Major Nanny. Paula Graves

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      The dread in Stacy’s eyes turned into full-blown panic.

      “And you, Harlan, will be in charge of security.”

      Harlan glanced at Stacy again. Babysitting the governor and her entourage of fans and followers wouldn’t normally be at the top of his list of desirable assignments, though he had to admit the recent attempt on Lila Lockhart’s life added a little zing of excitement to the prospect.

      But working day in and day out with the governor’s enigmatic—and intriguing—aide?

      Now, that might turn out to be a real challenge.

       Chapter Four

      “I want to go riding, Mommy.”

      Setting aside her pile of notes, Stacy turned to look into her son’s bright blue eyes. He wore an expression she was coming to know well, the “come hell or high water” look he gave her when he was determined to get his way.

      “Zachary, I told you I have to work this afternoon.” She knew she was fortunate to be able to work from home when necessary. She and Zachary lived in the guesthouse at Twin Harts, so she was only a short walk from the governor’s own office at the ranch house.

      “I was supposed to go riding Monday, but you changed the plans.” He sounded quite put out about it, too.

      “Yes, I changed the plans. I told you why I changed them, didn’t I? Miss Lila had to visit the capitol, and I had to go with her. Remember?”

      And then things blew up, literally, and now I have to work with a big, hard-muscled ex-military man with sexy brown eyes whom I can’t stop thinking about no matter how I try.

      “You changed the plans, and I didn’t get to ride.”

      “I’m taking you to see Miss Lindsay tomorrow, remember? It’s your regular riding lesson.”

      Zachary’s round little face darkened. “You have to take me twice a week. I have to get a riding lesson in before tomorrow. I have to.”

      Even though his vocal inflections and pronunciation were still those of a child of five, the words he chose and the sentence structure he used were far beyond his years. It was one of a wide range of possible indicators of Asperger’s syndrome. So was his dogged obsession with horses.

      Some aspies became obsessed with video games. Some focused on planes or trains or cars. Zachary’s obsession with horses seemed to date back to the age of three, when her ex-husband’s parents had given Zachary a rocking horse for his birthday. That had been shortly after Stacy had started to realize her beautiful, bright son wasn’t the same as other children.

      He’d been diagnosed with Asperger’s a few weeks later. For about three months, she and her ex-husband, Anthony, had struggled against the diagnosis, trying to come up with some other rational explanation for Zachary’s developmental difficulties. But all the signs were there, and finally, Stacy had been forced to face the truth. Her son was going to have a radically different life than the one she’d dreamed of when she’d first learned she was having a baby.

      She’d accepted the truth. Anthony had not.

      “Tell you what,” she said, gazing at her son with so much love in her heart she thought it might burst, “I’ll see if Mr. Miller can work you in at Miss Lila’s stable, okay?”

      Zachary cocked his head, as if considering the offer. “Okay. What time?”

      She glanced at her watch. It was almost two, and she had at least another hour’s worth of calls to make. “How about three? I’ll call Mr. Miller and see if he can work you in.”

      She found the number for the stables and dialed, hoping the affable stable manager would be able to find a gentle horse for Zachary to ride around the paddock for a while this afternoon. If not, the rest of her day was going to be sheer hell.

      The stable manager, Cory Miller, answered the phone. He was a gruff old Texan who’d been with the Lockhart family since Lila’s daughters and son were children. “Trevor’s nearly through with his work for the day—I can have him let Zachary have a ride.”

      “Thank you so much, Cory!” Stacy nearly melted with relief. Trevor was one of the younger grooms. He seemed to enjoy letting Zachary take rides now and then. Maybe Zachary would settle down now and let her get on with the plans for the governor’s fundraiser. “And Cory? Please don’t tell the governor about this. I don’t want her to think Zachary’s getting in anyone’s way.”

      “I don’t reckon she’d think that,” Cory protested. “But all right, Ms. Stacy. I’ll keep it to myself.”

      Maybe Lila wouldn’t think she couldn’t handle the job because of Zachary’s special needs, but Stacy was in no position to put her job at risk. Lila paid very well, enough to cover the costs of Zachary’s weekly therapy sessions. If something happened to change the governor’s mind about Stacy’s ability to do the job, she didn’t know if she’d be able to find another job as flexible and lucrative.

      Had she been wrong to believe she could handle a job as demanding as being Lila Lockhart’s aide-de-camp?

      For a brief while, Lila had even named Stacy campaign manager for her presidential run, until Stacy—and others in the governor’s circle of friends—had convinced her that hiring a seasoned political pro was the only smart choice. Though deeply flattered by Lila’s confidence in her instincts and skills, Stacy knew her limitations. Lila deserved the best. Greg Merritt was the best.

      Despite the daunting list of phone calls Stacy needed to make before Zachary’s impromptu riding lesson, she couldn’t concentrate. Zachary was being too quiet, so she took a quick break to see where her son had disappeared to.

      She found him in his bedroom, riding the rocking horse his grandparents had given him. He chattered quietly to the toy, as if giving it commands. At five, he dwarfed the toddler’s toy, the sight comical enough to make Stacy smile.

      He looked up at the sound of her footsteps on the hardwood floor, then resumed his play. No expression of welcome. No smile. Not even a grin of embarrassment at being caught playing with a baby toy.

      Tears stung her eyes, but she fought them off, even though he wouldn’t react to them anyway.

      “Is it time to go?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the rocking horse.

      “Not yet.” She retreated from the room and let the burning tears fall, even though she knew she’d probably regret the show of weakness later, not being the sort of person who gave in to self-pity. But after the past few days, she supposed she could cut herself some slack.

      It wasn’t as if the next couple of weeks were going to be any less stressful, after all. Between preparing for the fundraiser and working long and no doubt demanding hours with Harlan McClain, the next couple of weeks would be like living in a pressure cooker.

      And if she wasn’t careful, the whole situation just might blow up on her. Because there was something about Harlan McClain that seemed to press all her buttons, good and bad.

      When Anthony left, she’d thought her disillusionment and sense of betrayal had immunized her against the СКАЧАТЬ