The Rancher's Christmas Promise Page 10

  “You, too,” Greer said faintly. But she said it to the dial tone, because Eliane had already ended the call.

  She dropped the receiver back on the cradle and stared blindly at her notes. Then she snatched up the phone again and punched out Ryder’s phone number.

  Neither Mrs. Pyle, Ryder nor the machine picked up.

  Was Layla still sick? Maybe Ryder had caught whatever bug she’d had. Or maybe her fever had gotten worse.

  Greer rubbed at the pain between her eyebrows. “Stop imagining things,” she muttered, “and be logical here.”

  She pulled up the information she had on record for Anthony Pyle. But when she called that number, there was no answer.

  She hung up and looked at the time. She couldn’t very well drive Eliane’s information out to the Diamond-L and check on Ryder and Layla herself. Not when she was supposed to be back in court in less than an hour.

  She looked at the docket she’d printed that morning. Hearing conferences and motions.

  She reached for the phone again and dialed. This time, she received an answer. “Keith? It’s Greer. Can you pinch-hit for me this afternoon? I know it’s short notice, but I have a personal matter that’s come up.”

  “Personal matter!” He sounded surprised. “You’re joking, right?”

  She made a face at the wall. “Does it sound like I’m joking?”

  He chuckled. “I’m just yanking your chain. Nice to know that you’re human like the rest of us. So, yeah. Sure. Just for today?”

  “Just for today. I’ll leave my files at the front desk with Bunny. Court’s back in session at two.”

  “I’ll be there,” he promised. “Everything all right? I heard Maddie had the baby last night—”

  “They’re all fine,” she assured him. It never failed to surprise her how quickly news spread in this town. “It’s nothing to do with that. I really appreciate the favor. I’ll owe you one.”

  “And I plan on collecting,” he said with a laugh before hanging up.

  Now that she’d made the decision, she tossed the rest of her sandwich in the trash. The bread was already getting stale, anyway. She bundled up everything that Keith might need for the afternoon and left it with Bunny Towers. Then she went back to retrieve her shoes and purse and left the office.

  Not even Michael noticed, which had her wondering why she’d never tried taking off an afternoon before. No matter what she did, her boss seemed to remain unimpressed.

  It took nearly an hour to get to Ryder’s place. There were no vehicles parked on the gravel outside the house. Even though she’d seen it more than once now, the sight of the converted barn was still arresting. The only barn conversions she’d ever seen before were in magazines and on home decorating shows.

  No doubt, Eliane-of-the-beautiful-accent would only add another layer of interest to the surroundings.

  “Get your brain out of high school,” she muttered, and snatched up her purse before marching to the front door. There was no answer when she knocked, but the door was unlocked when she tried it. She cautiously pushed it open. “Hello? Mrs. Pyle?” She stepped inside. “Ryder?”

  The last time she’d been there, the house had been as tidy as a pin.

  Now it looked like a tornado had hit.

  Layla’s toys were everywhere. Laundry was piled on the armless chair, overflowing onto the floor. The couch was nearly hidden beneath a plastic bin that she felt certain contained the baby gear that Maddie and Linc had given Ryder when they’d turned Layla over to him.

  She dropped her purse on top of it and walked into the kitchen. Cereal crunched under her shoes. The sink was filled halfway to the top with dirty dishes.

  She crunched her way to the back door and looked out at the picnic table with its painted daisies. It hadn’t even been a week since she’d been there, but the grass was already overgrown.

  Weren’t Swiss people notoriously tidy? Maybe Eliane would take one look and run for the hills.

  The thought should have been worrying.

  The fact that it was not was an entirely different cause for concern.

  She left the door open slightly to allow for some fresh air—hot as it was—and went upstairs.

  Layla’s nursery was empty. The mattress had been stripped of bedding. It was probably sitting in the pile of laundry downstairs.

  The air was stuffy here, too. One window held a boxy air conditioner. It wasn’t running, and Greer left it off. She went to the second window and opened it; the hot breeze fluttered at the simple white curtains.

