Page 30 of The Cowboy Takes a Nanny
“I suppose certain situations could be considered.”
“Like furniture shopping?” He frowned. “Before—all this—I was going to suggest we head to Bozeman in a day or so to choose furniture. I’d appreciate your suggestions but if you don’t feel comfortable, I’ll just take advice from the staff. Either way is okay.”
“Furniture?” He badly needed it; they all did. And she’d basically promised. “Yes, that would be an, um, well, fine. Benny and I would love to accompany you and Mia.”
It seemed a perfect moment to escape but his voice reached her as she began mounting the carpeted stairs.
“Ella?”
She turned.
“Thank you.”
She would have been fine with a mere thank-you. It would have sufficed. But he added a smile. A full-blown, eyes-crinkled smile.
And a wink.
Thank goodness she hadn’t ascended very high, or she’d have tumbled right back to the bottom. As it was, she was saved only by clinging to the banister for a moment before she nodded and shakily made her way upwards.
Sure, you can do this, an evil inner voice scoffed. Sure! Easy as pie. Just as long as he doesn’t smile at you, or speak to you in that deep rumbling voice that skitters so lightly across your nerve ends, or laughs … Or breathes …
Yet, somehow, she had to. It was that or leave.
Chapter Eight
The thing about children, especially younger children, is that they bounce back quickly. So it only was two days before they were able to make the trip to look for furniture. She and Leo had handled the intervening days as well as they could. It helped that she’d reverted to their original system of simply passing Mia over when Leo returned from work, and had managed to mostly say out of his orbit.
It wasn’t easy, but it was working as well as a difficult situation ever could. Had it eased any of her longing? Brought an end to the fantasies that plagued her day and night? Stopped her constantly thinking about him? Worrying if he was late or if the weather was foul?
The answer to all those was a resounding no. And she’d realized with much chagrin that she didn’t need the man right there in front of her to keep him alive in her head. He was always there, entrenched to the extent that she wondered if he would ever not be there.
Yet another thing to worry about.
On the morning of their trip though, there was little time for such concerns. While she readied the children Leo prepared pancakes for them all, topping them with syrup and blueberries—though the results were that Mia had to be completely redressed and Benny required a wash down—they were delicious. For which Ella was grateful: she didn’t want there to be any tension, and the meal kind of set the tone for the day. Fun and lighthearted.
“Do you have a list?” she asked when they were finally on the road. “And you realize you’ll probably have to wait a few weeks for delivery? Have you settled on theme or color scheme?”
Shooting her a confused look, he shrugged. “Don’t you just pick what you like? What’s comfortable?”
“If that were the case Leo, why do you need me? Just go in and flop all over sofas and chairs until you find one that meets your comfort standards.”
“Okay, you’re saying you expect me to make a whole lot of decisions based on stuff that doesn’t relate to comfort for stuff that’s supposed to be comfortable?”
Ella choked back a laugh. “Well, when put like that …” She shook her head. “Of course, comfort has to be paramount, but matching styles also helps. And colors that don’t clash.”
For the next several miles, she quizzed him with various design questions, enjoying herself way too much, but grateful for the distraction. It had been barely two days since their conversation, and yet everything inside her was acting as though she hadn’t seen him for months, so interior design chat kept her head from wandering to other things—like those thighs, encased once more in his trim-fitting Wranglers and resting so close to her own.
“Are you intimating I have no style?” The question was carried on amused exasperation.
“Not at all,” she replied crisply, “I’m just struggling to collate rustic mountain cabin, private men’s club, and bawdy brothel into one discernable style so as to communicate your preferences to the salespeople.” Ella paused and shook her head. “So, no, I am not saying you have no style. I’m saying you have an appalling sense of style. Hideous.”
His eyes were sparkling as he glanced across at her. “Seems like it’s a good thing I have you here then, isn’t it?”
Indignation bubbled as truth dawned. “You’re playing me?”
“Easy pickings …”
He was trying to contain his laughter, she could see that, but he was also failing, meanwhile she, while trying to maintain her indignation; and also failing. “So, no buttoned purple leather sofas, purple walls, furniture, carpet, and drapes? With gold trim and ruby red accents in your glorious light-filled living room? All picked out with brown-and-cream plaid throws and your grandmother’s floral covered rocking chair?”
