Page 120 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
It was a close call. It was simply dumb luck that Beefcake had whinnied as Sebastian approached the barn.
He couldn’t allow himself to stumble again. He had to put Libby, with her dark hair, alluring eyes, and lips he could kiss until his last breath, out of his mind. And thank bloody Christ, he’d had a bit of a reprieve since they’d returned to the Victorian.
Sebastian had provided a kind of respite these past few hours.
After he and an equally quiet Libby listened to the boy go on about the care and feeding of pack burros during dinner, he’d informed the nanny and his son that he would check the grounds and lock up the house—otherwise known as a hyper-masculine bullshit excuse to get away.
And why did he need the escape?
Because he didn’t want to escape.
Because if he were a different man, a worthy man, he’d deserve Libby and Sebastian. He could sit at that table and allow the joy of simply being near them to fill his heart.
But he couldn’t.
He’d forfeited that pleasure the day Mere died.
After checking the animals, who’d settled into their luxury barn digs quite well, he puttered around, locking doors and closing windows, while listening to the Victorian’s creaking floorboards above. Libby and Sebastian’s muffled voices floated down from upstairs like leaves falling dreamily from a tree.
The two already had a rhythm—a pattern they must have picked up in Denver while he’d been holed up at the gym. The chipper cadence of his son’s voice, then Libby’s gentle tone, then laughter played out over and over as the pair moved from the bathroom to the boy’s third-floor bedroom with the quaint, sloped ceiling. Somewhere between listening to the whoosh of water from the draining bathtub work its way through the Victorian’s old pipes and the patter of feet trekking down the hallway, he’d left the confines of the house. He’d purposely moved slowly, taking ten times longer than it should to check on the donkeys. Had he not left and blocked out the sweet murmurs of their sounds, he would have surely gone mad.
He’d recognized the voices and rhythm. Once upon a time, he’d been a part of it.
But he couldn’t hide out for the entire night.
The second he’d made it back to the house and closed the door behind him, Sebastian had called to him and requested a glass of water.
And that’s where he was now, standing in the bedroom, his head nearly hitting the sloping triangular ceiling like a bloody useless third wheel. With nothing left to do other than fall back on his water boy gig, he picked up the glass of water and set it a few inches closer to the boy, listening as his son held Libby’s mobile and chatted away with Phoebe and Oscar on a video call.
Perhaps, it was another respite of sorts.
This situation allowed him to pretend to attend to the child while watching Libby like a hawk from the corner of his eye. He wasn’t one for evaluating energy or giving much credence to the hocus-pocus chakra stuff Libby ascribed to. Still, he couldn’t ignore the anxiety coming off the woman in crashing waves. If he was the water boy, then she was the laundry lady. He’d observed her fold, unfold, then refold Sebastian’s shirt and track pants half a dozen times since he’d joined them.
“So, you’re a real donkey rescuer, Sebastian?” Phoebe questioned, her curious voice weaving its way through the tension-filled room.
Sebastian leaned against a wall of pillows in his new bed. Lit by the golden glow of the bedside table and fresh from the bath, the boy beamed. Drops of water from his still-damp hair dotted his pajama top as he stared at the mobile’s screen.
“Yeah, Phoebe, I’m a real donkey tracker. The two strikes of lightning had them running as fast as race cars. After the rain stopped, I begged Augie and Luanne to let me help my dad and Mibby find our donkeys.”
“Mibby?” Oscar repeated.
“That’s what I’m calling Libby now. You know, like you call Charlotte,my Charlotte. Well, Libby is my Libby, but I didn’t copy you, mate, so I shortened it up to Mibby.”
Raz glanced across the room at Libby, who’d stopped folding and froze at Sebastian’s declaration. She caught his eye but looked away as quickly as she’d met it before returning to her folding routine.
Bloody hell! He couldn’t even pinpoint what she was most worked up about. Between offering up Zen Dougie as her benchmark screw, then falling back onto beefcake mode, he’d cocked up an already mucked up situation.
“Mibby! I love it, Sebastian. It’s a blooming brilliant name,” Phoebe sang out in the worst British accent he’d ever heard. Still, despite the whirlwind of emotions hitting him harder than any boxing rival ever could, he chuckled at the child’s remark and caught Libby doing the same.
Okay, maybe they could get past this uncomfortable strain.
“How did you know where your donkeys went?” Oscar pressed, his voice, thankfully, not in a grating British accent.
Sebastian schooled his features and squared his jaw, looking properly formidable. “First, I tracked their prints. Then, when the hoofprints disappeared, I told Augie and Luanne that I thought the donkeys may have strayed off the main trail. Donkeys are smart. They like to explore new places. And I was right. I found the donkeys in an old barn on the side of the mountain, eating wild strawberries. My dad and Mibby were there, too, but they were busy.”
“What were they doing in the barn?” Phoebe demanded, her accent now sounding like an uppity French maître d’.
“Libby got an itchy bug bite on her neck, and my dad was helping her scratch it,” Sebastian explained.