  She left Layla’s room, intending to go back downstairs, but she hesitated, looking down the hall toward the other open door. She could see the foot of a bed where a navy blue quilt was piled half on and half off the mattress. A pair of cowboy boots were lying haphazardly on the wood floor.

  Unquestionably, the room was Ryder’s.

  When she’d babysat Layla, the sliding door to the room had been closed.

  She knew the house was empty.

  Still, Greer’s heart beat a little faster as she stepped closer to the room. She peered around the edge of the doorway. The dresser was wide, with six drawers. One framed picture sat on top, but otherwise it was bare.

  His bed was big with an iron-railed headboard. Three white pillows were bunched messily at the head of the mattress. Instead of a nightstand next to the bed, there was a saddletree complete with a fancy-looking tooled leather saddle. An industrial sort of lamp was attached directly to the wall. There was an enormous unadorned window next to the bed, and before she knew it, she’d walked across the room to look out.

  Directly below was the picnic table.

  She wondered how often he looked out and thought about his late wife.

  She wondered if he’d look out and still think about her when he had a delectable Swiss confection under his roof tending to his child.

  Disgusted with herself, she turned away from the window. She bent down slightly to look at the framed photograph on his dresser. It was an old-fashioned black-and-white wedding photo. Maybe his parents? Or the aunt named Adelaide? Then she heard a faint sound and her nervousness ratcheted up.

  She darted out of the bedroom and was heading to the staircase when Ryder—looking entirely incongruous in cowboy hat and boots with a pink-patterned baby carrier strapped across his chest—appeared.

  Even before he saw her, his eyes were narrowed. “What’re you doing here?”

  Chapter Seven

  What’re you doing here?

  Ryder’s question seemed to echo around her.

  He looked hot and sweaty, as did Layla in the carrier, and Greer’s mouth went dry.

  Not only from nearly being caught out snooping in his bedroom, but from the strange swooping feeling in her stomach caused by the sight of him.

  “Greer?”

  She felt like her brains were scrambled and gestured vaguely toward Layla’s bedroom. “I was...ah—”

  “Never mind.” In a move that she knew from personal experience was more difficult than he made it look, he unfastened Layla from the carrier and handed her to Greer. “Take her for a few minutes while I clean up.”

  Layla’s green eyes were bright and merry as she looked at Greer. She was wearing a yellow T-shirt that felt damp and a pair of yellow shorts with a ruffle across her butt. Her reddish-blond curls were spiked with perspiration. “Is she still running a fever?”

  “Nah. Even on a cold day the carrier gets hot.” He pulled off his hat as he brushed past Greer, smelling like sunshine and fresh hay. He continued along the hallway, pulling off not only the carrier, but his T-shirt, as well. “She popped out two more teeth this morning, though. I don’t care what that doc said last night about teething not causing a fever. Soon as those teeth showed up, she was right as rain, just like my aunt Adelaide predicted.” He stepped inside his b
edroom and looked at Greer. “Be down in a few.” Then he pulled on the rustic metal handle and slid the door closed.

  She closed her eyes. But the image of his bare chest remained.

  Heaven help her.

  She opened them again to find Layla smiling brightly at her, displaying the new additions to her bottom row of teeth. She jabbered and patted Greer’s face.

  Greer caught the baby’s hand and kissed it. “Hello to you, too, sweetheart.”

  She heard a couple thuds from behind Ryder’s bedroom door. It was much too easy imagining him sitting on the foot of that messy, wide bed, pulling off his boots and tossing them aside.

  After the boots would come the jeans—

  “Let’s go downstairs,” she whispered quickly to Layla, who laughed as if Greer had said something wonderfully funny.

  “At least you think it’s funny.” Greer hurried to the staircase. “You have a lot in common with your aunt Ali, that’s for sure.”

  Once downstairs, she settled Layla into her high chair. It was much cleaner than the kitchen counters were, so she had to give Ryder points for that.

