Claiming Their Nanny: A Cowboy Ménage Romance (Montana Ménage Book 1) Read online

  There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence following the mention of the twins' mother and sister.

  Then Dan nodded. "We were wondering what we were going to do when those trees came ripe. It's bad idea to waste anything edible out here—other than flour, sugar, and coffee, everything we eat at the ranch is either grown or raised here."

  "Just tell us what you need," Jim added. "There are crates of empty preserving jars in the cellar, and we can buy sacks of sugar in town."

  "I can show you where everything is kept," Isaiah promised.

  "And I suspect that Mukki and his brothers will be happy to help harvest and pit fruit if we offer to pay them," Dan said.

  When Isaiah returned to the kitchen, Christopher had almost finished the bottle and was visibly drooping in Abby's arms.

  She burped him, glad for the flannel cloth that protected her shirtwaist, then rose and put him down in the cradle that stood nearby. Then she returned to the table and began to eat her own breakfast. It tasted every bit as delicious as it smelled.

  The meal was eaten in silence as both brothers shoveled down an enormous quantity of food in a short time. Abby guessed that they had both been up since dawn, doing the daily chores that were part of farming life.

  When the platter was empty of everything but a few bits of scrambled egg and diced onion, Jim and Dan sat back in their chairs with satisfied sighs, and drank their coffee.

  "You still interested in a tour of the ranch?" Jim asked. He glanced over the cradle. "If I know my nephew, he'll be napping for at least an hour or two now that he's been fed."

  "I'd love a tour," Abby said, eager to learn more about her new home, so that she could fit in here and give little Christopher the best care possible.

  ◆◆◆

  "How much of the work do you do yourselves?" Abby asked a short time later, as she followed Jim out of the house. "Or do you have a ranch manager?"

  "We like to handle most things ourselves," Jim said, the flirtatious glint back in his eye. "For example, Dan and I both break the horses."

  "That sounds cruel," she said, remembering some of the stories she had heard.

  "It can be," Jim admitted. "There are a lot of people who believe that you have to master an unbroken horse by imposing your will on it. But in my experience, horses are an awful lot like people. Sure, you can force them to obey you with whip and spur, but like as not, they'll resent you for it and rebel the first chance they get." He shook his head. "A trustworthy mount can mean the difference between life and death for a soldier. So we're willing to take the extra time to convince our horses to trust in the men who ride them. And to do that, we have to break them to saddle as gently as we can. We treat 'em like children in a way—we bring in an experienced horse and demonstrate, so that the horse we're breaking in can learn from one of its own kind."

  "That does sound like a much better method," Abby said, impressed.

  Jim hefted a bulging canvas bag he had fetched from the kitchen before they left the house. "And my secret weapon is to always bring plenty of carrots and apples and reward the horses generously whenever they do what we want them to do."

  "Can I give one of the horses a treat?" Abby asked, charmed by his description.

  "Sure," Jim said. "And if you want to come watch me working with Thunder this afternoon, I'll show you how I like to ride."

  His wicked grin left her flustered. Especially since the immoral voice in her head immediately piped up with a most unladylike speculation about what it might be like to have Jim ride her.

  You heard him. He'd be gentle, said the voice. And patient. And very, very thorough.

  Arthur had been anything but gentle with her, both in the heat of the moment and in the humiliating aftermath. He had hurt not only her body but her pride, too.

  Abby shuddered. As far as she'd run from Philadelphia, it seemed that she couldn't escape the bad memories.

  So why am I having dirty, unladylike thoughts about my employer? she scolded herself silently as she followed Jim over to a group of buildings located about a hundred yards from the house.

  "These are the stables," Jim explained, pointing to a long building. "They're mostly for winter. We pasture our breeding stock as soon as there's enough new grass for them to graze, and leave 'em out until autumn."

  Abby noticed a long length of what looked like a hempen ship's cable strung between the corner of the long stable building and one of the porch posts of the house. What on earth is that for?

  Jim noticed her looking at it and seemed to read her mind.

  "We get some bad blizzards out here during the winter," he said. "That rope keeps us from losing our way when we go to feed and water the horses in the middle of a storm." He pointed at long, single-story log building just past the stables. "We strung another rope out to the ranch hands' bunkhouse. The last thing we want is for one of our hands to freeze to death out here because it's snowing so hard that you can't see your hand in front of your face."

  "Oh," Abby said, taken aback by the thought of someone dying only a few steps from shelter.

  It was difficult to picture weather so grim on a beautiful summer day like today.

  She remembered Clara's buffalo robe, which she had found hanging in the armoire next to a modest collection of shirtwaists and skirts. Yesterday evening, Abby had dismissed it as a hideously unfashionable bundle of brown fur and decided that she wouldn't be caught dead wearing it. Perhaps I will have to reconsider, come winter.

