The Nanny Solution. Barbara Phinney

wailing. Automatically, Victoria bounced her lightly. She wasn’t looking forward to feeding her. Why, she hadn’t even peered inside that cotton bag. What on earth did a baby’s bottle look like?

      “Would you like the window seat?”

      She quickly shook her head. “I don’t think so. If you expect me to feed and change the baby, I’ll have to sit closest to the aisle.” She cringed. Oh, dear—change the baby? Another task of which she knew nothing.

      Nodding, Mitchell slipped in ahead of her, stepping over the basket that he must have had delivered. Victoria took her seat beside him, glancing over at the young woman across the aisle. The baby in her arms rested comfortably, no doubt well fed.

      The woman eyed her up and down, her interest far too blatant. Uncomfortable at her nerve, Victoria looked away, realizing she probably looked foolish, still with her gloves on, as though a child was something to avoid touching. She wasn’t. The child was beautiful. Victoria suppressed a smile as she looked down at Emily. At least now she could see the baby’s face, since she’d removed her small bonnet. She’d removed her own hat as well and slipped them both in beside Mitchell’s Stetson before they’d strode up to see about warming the milk.

      A few minutes later, after far too many screams from Emily, the old porter arrived with the bottle.

      It was shaped like a flattened lemon, made of clear glass with a rubber nipple sticking up at one end. Victoria thanked the man, and after fitting the small blanket over her waistcoat to protect it, she eased the bottle down to Emily’s mouth.

      At least the baby knew what to do. Being careful not to tip up the bottle too much, Victoria awkwardly began to feed her.

      It worked well for a bit, but before long, Emily began to squirm. “You need to burp her,” Mitchell advised. “Bottles let in too much air. That bothers them.”

      “Are you sure it’s not the milk?” Victoria asked, wondering how one burped an infant. Around Beacon Hill, nannies cared for infants. Victoria had seen them strolling the streets in the latest large-wheeled perambulators that came over from Europe. But she’d never seen an infant burped.

      “No, it isn’t the milk. The doctors now say that mother’s milk is not good enough, and that this formulation is better.” With a frown, Mitchell took one of the blankets in her basket, tossed it over his shoulder and held out his arms. “Here, let me show you how to burp her.”

      Taking the baby, he met Victoria’s blue eyes with his brown ones. His were a lovely color, she decided, as rich and dark as the wood that made up her mother’s highly polished secretary.

      Those lovely eyes were also guarded and wary. Why? Blinking, she watched him gently support Emily’s head as he took her. Resting her against his broad chest, he began to rub and tap her back. The simple action was almost hypnotic. She’d never seen a man so gentle.

      “Why did you accept my offer of a job if you have no experience?” he asked.

      She snapped out of her foolish reverie. “Why did you hire me without asking about it?”

      “I was in need.” He did not hold her gaze again, she noted, but rather studied the child. “Why did you answer my question with one of your own?”

      She flushed and swallowed. “You already knew that I was going to Colorado. I assumed Lacewood had told you everything else about me.” That was all she would say on the matter. The reason she was leaving Boston was no one’s business but hers. It was bad enough that Mitchell probably knew that her home needed to be sold, her mother having already fled to the Carolinas. He didn’t need to know anything more.

      Heat filled her cheeks and she looked everywhere but at Mitchell. She was headed west to live as a poor relative, someone the family was hoping would marry one of her uncle’s cronies and be gone from their house. “I may as well earn a small wage for traveling there.”

      “Your income will be very small, you know that. I’m deducting the cost of the fare from it.”

      Victoria swung her attention back to him. “I know. But I don’t need much.” She had absolutely no idea what she would need, but surely it couldn’t be too much.

      Well, she was going to have to say it out loud sooner or later. Victoria lifted her chin. “I plan to find some employment there.”

      * * *

      Mitch raised his brows as he carefully shifted Emily. He was drawing the stares of nearly everyone on the train car with his behavior, but frankly, until Miss Templeton—Victoria—learned this simple task, he needed to burp the baby. The nurse at the hospital had shown him everything he needed to know about feeding Emily, but the rest, such as this burping, he’d done before with his other children.

      He finally gave Victoria his full attention. “What kind of work are you seeking?” She didn’t look the employable type.

      “Well.” She cleared her throat. “I have some secretarial skills. I can read, write and have a decent grasp of mathematics.”

      “So you haven’t actually searched yet? Or sent any letters? Proud Bend is a rather small place.”

      She blinked without answering.

      Victoria was indeed an oddity. Like him, considering he was caring for a baby while the woman beside him watched like a studious pupil. Mitch knew little of her save the fact that Lacewood could vouch for her character...and that there had been a death in her family, but he knew that only from the black wreath on her front door. There seemed to be a problem with money, judging by the need for train fare.

      Why? Her brownstone was worth at least three of his ranches. Yet she was heading west to meet a man who had been willing to send her money for a first-class train ticket.

      Was he her beau? Mitch frowned. She certainly didn’t act as though she was going to meet the love of her life. Or was Victoria a mail-order bride who’d naively decided she’d rather work as a spinster instead of marrying? He’d already gathered that her family’s situation had turned dire. What had precipitated her new decision?

      No. He would not pry, not even about her vague plans for employment. He didn’t want Victoria, or anybody in Proud Bend, to know his business, so he ought to stay out of other people’s. Ranching was lonely work, something best left to bachelors who weren’t encumbered by fickle women who acted too much on emotion, needy things that they were. And he wasn’t seeing anything in Victoria that changed his mind. She was most likely a socialite in financial disgrace, forced to Colorado to marry a man who wanted something cultured on his arm. Mitch would leave her to her naivety as soon as they stepped off the train at Proud Bend. That would be best for everyone. No point in the children expecting she’d be a fixture in their already battered lives.

      Proud Bend was a small town southwest of Denver, but it was up-and-coming with its own church, bank and three stores, not to mention the blacksmith and the school and a few establishments Mitch chose not to frequent. The train depot had taken on the post office’s duties, something that seemed odd at the time, but the townsfolk preferred it that way. Beside the smithy sat the sheriff’s office and behind it, a small jail. The boom of the gold rush and the offer a few years back of cheap land for ranching along with Colorado joining the union had all worked in Proud Bend’s favor. The town was thriving and healthy.

      A few years ago, when he’d first arrived, he’d been so impressed that he’d named his ranch Proud Ranch, after the town. He’d spent that first winter carving the sign above the entrance to his land. He had been building a home for the family he’d left out east.

      Then the honeymoon ended. That spring someone in town commented that they were surprised Mitch could even write. Mitch had held his tongue. Two things he’d learned from being the son of a retired schoolmarm. Know your letters and keep your mouth shut.

      Thinking of letters, he still had an unread one from Lacewood in his breast pocket. The man had written a long explanation when Mitch had told him that he couldn’t keep his last appointment due to this train trip. If there