Chapter 6
chapter
six
Official Rules for Wind from the East Nanny Service
Brody’s take away: If Winnie screams in the middle of the night, I’m gonna run in there to protect her.
Brody
One of the things I’ve always loved about the ranch is that it’s quiet.
After living for years in the spotlight of professional football and going from stadium to stadium and practice to practice, I craved solace.
The quietness that I’d grown up with here in Big Wood, Tennessee.
Clementine had been asleep for a good hour, the night sounds of the ranch—crickets, the distant creak of the barn roof, the occasional horse snort, and those infernal chickens cooing and clucking—filling the dark. Peaceful. Predictable.
Until the scream.
A blood-curdling shriek echoed down the hallway. Something between a banshee and a chainsaw. Then a series of loud thuds.
I drop the political thriller I’ve been reading and run from my bedroom. My bare feet pad on the wood floors as I head toward Clementine’s room. I stop in the middle of my trek when I realize the commotion is coming from above me, in the guest bathroom.
I climb the stairs, two at a time, and carefully step into Winnie’s bedroom. I don’t want to intrude on her privacy, but I also don’t want her to be murdered inside my house.
Another series of thumps comes, more squeals, and some interesting curses.
“Die you hairy mothertrucker!” Pound, pound, pound.
“Winnie?” I knock on the closed bathroom door.
Another bang. Then her panicked voice: “I’m in my underwear!”
“Okay. But are you okay? What is all the screaming and banging?”
“There’s a spider in the bathtub, and he’s roughly the size of a small dog. I refuse to share a shower with him!” Thud. Squeal. “Do you have like a flame thrower?” she asks.
I suppress my smile because I refuse to be entertained by this woman when I need her out of my house.
There’s another muffled whack and a very unconvincing whimper.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” I turn the knob, and surprisingly find the door unlocked. She hadn’t even thought to barricade herself. I push my way into the bathroom, then freeze.
There, standing half on the toilet, half on the edge of the bathtub, is my nanny. Wearing only a flesh colored bra and a pair of panties decorated with hot dogs. She’s wielding a broom like some sort of weapon.
Her skin is flushed, and her strawberry blonde hair is twisted on top of her head. She peers at me from over her shoulder.
“Stare at my ass later, big guy, this spider is about to eat me.”
For a moment, I’m transfixed by the phrase “eat me.”
But then I snap myself out of whatever state her near nakedness put me in and move to stand near her. In the tub is one of those multi-colored garden spiders. An orb- weaver of some sort.
“Those are harmless,” I tell her. “I thought someone was attacking you.”
“Him!” She points. “He was attacking me. That is straight from the creepy pits of Hell. And I swear it growled at me.”
I’ve lived in Tennessee my whole life, and I’ve never had a spider growl at me.
“What exactly was the plan with the broom handle?” I ask, doing my level best not to let my eyes wander south of her shoulders. But fuck me, even her shoulders are sexy.
“Smash it.”
“Orb, weavers are beneficial spiders who–”
“I don’t care!” She glares at me. “Can you just do the manly thing and take care of it. Please?”
I glance from the spider to my nanny and back again. Clearly, she wants me to squash it and … I don’t know, flush it down the toilet or something. But I know how harmless the spider is. So instead, I trap it under a water glass.
Disposing of it is a little more difficult since I have to pop the screen off the window to release it back into the wild, but it still takes only a few minutes.
I step back into the bathroom to find her still in her same warrior position, now aiming the broom in my direction.
“You’re safe now, Killer. You can get down.”
Her eyes are wide and still edged with panic. She shakes her head.
I step toward her and take the broom out of her hand and set it against the corner. Then I lift her legs, letting her body naturally drape over my shoulder in a fireman’s hold and carry her back out into her bedroom.
I try to ignore the heat of her skin next to my ear, on my shoulder, down my back. I fail. I also fail at not noticing the fresh citrusy scent of her. I drop her on the bed.
She frowns. “That was unnecessary.”
“You were frozen.”
“You saw me in my underwear,” she states. Then her eyes widen as her gaze slides over my body.
“And now you’ve seen me in mine.”
She licks her bottom lip, and I swear I can feel that swipe against the underside of my cock. Blood rushes to my dick.
“I’m not used to cowboys barging in on me in the bathroom,” she murmurs.
“I’m not used to having to rescue half-naked women from tiny bugs.”
“He was hardly tiny,” she says, her brow pulled into a frown.
There’s a moment when her gaze drops to my groin.
Yeah, tiny better not be her word of choice.
Especially given that she’s once again licking her lips.
“Daddy?” Clementine’s voice calls from downstairs.
Fuck me.
Why am I even entertaining thoughts like this about my daughter’s nanny?
The first decent nanny we’ve ever had. The only nanny Clementine has ever gelled with.
Why?
Why is this the nanny I want to fuck?
“Everything is okay, pumpkin. I’ll be down in a minute,” I call.
I look back at Winnie, lying on the bed, spread out like a damn feast. I know I should walk away.
I know I will walk away. Because she’s my daughter’s nanny. And she’s the first nanny my daughter has actually liked. And I’d be a dick and a half to fuck that up.
“Thanks for saving me, Brody.”
I nod, ignoring the half erection in my boxer briefs.
“Anytime, Killer.”