  "When the weather's nice, we use the stables to house the horses and mules that we want to break to saddle or harness, and we keep them there until it's time to deliver them to the army or sell them in town." Jim pointed at a large timber barn standing some distance away. "And that's the hay barn. How would you like to try making nice with the horses and mules we're currently halter training?"

  "I'd like that very much," Abby said.

  Jim patted the canvas bag filled with apples and carrots, which was now slung over his shoulder, and grinned at her.

  A tall, dark-haired, deeply tanned man emerged from the stables. Like Jim, the newcomer wore a fringed buckskin tunic.

  But unlike Jim's shirt, this man's shirt was decorated with colorful beads and was worn over leggings. His feet were shod in moccasins, and his neatly braided black hair looked nearly as long as hers.

  A real live Indian!

  Abby tried not to stare as Jim exchanged friendly sounding greetings with him in an unfamiliar language.

  "And this is Abigail Rose, who has come to help us take care of Chris," Jim said, switching to English. "Abby, this is Huritt, the best wrangler on the ranch."

  Huritt gave her an assessing look that made Abby feel like she fell short of some exacting standard. Then he nodded.

  "Welcome," he said in accented but flawless English. "Jim and Dan have been eagerly awaiting your arrival." He turned to Jim. "Thunder got out of his stall again. I am going to look for him among the mares in the pasture by the creek."

  Jim sighed. "That horse is a real escape artist."

  Huritt smiled, which transformed his face and suddenly made him look much younger. "I think perhaps you've given him the wrong name, Jim. Instead of Thunder, perhaps Runs Away would be more fitting." He rubbed his shoulder and grimaced. "Or Big Teeth. He sure likes to bite."

  Abby made a mental note to stay out of Thunder's way.

  "I'll consider it," Jim said. "Let me know if you have any trouble finding him."

  "I'll find him," Huritt said confidently and strode away.

  "Is he another cousin of yours?" Abby ventured to ask.

  "Sort of. He's a distant relation. Belongs to the same tribe as my Grandma Kanti," Jim answered.

  "I was wondering…," Abby began, chewing on her lower lip and looking after Huritt's rapidly retreating form. "Are any of those stories about Indians scalping people true?"

  Jim laughed and shook his head. "Don't believe everything you've read in those penny dreadful books that keep getti
ng published. I can guarantee you that most of those authors have never actually been west of the Mississippi."

  "I'm beginning to see that you're right about that," Abby said. "So far, nothing about the frontier resembles anything I've read."

  Jim's expression sobered. "It's a fact that my grandmother's people and all of the other Indian tribes have been persecuted and abused by the settlers, the miners, and the government. I've heard stories that would make you weep with the horror and injustice."

  Abby remembered Mukki. "Are there many Indians here on the ranch?"

  Jim nodded. "There's a small Aamsskáápipikani—that's Blackfoot—tipi village at the other end of the valley. Dan and I hire the men and boys as ranch hands, and we keep a herd of bison for their use, since white hunters seem determined to wipe them out everywhere else. It's a damned shame."

  "I have a lot to learn about living here," Abby confessed.

  "Do you have a problem with Dan and me being part-Indian?" Jim asked. "One of the women we tried to hire to take care of Chris…well, she didn't like it one bit. She told us that she'd rather starve on the street than take care of a savage's baby."

  Horrified, Abby shook her head. "If you don't mind that I'm not the experienced nanny that you wanted, then I think we'll all get along."

  This won her one of Jim's heart-stopping smiles. "I sure hope so."

  And just like that, she felt completely flustered again. James Brody was one of the most attractive men she had ever met, and his confidence gave him an undeniable magnetism. She found herself craving his approval.

  He's your employer. Nothing good can come of developing a foolish infatuation with this man. Or his brother, for that matter.

  "Just keep an open mind and an open heart, and everything will work out the way it's meant to." Jim offered her his arm. "Let's go bribe those horses and mules and sweeten them up a bit before their first halter lesson this afternoon."

  Chapter 6

  The following day, Jim entered the house mid-afternoon. He'd just finished up with the first stage of halter training the new batch of horses, and he was tired, dirty, and in desperate need of a bath before supper.

  It had taken longer than expected, but Huritt had finally located the runaway Thunder and returned him to the training ring.

  The big stallion had accepted a saddle meekly enough, but when Jim tried to mount, the crafty devil retaliated by throwing Jim right into the middle of a huge puddle.

  And Huritt had laughed his ass off at the sight, since he'd repeatedly warned Jim not to trust Thunder's sweet-as-pie demeanor. Jim was now convinced that the stallion knew about revenge being a dish best served cold.

  Jim's unexpected mud bath with lashings of manure sure hadn't helped the fancy shirt he'd worn to give Abby the tour, and he was pretty sure that he was plastered with filth everywhere else, too.

  He couldn't wait to get cleaned up, but as he entered the house, he heard Christopher wailing loudly upstairs.

  Where the hell is Abby? She can't possibly be napping, not with Chris screaming his head off.

