Page 181 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
Sebastian stepped forward, shoulders back. His son lifted his chin like a kid-sized captain of industry. “I can take care of the donkeys, and I can bring them home. I know the way up the trail.”
He had a damned great kid.
“We’ll go with Sebastian and lend a helping hand,” Mitch added as Oscar and Sebastian high-fived each other.
Raz came to his feet. “Okay, the donkeys are sorted. Now, I need a car. We walked here with the burros.”
“Take mine,” Landon offered, throwing him the keys. “It’s the black Porsche. It’s parked down the block.”
“Thanks, mate,” he replied, then eyed Briggs. “Are we good?”
“Part one is ready,” the man added, glancing at one of his assistant’s mobiles. “We’re working on the destination location. Does it have to be exactly where you described?”
He held his agent’s gaze. “To the letter.”
“We’ll get it done,” the man answered, then checked his watch. “And you better get on it. Part one is on its way.”
“Got it. Thank you,” he answered, then turned to the group. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
“Are you sure about this?” Augie asked.
“There’s no other way, Augie.”
There wasn’t. He’d be a bloody wreck if he didn’t at least try to stop what he’d put into motion.
He ruffled his son’s ash brown hair and inhaled a few shallow sips of air. It was as if he were in withdrawal. His limbs shook. His heart hammered in his chest. He left the square, sprinting down the block, and found the Porsche. Throwing himself into the front seat, he pressed the ignition and hit the gas. Flying through downtown Rickety Rock, he formulated a plan.
Step one: Flowers
Step two: Drive to the lookout on Rickety Rock Mountain
Step three: Hand Libby the flowers, throw her over his shoulder and disappear into the sunset
Bollocks! This sounded more like a kidnapping than a romantic gesture.
It didn’t matter. He had to get to her and put the kibosh on the final benchmark. He’d work out the rest along the way.
He turned off the road and tore down the drive. Gravel and rock scattered as he pulled up to the Victorian and threw the car into park. His pulse racing, he swung open the car door and lost his footing as he attempted to extricate himself from the sports car. He hit the ground with a thud. Rocks cut into his knees as he crawled a few feet before pushing up and dashing toward the barn.
“Flowers, flowers, flowers,” he muttered, ripping the blue-violet larkspurs from the ground. Root and all, he worked furiously. Mud and bits of earth fell to the ground, and dirt stuck to his legs. He reached for another wildflower when a door slammed.
“Why are you digging up the yard?”
He looked over his shoulder and couldn’t believe his eyes. “Libby, is that you?”
“Are you okay, Raz?” she asked with a crease to her brow.
He glanced from his dirt-covered hands to his clothing dusted with mud. He must look like he’d gone mental. Then it clicked. She was here—and not with Mr. Benchmark.
“Where’s Dougie?” he sputtered.
She glanced down the drive. “On his way to visit his brother in Denver.”
Denver?
His heart was ready to beat itself out of his chest. “What happened to the plans you made with him?”
“I changed my mind and asked him to bring me home—back to the Victorian.”
