Stroke of Fortune by Christine Rimmer Page B

“You’re way too guilty about too many things.”
    â€œMaybe I have a lot to be guilty about.”
    â€œEverybody has a lot to be guilty about. It’s calledbeing human. You pick yourself up off the floor and you try again. You do better the next time.”
    â€œOh?”
    She dipped her head in a nod. “Yeah.” A lock of that white-blond hair of hers drifted over her shoulder. She lifted a hand and guided it out of the way behind her ear.
    He wanted to do that—to be able to reach out and smooth her hair, to run a finger over the silky skin of her soft cheek. To cross the room, right now, and reach for her. To pull her close and—
    He cut off the thought before it could get too dangerous. He didn’t have the right to touch her.
    Not yet. In a couple of weeks, maybe.
    But for now…
    â€œAny more ‘whys’ for me tonight, Josie?”
    â€œHmm,” she said, as if the question required serious consideration. Then she smiled. “No. I think that’ll do it for now. You can go.”
    Â 
    The cable people came at ten the next morning to install the line for Josie’s Internet connection. It always surprised her how fast a thing could get done when a Carson gave the order for it.
    By that evening she had everything all set up. Her room’s one window looked out on a pretty, sheltered section of the garden. She put the desk there. When Lena didn’t need her, she could be at the computer, writing in the journal she kept on disk, playing gamesand continuing her e-mail correspondence with a few friends she’d made at the day-care center and in that waitress job she’d had while she lived in Hurst.
    It would be nice sometimes simply to sit there at the window and read a book—she’d always liked to read. And then she had those three hours a day for going to her mother’s and making sure Alva had everything she needed.
    The nanny job would be fine. She’d keep busy even in the quiet times when Lena was napping.
    That whole first day Josie was aware of a kind of edgy, excited feeling, as if there were a thousand tiny butterflies trapped just under her skin, waiting for a certain signal to begin beating their wings.
    The signal being Flynt Carson’s presence, of course.
    The night before had raised her hopes a little. He had, after all, answered more or less honestly when she’d asked about Monica. She kept imagining more conversations in the same vein. She would get him to open up about himself, and she would share with him all the secrets of her heart.
    By the time he got the results of that paternity test, those results wouldn’t matter. He’d have realized that the two of them were meant to spend their lives side by side.
    Josie didn’t see him that whole day. He was most likely off empire building or out playing cowboy, getting his hands dirty with real ranch work alongside Matt.
    Cara appeared to relieve her when the time came to check on Alva. Three hours later, when Josie returned to the ranch, she ran into Flynt’s father in the back hall. Ford Carson was dressed in work clothes, with manure on his boots.
    â€œHello, Josie,” he said in that deep, rather gruff voice of his, thick white eyebrows drawn together, eyes narrowed, as if he wanted to check inside her head and make sure there was nothing suspicious going on in there. Josie had always thought of Flynt’s father as a fair and good-natured man, a man who loved his wife and seemed pretty happy with how his life had turned out. The probing way he looked at her now made her feel more than a little bit nervous.
    Josie put on a friendly smile. “Nice to see you, Mr. Carson.”
    â€œHow have you been?”
    â€œJust fine.”
    â€œGlad to hear it. I understand you’ll be taking care of little Lena for us.”
    â€œYes, that’s right.”
    â€œGood, then.” He went on looking at her in that odd, intent way. She