  Despite misrepresenting herself a tad on her application, he'd gotten the impression that she was trustworthy and eager to do a good job.

  But he'd been wrong before. Some of the ranch hands he'd hired, who had seemed steady and dependable, had turned out to be sore disappointments. He hoped the same wasn't going to be true of their new nanny.

  Jim heaved a sigh and stomped upstairs to investigate.

  When he opened the nursery door and poked his head in, he saw Abby in the rocking chair, with a red-faced Chris on her lap.

  She was rocking back and forth and humming to the baby in a vain attempt to soothe him as she tried the same trick that had worked on his nephew before, dribbling a bit of milk from the bottle into his mouth.

  But Chris just turned his face away and kept on screaming. Abby was frowning, but with concern, not the anger or frustration he'd feared.

  She was still unaware of his presence, so he took a few moments to look at her.

  He wanted her. Badly. He never been this taken with a woman. It bothered him.

  Sure, he liked women a lot. Especially young, beautiful women, who were few and far between out here on the frontier. There were even fewer respectable women, and they were almost all already married. Even widows generally remarried quickly.

  That made Abby, who was young, pretty, and respectable, a rare bird indeed.

  And he'd promised Dan that he wouldn't make advances. Which is probably why you can't stop thinking about her. Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest, right?

  He prepared for a stealthy retreat, but paused. Abby sure looks like she needs some help. And it’s not like I'm going to kiss her with a screaming baby on her lap.

  Jim knocked loudly on the doorframe, and Abby finally noticed his presence. He didn't miss her reaction to the mud plastering him from head to toe…or the relief in her eyes.

  "Thought I'd ask if you needed a hand with the little nipper," Jim said.

  In response, Abby clutched Chris to her, as if she thought he might swoop in and grab him away.

  "Everything is fine! Or it will be, as soon as I can get him to take his bottle." She dropped a kiss on the baby's forehead and added wearily. "I don't understand why he's fighting so hard today. This worked yesterday!"

  "You been trying for a while?" Jim asked.

  Abby looked embarrassed as she nodded.

  "I might have a notion as to what's going on. Hand me that bottle."

  She obeyed, and he realized that his guess had been correct.

  "Milk's gone cold," he said, cradling the bottle in his palm. "Dan and I found out the hard way that Chris is real particular about the temperature, especially when he's teething. I'll just go down to the kitchen and heat it up for you. Isaiah keeps a pot of water simmering on the stove, so it won't take but a couple of minutes."

  "Oh, you needn't trouble yourself," she protested.

  She gathered Chris up in preparation for rising from the chair.

  "You stay put, Abby," Jim ordered. "Despite his wailing, I'm sure Chris is happier where he is right now. I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

  Down in the kitchen, Isaiah was standing at the big worktable placed in front of the window, busily kneading bread dough in a big wooden bowl. He looked up as Jim entered the kitchen, and shook his head.

  "Boy howdy, Jim, you sure did make a mess of yourself. Don't touch anything and don't go near the food until you've washed up, " Isaiah ordered, his muscled forearms flexing in a steady push-pull motion through the dough. "This bread here will take at least an hour to rise, and I need to do some work in the vegetable patch. You want to bathe, I'll set up the tub for you, and you can have the kitchen all to yourself for a space."

  He jerked his head in the direction of the big handled metal tub stored against one wall of the kitchen, next to the alcove holding the sacks of coffee beans, flour, and sugar. The tub bore a distinct resemblance to a feed trough.

  "Sounds good, and I'd be mighty grateful for a bath," Jim told him and hefted the bottle in his hand. "But first, I need to heat this up."

  Isaiah shook his head. "Miss Abigail's had her hands full this afternoon. That baby's been crying for a while now."

  "She's doing a fine job so far," Jim assured the big man. "She just needs to get to know Chris a little better."

  He grabbed a deep bowl off a shelf and headed for the squat cast iron cookstove standing at the far end of the big kitchen, with its big enamel stockpot filled with simmering water.

  When he returned to the nursery a short while later, Abby's grateful smile made the effort worthwhile. Their fingers brushed when she accepted the warmed bottle from him with thanks, and he felt a bright spark of desire shoot straight down to his unruly cock.

  To his satisfaction, Chris took the bottle right away when she offered it to him this time. Blissful silence descended upon the house at long last.

  Abby's shoulders relaxed and sh
e leaned back into the rocker with a deep sigh as Christopher grabbed for the bottle and drank greedily. "I'll have to remember that trick."

  "I've got all kinds of tricks up my sleeve. All you have to do is ask." He couldn't help smiling at her. Too late, he realized it was one of his flirtatious smiles.

  I'm trying to keep to keep my promise to Dan, honest to God, but I can't help myself.

  She turned red and looked away from him, clearly flustered and embarrassed by his lunk-headed remarks. He instantly felt like a horse's ass.