From Heiress to Nanny
When heiress Victoria Templeton learns her fortune is gone, she has to move to the Colorado frontier to live with her uncle. But with no money to pay for the trip, she must accept a position as a traveling nanny for a widowed rancher. And, much to the chagrin of the man entrusting his children to her care, she soon finds herself in over her head.
Mitch MacLeod lives for two things: his ranch and his children. And pampered Victoria isnât qualified to help with either. But the former socialite has more gritâand determinationâthan he first thinks. If her uncle has his way, though, Mitch will soon lose his ranchâand any hope of a future with Victoria.
âI want to do something.â She leaned into him and heard his indrawn breath.
Then he shut his eyes. âVictoria. I know you mean well. When I first met you, I doubted you could even polish a fork. I can see you care for the children, but caring isnât enough.â He paused and opened his eyes again. âEven love isnât enough. Ranching is a tough life. Itâs not meant for families.â
His voice hitched as he continued, âPlease leave, Victoria. I donât want the children hurt. I donât want to beââ He cut off his hoarse words.
She reached out and touched his chest. The cotton was rough, durable, the muscles beneath firm. It was as if she could trust this man with her life. He seemed so salt-of-the-earth dependable. Hardworking stock. She had to shut her eyes for a moment, for surely he was stealing her focus. âI can help. I can learn to doââ
He took her wrist and pushed her hand down. âNo, you canât help. Now leave before I do something stupid.â
She leaned closer. âLike letting me try?â
He shook his head. âNo, like kissing you.â
BARBARA PHINNEY was born in England and raised in Canada. After she retired from the Canadian Armed Forces, Barbara turned her hand to romance writing. The thrill of adventure and her love of happy endings, coupled with a too-active imagination, have merged to help her create this and other wonderful stories. Barbara spends her days writing, building her dream home with her husband and enjoying their fast-growing children.
Chapter One
Boston, 1882
Victoria Templeton sank into the Queen Anne chair. Her mouth fell open in a most unfeminine manner as she gaped up at her pacing, overwrought mother. âWhat do you mean, âweâre brokeâ?â
Abigail Templeton-Smith continued to pace, all the while wringing her black handkerchief. When the maid entered the front room with afternoon tea, the older woman flicked the small black square, essentially shooing away both the girl and the refreshments.
Victoriaâs attention then settled on her motherâs gown. The mourning outfit was terribly outdated, its black bombazine dull in the barely lit room with the window curtains drawn tight. Where was the tasteful mourning suit Mother had worn just yesterday? The last time this old thing saw any use was when theyâd buried Victoriaâs father, ten years past. âMother? Whatâs really going on?â
âMust I repeat it? Weâre broke!â Abigail dropped onto the settee and plucked at the skirt of her outfit. âI had to dig this old thing out because I gave all but one of my mourning clothes to Bess.â
Her motherâs maid? âWhy?â
âShe found a buyer over on Tremont Street. An actress from Chickering Hall, in fact, who approached me last week, saying my mourning outfits would add to an upcoming play. Can you imagine the cheek of that woman? I brushed her off at the time, but after I saw Mr. Lacewood, well, I sent Bess to see her...â
Victoria struggled to follow her motherâs words. Mr. Lacewood had been her stepfatherâs solicitor, but what did he have to do with her motherâs mourning outfits?
â...and she was able to get a pretty penny for them. Naturally, I retained this old thing for when Iâm at home and one good one forââ
âWhy on earth did you sell your mourning clothes?â Victoria interrupted, all the while trying to refrain from gaping unbecomingly at her mother.
âDo not interrupt. Itâs terribly ill-mannered.â Abigail blinked before finishing her tale. âAs for why, well, I did it for a train ticket!â
âWhere are we going?â
Her mother looked away. âNot we, Victoria. Me. Iâm going down to the Carolinas to stay with your aunt Eugenia until this dreadful mess blows over.â