The Nanny's Texas Christmas. Lee Tobin McClain

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      “But meanwhile,” she said, “he may need more attention at home than you’re able to give him, with your responsibilities. I’ll ask around and see if anyone knows of a nanny.”

      “No.” Flint shook his head. “If he needs more attention, he can get it from me.”

      “If you’re sure,” she said in a voice that made it clear she had her doubts.

      He really wanted to get out of here, but for Logan’s sake, he forced himself to ask for help. “Is there...” He cleared his throat. “Is there anything I could do now to make it a little better? Show him I’ve at least seen his classroom?”

      She tipped her head to one side. “Hmm. Want to leave a note in his desk for him to find on Monday?”

      Logan would love that. Flint took the paper and felt-tipped pen she pushed toward him, jotted a quick note, and went to put it in Logan’s desk.

      On an impulse, he squeezed himself into the tiny chair connected to the desk and, holding his phone out, took a picture of himself.

      “Logan’s going to love seeing that,” Lana said. “But I’m not sure you’re going to be able to get out of there.”

      Sure enough, he had a hard time unfolding himself out of the cramped little desk.

      When he stood up, she did, too, and he realized that her bag, bulging with papers, was packed and ready to go. He’d kept her at school overtime.

      “Let me help you with that,” he offered, holding out a hand.

      She shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m used to carrying it.”

      “That doesn’t mean you can’t accept a little help.”

      “It’s fine,” she repeated.

      So the lady was independent. Didn’t want help.

      Or maybe she just didn’t want help from him.

      They walked together through the deserted hallways. Outside, the sun was setting in a bank of pink-and-gold clouds. His truck was the only vehicle left in the parking lot. “I’m sorry I kept you late,” he said, “and I appreciate your taking the time to meet with me. Where’s your car?”

      She clapped a hand to her forehead. “In the shop, and I forgot about it. I was going to grab a ride with Rhetta.” She shrugged. “Oh, well, I need the exercise. See you soon, Mr. Rawlings. Don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any questions.”

      “You can call me Flint,” he said, “and I’ll give you a ride home. Where do you live?” He remembered someone telling him that Lana had grown up around here, and he wondered if she lived with her folks.

      “Call me Lana, and I’m not going home. I’m going to the church.”

      “On a Friday night?” That surprised him. He would’ve thought someone as pretty as Lana would have her choice of dates. What was wrong with the cowboys around here?

      Seeming to read his line of thought, she blushed. “I’m not much for the roadhouse or the karaoke place. And a lot of my friends are married and home with their families so I...” She trailed off, looking away with a forced laugh. “What can I say? I’ve spent the last three Friday nights helping Marnie Binder sort stuff for the Christmas bazaar.”

      Flint filed that away, trying to ignore the pleasure her words gave him. No reason for him to care what Lana Alvarez did with her evenings. Pretty young women were poison to him.

      But on the other hand, Lana sounded a little lonely. And he’d care about any lonely person; he had that much Christian faith left. “What about your folks? I thought you grew up around here.”

      “They’re gone. Car accident when I was a teenager. It’s just me.”

      “I’m sorry.” Her matter-of-fact tone tugged at his heart. Lana Alvarez was even more alone than he was. And she seemed like a family type. Good with kids. She ought to be happily married, not heading off to church alone.

      “Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive you to the church. I have a few things to drop off for the Christmas bazaar, myself.”

      * * *

      Lana found the ride to the church a little awkward. Partly because this handsome man had discovered that she had no dates and no exciting social life, and he was clearly surprised. He probably found her pitiful.

      He must have found their silence awkward, too, because he flipped on the radio. She was expecting country music, but to her surprise, the sound of a classical violin concerto filled the cab of the truck.

      “Vivaldi?” she asked, recognizing the tune from her music history course in college.

      He glanced over at her and nodded. “Calms me down,” he said a bit sheepishly.

      “Does that, too?” She pointed at the baby picture of Logan that dangled from his key chain.

      He glanced down at it, and his jaw tightened. Which was a weird reaction to a picture of one’s child. Most people gushed about such precious mementos.

      Not Flint. “That’s to remind me to keep my priorities straight,” he gritted out.

      “Oh?”

      “Yeah.” He reached over and turned up the radio, his eyes firmly on the road.

      Well, okay then. Lana turned and looked out the window, pretending great interest in the brown grass and blue sky, and then in the storefronts that dotted Haven’s tiny downtown.

      When they pulled up to the little white church, Lana hurried to get out of the truck before Flint could open the door for her, but her heavy bag of paperwork made her lurch awkwardly as she tried to climb down from the high cab. Flint was there instantly, steadying her with a hand on her elbow. He didn’t let go until she was safely on the ground.

      She pulled away, her heart thudding ridiculously. What was wrong with her?

      He reached for her heavy attaché case. “I can carry that.”

      “No, it’s fine.” She kept her hold on it. Even gave it a little tug.

      He let go but studied her for a moment like she was a puzzle he needed to solve. “Okay, Miss Alvarez.” Then he walked around to the back of the pickup and pulled out a large wood beam. He hoisted it to one shoulder. “Ready?”

      Wow. He was strong. “Sure. Do you want me to...need me to carry something?”

      He gave her that puzzle-solving look again. “Yeah, pick up that other beam, would you?”

      She turned, stood on tiptoe and peeked into the bed of the truck, where another large beam rested. It had to weigh over a hundred pounds. She glanced at him. Was he serious?

      A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That was a joke, Lana. Come on.”

      A joke. He’d made a joke.

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