had arrived at last.

      “You’re late,” she said quietly.

      “Sorry.” He kissed her cheek, then brought his lips close to her ear. “That’s one hell of a sexy number you’ve got on, Kat. Sure you don’t want to run away and have an adventure with me instead of some bowlegged cowboy?”

      Katrina smiled at Oliver’s foolishness. They’d met in high school and gone through college together. He was her best friend, but she knew that his shameless flirting and devilish good looks were going to get the sandy-haired cello player in trouble one day.

      “I’m not running away,” she whispered. “I’m taking a little vacation by myself, that’s all.”

      Oliver gave a snort of laughter. “Katrina, my love, most people wouldn’t call working on a Texas ranch as a nanny to a nine-year-old a vacation.”

      Katrina watched Max argue with her father over the next day’s schedule. “It is to me,” she said wistfully.

      “You’re Katrina Natalya Delaney,” Oliver insisted. “Violin virtuoso, the toast of the symphony circuit. A villa in Spain or a town house in France is much more the image.”

      “I don’t give a damn about image.” Katrina noticed the conductor of the evening’s performance glance over at her. She smiled at him, and he raised his glass to her, then continued his conversation with a music critic from Entertainment Weekly.

      “Oliver—” she lowered her voice “—I’m twenty-four years old. Music has always been my life. I’ve never done anything else, been anywhere by myself. In three months I’ll be traveling and performing for two years straight, surrounded by people, never a moment to think, let alone be by myself. If I’m going to do this, it has to be now.”

      “But working on a ranch, Katrina.” A waiter carrying a tray of stuffed mushrooms passed by. Oliver reached for one. “Why not a dude ranch or whatever those things are called?” he said when they were alone again. “You could put on some jeans, a cowboy hat and sit on a horse for a couple of days.”

      “It’s not the same,” she said emphatically. “Ollie, tell me there isn’t something you’ve wanted to do all your life, something completely different than you’ve ever done, something wild and crazy and romantic.”

      He grinned. “Yeah. Swim naked with you in the Thames.”

      She sighed with exasperation. “I want to experience a real, honest-to-goodness working ranch, with real, honest-to-goodness cowboys, a world completely opposite of my own, where no one will know who I am. The second I saw the ad in that magazine you gave me, and saw that the name of the town was Harmony, it was like a neon sign. I had to apply.”

      “It’s all my fault,” Oliver groaned. “I know how crazy you are over that cowboy stuff, and when I saw a copy of Western Roundup I thought you’d get a kick out of it. I never dreamed you’d start sending out résumés to be a nanny.”

      “I could hardly apply for ranch foreman,” she said, then waved to Sharon Westphal, a shy flutist who Katrina knew had a crush on Oliver. Katrina had been trying to get Oliver to ask her out, but he’d come up with every excuse he could think of to avoid her. He looked at her now and his eyes took on a strange glint before he quickly turned away and took Katrina’s elbow.

      “You’ve never been around kids,” Oliver protested, “let alone be a nanny. This guy—what’s his name—he’ll spot you for a phony in a minute.”

      “His name is Logan Kincaid, and I’m not a phony. I’m perfectly qualified. You know I minored in English in school and I have a teaching credential. And if that’s not enough, I believe that the fact I had three nannies of my own gives me an edge of experience the average nanny wouldn’t have.”

      Oliver laughed. “An average nanny you definitely are not. For that matter, my sweet, there is nothing average about you.”

      She knew he meant it as a compliment, but somehow Oliver’s statement disturbed her. She’d hoped that he might understand that was exactly the reason she’d taken this job, because she wanted, if only for a little while, to be like the “average” person. But Oliver had always loved being in the spotlight and performing. It was hard for him to understand that everyone else didn’t feel that way. As much as she loved to play, performing in public always made her stomach queasy.

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