  She opened the back door wider so there was more air flowing, then found a clean cloth in a drawer. She wet it down with cool water and worked it over Layla’s face and head. Layla took it as a game, of course, and slyly evaded most of Greer’s swipes before gaining control of the cloth, which she proceeded to shove into her mouth.

  Chewing on a wet washcloth wasn’t the worst thing Greer could think of, so she let the baby have it and turned her attention to the dishes in the sink. They weren’t quite as dirty as she’d first thought. At least they’d been rinsed.

  Loading the dishwasher didn’t take much time. She found the soap and started it. But the sound of the dishwasher wasn’t enough to block the sound of water running overhead, and Greer’s imagination ran amok again.

  To combat it, she found another cloth and furiously began wiping down the counters. When she was done with that, she found the broom and swept up the scattered cereal crumbs. And when she was done with that, she grabbed an armful of clothes from the pile on the chair and blindly shoved it into the washing machine located in a sunny room right off the kitchen.

  The cheeriness of the room was almost enough to make up for the laundry drudgery, and she wondered if he’d made it that way for Daisy.

  With the washing machine now running, too, she went back into the kitchen, lifted Layla out of the high chair and took her outside.

  “You like this soft grass as much as I do?” Greer unfastened the narrow straps around her ankles and kicked off her high-heeled shoes, curling her toes in the tall grass. She bent over Layla, holding her hands as the baby pushed up and down on her bent knees, chortling.

  “Wait until next year. You’re going to be running all over the grass on your own.” They slowly aimed toward the picnic table. But they made it only partway before Layla plopped down on her diaper-padded, ruffle-covered butt. She grabbed at the grass undulating around her and yanked, then looked surprised when the soft blades tore free.

  Greer tugged her skirt above her knees so she could sit in the grass with her. She mimicked Layla’s grass grab and then held open her hands so the pieces of green blew away on the breeze.

  Layla opened her palms and her grass blew away, too. Instead of laughing, though, her brows pulled together and her face scrunched.

  Greer laughed. “Silly girl.” She tore off another handful of grass and let it go again. “See it blow away?” She leaned over and nuzzled her nose against Layla’s palms. “Smells so good.” Then she rubbed her nose against Layla’s and plucked a single blade of grass and tickled her cheek with the end of it. “Smells kind of like your daddy, doesn’t it?”

  “Mama mamamama!” Layla laughed and grabbed the grass, but missed and rolled onto her side. She immediately popped up and crawled over to Greer, clambering onto her lap.

  Knowing Layla hadn’t really said mama didn’t stop Greer’s heart from lurching. She wrapped her arm around Layla’s warm body and kissed the top of her head.

  Then they both yanked hunks of grass free and tossed them into the air.

  * * *

  He had a perfect view of them from his bedroom window.

  Ryder dragged the towel over his head and down his chest. The water in the shower hadn’t been much above tepid to begin with, but it had turned altogether cold after only a few minutes.

  Probably a good thing.

  Below, Layla had crawled onto Greer’s lap. As he watched, Greer rolled onto her back, heedless of her silk blouse and her hair that today had been pulled back into a smooth knot behind her head. She pushed Layla up into the air above her, and even through his closed window, he could hear her peals of laughter.

  He’d been cursing Mrs. Pyle’s absence after she’d promised him another week of work. With no alternative, it had meant hauling a baby around with him on a tractor for half the day. Which meant he still wasn’t finished haying. He was falling behind on everything.

  But right now, looking down at Greer and the baby, he almost didn’t care.

  Almost.

  As if she sensed him watching, Greer suddenly looked up at his window. It was too far for him to see her exact expression, but he had no trouble imagining her dark brown eyes.

  They were mesmerizing, those eyes of hers. They kept entering his thoughts at all hours of the day.

  And the night.

  The air-conditioner kicked on, blowing cold air over him and drowning out the sound of Layla’s high-pitched squeals.

