She briefly considered calling for a blessing or some other type of predinner ritual, but decided there’d be time to introduce that later. “I think we should eat.”
A few minutes later, Lydia decided Sofie might be a paragon of sweetness, but she was a terrible cook. The stew was bland and the corn bread dry. But the Blackwells ate without complaint and there was no way she was going to voice her opinion on a gesture of such obvious goodwill. Nor was she going to comment on the fact that the twins ate like piglets. Not yet, anyway.
“Did you grow up on a ranch, too?” Genevieve asked, scooping up a large chunk of corn bread and shoving it into her already full mouth.
“Nope. I was raised in Philadelphia. That’s in Pennsylvania. Do you know where that is?”
Gen shook her head.
“I think Pennsylvania is a state,” Abby said, and then licked her fingers.
“It is. I’ll show you on a map.”
“Have you ever seen a calf being born?” Gen asked.
“No, I have not.”
Abby wrinkled her nose. “It’s kind of gross.”
“No, it’s not!” Gen argued. “It’s the roof over our head and the boots on our feet, huh, Daddy?”
Blackwell gave her a gentle smile. “Yes, it sure is.”
Abby shot her sister an irritated scowl. “I know, Gen. I just meant if you’ve never seen one before.”
“I’m gonna be a rancher, too.” Gen shoveled up another too-large bite of stew and then wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “Like Katie.”
“I want to be a vet like Uncle Ethan.” Abby dipped a finger in her stew and wiped it on the place mat.
Lydia wondered if the girls knew what napkins were for.
They continued chatting through the rest of the meal. Lydia was grateful for the distraction as it saved her from having to talk to her new employer. At least, she noted happily, he wasn’t grouchy with his girls.
Dinner complete, the girls hopped up from the table and scampered out of the dining room. Lydia watched them go and felt a mix of sympathy and affection wash over her. What had happened here? Where was their mother? She could feel Blackwell watching her. Turning her head, she saw puzzlement and...something not quite as grouchy splayed across his face.
Standing, he reached across the table and stacked the bowls into a pile. “I’ll help you clear the table and then I need to go check on some cows.” He carried them into the kitchen.
Lydia gathered the glasses and followed. “Right now? Shouldn’t we go over what you expect of me?”
“It’s calving season.” He pointed this out like a normal person might comment on the obvious state of the weather. He opened the dishwasher, and began loading the bowls inside.
Maybe grumpy, condescending and rude was just his normal state? But how could he have such a nice friend like Sofie? And his daughters might be a bit...unrefined, but they were clearly loved, and they adored their father. Obviously, it was her. What wasn’t obvious was why.
“But...”
“It’ll be dark soon,” he added, tucking the glasses in the top rack.
Lydia felt a bubble of frustration at his cryptic dialogue. “Oh, do they have a curfew?”
The chuckle seemed to escape him before he realized it and left him looking a little surprised. The smile lingered, and Lydia couldn’t help but notice how much it transformed him. Jonathon Blackwell was an extremely nice-looking man when he wasn’t scowling at her.
“Yes, ma’am, they kind of do. I need to take a look at them and that’s easiest when it’s still light out. What I should have said is that we’ll have a chat when I get back in.”
“Oh. In that case you don’t need to help with the dishes.”
A chime sounded. Lydia watched him pluck a phone out of his shirt pocket. “Just a sec.” His expression tensed again, and Lydia wondered how many different scowls the man possessed. He looked up from the screen. “I’m sorry. We may need to have that discussion in the morning. I might need to turn a calf and... I mean, I’ve got a heifer in labor that needs some assistance. Unless you want to wait up, but it could be late by the time I get back to the house.”
Lydia swallowed nervously. Although why she was nervous exactly she couldn’t say. “Morning is fine. Should I get the girls ready for bed?”
His eyes zeroed in on her like he was considering the question. At least his eyes didn’t have as hard a glint as before. She’d call this expression thoughtful instead of grouchy, which felt like progress.
“I would appreciate it more than I can say.” But then he grimaced. “The sheets for your bed are in the dryer in the laundry room. I apologize. I wanted to have it made up when you got here.”
“Oh. No worries. Sofie showed me around.” Who was this guy? Cranky and ill-tempered with her on the one hand and then full of remorse about sheets on the other? “That’s fine. I can do it. Any special instructions regarding the girls?”
“No, not really. They’ll guide you through it. Although, I need to tell you...” His voice trailed off thoughtfully while his focus drifted behind her. Gray eyes latched on to hers again and the intensity she saw there had her bracing herself for some truly horrific news. “I probably should mention that they can be kind of a handful.”
“A handful?”
“Several hands probably, at least that’s what Sofie would say. Their last couple of babysitters would say worse.” He sighed. “It’s just that they’ve never had a mom or a steady female influence for...quite a while. Their longtime babysitter, Annie, passed away a year and a half ago. We’ve been struggling to get someone regular since then.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I completely get what you’re saying. Kids need structure. Don’t worry, I’m sure I can get them tucked in. We’ll talk in the morning.” No mom at all? Which prompted thoughts of the poor cow mom who needed his help. Waving a hand, she shooed him away. “Go. We’ll be fine. Go and do your rancher midwife thing.”
She liked the way one side of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “Rancher midwife,” he finally said, repeating the words. “I’ll do that.”
Lydia forced herself not to fidget and watched, fascinated, as his lips curled and puckered like he was going to... What was he going to do?
An earsplitting whistle pierced the air.
Lydia yelped and threw a hand over her chest. “Crikey! What the—?”
He winced. “Oh shh-oot. Sorry.” Trout dashed into the room. Ears up, tail wagging, the dog skidded to a stop by his side.
Putting a hand on the dog’s head, he asked, “Ready, my man?”
Trout answered with a single bark. Blackwell gave Lydia a final assessing look, his gray eyes blazing with an intensity that clogged her throat. “Good night, Ms. Lydia. And thank you.” His voice was soft and deep, the tone sincere.
She felt a little light-headed as she watched man and dog disappear through the doorway that Sofie had told her led outside and to the JB Bar Ranch beyond. Ms. Lydia? A warm flush heated her cheeks and neck. She managed to wheeze out a breathy “Good night” that he probably didn’t hear. She was glad because she knew her voice sounded weird. A few minutes ago, she’d wanted to run off and now she wanted to fan herself. What was up with that?
It was just relief, she assured herself. Terror, hopelessness, desperation and anxiety so acute she’d