Free How to Marry a Cowboy (Cowboys & Brides) by Carolyn Brown

it back at her shoulder, missed, and grabbed for it at the same time she did.
    One second she was reaching for a falling towel, the next she was looking up into the softest green eyes in all of Texas. Time was suspended for a minute while Annie Rose held her breath. She was drowning in those sensations, and they were close enough to kiss when the alarm bells went off like fire engines in her head.
    No, no, no. You can’t trust him or anyone else, the voice in her head yelled loudly as flashes of Nicky those first weeks went through her mind. He was charming and wonderful in those days. It wasn’t until he’d trapped her in his web that he made a hundred-and-eighty-degree flip around.
    His finger shot across her shoulder and he pointed to a paper on the front of the refrigerator. “This is my cell phone number in case you need something today. If I don’t hear from you, I guess dinner is at noon?”
    She took a step backwards and said in a tight, thin voice. “Dinner at noon. Supper at six unless you are busy in the hay field or wanting to use daylight another hour to finish up a chore, then if you would call me, I’ll hold it off until you get here. Mama always said that a rancher’s supper was the most important part of the day. They could spend some good time with their family and everyone could talk about their day.”
    Dammit! She always talked too much when she was nervous. It was her second failing, coming in right behind her desire to repair broken hearts and fix problems.
    “How old are you?” he asked abruptly.
    “What did you ask?”
    “How old are you? Simple question. I need a simple answer.” His voice was gruff but not scary. When Nicky’s voice went that low, it meant trouble was coming and it would be painful.
    “How old do you think I am?”
    “Twenty-one, I hope,” he said.
    “Thank you, but I’ll be twenty-nine in October. And you?”
    “Thirty-one,” he said.
    “Why would my age matter? Surely you’ve hired young nannies before now.”
    “It doesn’t. Not really. I just wondered. Now I’m going to go put two playpens back in the attic, and then I’m going out to work until noon,” he said.
    “How much crew comes in with you to eat?” she asked.
    “Just me. The ones that live in the bunkhouse have their own cook and go there. The temporary help that comes from Savoy and Whitewright eats with them.” He waved over his shoulder as he started up the stairs. She heard the clatter of two playpens as he wrestled them back up to the attic, and then the front door shut. She braced her hands on the cabinet to still her emotions and reminded herself again of her position in the house. The girls might call her mama, but she was really a nanny.
    “It was awful.” Gabby threw herself into a kitchen chair and put her head in her hands.
    “I’ll get your eggs started. Scrambled or fried?” Annie Rose asked.
    “Hard-boiled like Easter eggs,” Gabby said.
    “That wasn’t an option. Scrambled or fried?”
    Gabby put her hands over her eyes. “This mama business isn’t easy.”
    “She likes them fried with runny yellows,” Lily said. “I want mine scrambled.”
    Gabby shot her sister a dirty look and said, “We poured that yucky water down the bathroom toilet and flushed it three times. And our bathroom still stinks.”
    “Does that mean the goats are living outside?” Annie Rose asked.
    “Yes, and if we have to scoop that litter pan, O’Malley may learn to like it real good out in the yard,” Lily answered.
    “Where is your cat?” Annie Rose asked.
    “He comes and goes,” Gabby said with a wave of her hand.
    “O’Malley don’t like nobody but us,” Lily said.
    “He likes Mama-Nanny,” Gabby reminded her.
    “Well, I like him too. Yellow cats have always been my favorite kind.” Annie Rose set their breakfast before them. “Eat it all and you can have a muffin. Better not waste a bit, because you are going to need the energy. After breakfast you are going to strip