  He took a step back and blew out a long breath, not even aware that he’d been holding it.

  “You’re losing it, man,” he muttered to himself, roughly dragging the towel over his head once more before tossing it aside. It knocked over his grandparents’ picture and he automatically set it to rights while he pulled out the last clean shirt he possessed, plus a pair of jeans that weren’t so clean. He quickly got dressed and went downstairs.

  As soon as he walked through the kitchen, he understood why his shower water had been cold. Both the washing machine and the dishwasher were going.

  It wasn’t Mrs. Pyle’s doing, that was for certain.

  The mug tree sitting on one corner of the butcher-block island had three clean mugs still hanging from the metal branches. He took two, filled them with water and pushed open the wooden screen door.

  When it slammed shut behind him, Greer froze and looked his way. Her face was as flushed as Layla’s and dark strands of hair had worked loose to cling to her neck.

  The ivory blouse she wore had come partially free from the waist of her light gray skirt. As if she were following the progression of his gaze, she suddenly pushed the hem of her skirt down her thighs and swept her legs to one side as she set Layla down on the grass. “It’s still crazy hot,” she commented, not exactly looking his way. “What happened to Mrs. Pyle?”

  “Her grandson.” He was as barefoot as the two females, and the earth beneath his feet felt cooler than anything else as he walked toward them. It was no wonder Greer had chosen to sit in the grass rather than at the picnic table. He extended one of the mugs to her. “It’s just water.”

  She smiled a little as she took it from him. “Thank you.” Before she could get the cup to her mouth, though, Layla launched herself at it, and Greer wasn’t quite quick enough to avoid her. Half the water sloshed out of the cup and onto her blouse, rendering several inches of silky fabric nearly transparent.

  Ryder was polite enough not to comment, but too male to look away. He could see the scrolling lacework of blue thread beneath the wet patch and had no trouble at all imagining the soft flesh beneath that.

  Greer plucked at the fabric, though as far as he could tell, she only succeeded in pulling the rest of the blouse loose from the skirt. She took a sip of what was left of the water, then held it t
o Layla’s mouth. “What’s going on with Anthony? He was just acquitted last week.”

  “And he turned around and got picked up on drunk driving last night.”

  She jerked, giving him a sharp look that was echoed somewhat by the sharp look that Layla gave her. “What? Where? I haven’t heard about it.”

  “I don’t know where.” He sat on the grass, leaning his back against the picnic table. “I just know she dropped everything and immediately took off to rescue him.” Mrs. Pyle had given him the courtesy of a rushed phone call, but that was it.

  Greer frowned, then focused once more on Layla, who’d started fussing for the mug of water. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s empty now. See?” She turned the mug upside down and glanced back at Ryder. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

  “I don’t have a lot of sympathy for people who drink and drive.”

  “Because of what happened to Layla’s mother.”

  “Because of what happened to my mother.” The second the words were out, he regretted them. “Here.” He leaned forward and poured half his water into her mug, then sat back again. “You obviously didn’t come out here because Mrs. Pyle asked you to sub for her.” He repeated what he’d asked when he walked into his house and found her there. “So what are you doing here?”

  “Someone called me about the nanny position.”

  “You must be pretty excited about the prospect to drive out here to tell me. I do have a phone, you know.”

  “Which nobody answered when I called. And then after last night... Layla’s fever and all.” She lifted one shoulder, watching Layla, who’d lost interest in the mug and had started crawling toward the far side of the picnic table. “I was concerned. So I drove out.”

  “And found the place looking like a bomb had hit.”

  “You want me to say it wasn’t that bad?”

  “I have a feeling you’re not much for lies, even the polite ones.”

  She got on her hands and knees and crawled after Layla. “I did watch her for the better part of a day,” she reminded him. “I can appreciate that she’s kind of a force of nature.” She looked over her shoulder at him for a moment. “Toss in last night’s trip to the hospital, and a messy house doesn’t seem so strange.”