A Nanny In The Family

Instinct told him not to ask, but curiosity got the better of him. “How so?”

“Everything about you is very direct. A woman knows where she stands with you and I admire that in a man.”

There were a few things he admired about her, too. Her hair, for instance, and the classic oval of her face. And her long, dark lashes. If it weren’t for the fact that she’d washed or wept away her makeup, he might have thought they were false or coated with eye shadow, or whatever it was women put on them for effect. In any event, they added drama to her already lovely eyes.

But it was more than just her face that he found appealing, he admitted, allowing his gaze to roam over the rest of her. She had the sort of slight build that brought a man’s protective urges to the fore. Her waist was narrow as a child’s, her hips a mere suggestion beneath the blue dressing gown, and her breasts ... were none of his concern.

He cleared his throat again. “Yes, well, good night, Nicole.”

“Good night, Pierce.”

“Sleep well.”

“I’ll try.”

Shutting the door after him, Nicole leaned against it and let out a slow breath of relief. How could she have come so close to blowing her cover, knowing as she did what she had to lose by doing so? The thing was, he’d caught her in a moment of weakness and that, combined with his sympathy, had almost undone her.

She’d realized her mistake at once. There’d been no misinterpreting his wariness at the idea of her having lied. Quite how he’d have reacted if she’d finished what she’d started to say didn’t bear thinking about. She’d probably be packing her bags by now.

It was just as well that, after all, she’d chosen to ignore her mother’s warning when they’d spoken on the phone earlier.

“You’re not thinking straight,” Nancy Bennett had sighed, when Nicole unfolded her plan. “You went to Oregon expecting to reunite with a sister you’d lost touch with years ago, only to find you’d lost her all over again—permanently, this time—and the whole tragedy is taking its toll on you. Come clean now, honey, before the lies trip you up.”

At first, she’d been inclined to heed the advice but Tommy had changed her mind. Confronted by Pierce’s sympathy and with the truth practically trembling on her lips, she’d had a sudden memory flash of the evening she and the child had spent together and made a split-second choice: being with him was worth any amount of deception.

They’d bonded instantly, the way an aunt and nephew should. Everything about him enchanted her—his speech, his four-year-old mannerisms, his curiosity and trust. She loved how he prefaced almost every remark to her with her name.

“Nicole?” he’d said, as they sat at dinner.

“Yes, darling?”

“Are you going to live here tonight?”

“Yes, darling,” she’d said, mopping up the small puddle of milk he’d spilled. “And tomorrow night, as well.”

“Oh.” He’d regarded her from big eyes, and digested that bit of information with the last of his macaroni cheese. “Nicole?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Will you sleep with Uncle Pierce?”

She’d almost choked on her own food at that. “No, Tommy.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have my own bed in my own room.”

“Mommy sleeps with Daddy.”

Oh, precious, I hope so! I hope wherever they are that they’re together and that they know I’ll keep you safe for them. She’d swallowed the familiar rush of tears and said simply, “I know. They keep each other company.”

“Nicole?”

“Yes, Tommy?”

“In the morning, we can go swimming.”

“That would be nice.”

“But only if you’re there. Uncle Pierce says it’s very, very dangerous to go in the pool by myself.”

“He’s right. Now, if you’re finished eating, how about we clear the table to save Janet having to do it?”

“All right.” He’d hopped down from his chair and carried his plate and glass to the counter next to the sink. After she’d rinsed them, he showed her how he could load them into the dishwasher. It had been all she could do not to smother him with hugs and kisses.

Janet, who’d been ironing at the other end of the kitchen, had observed the interaction but made no comment. “I’m here if you need me,” she’d said, when Nicole asked why she hadn’t joined them for dinner, “but it’s best if the two of you spend time alone together and get to know one another as quickly as possible. Poor motherless mite, he needs someone who can give him all her attention for a while, and I can’t, it’s as simple as that. I’m just glad you came along when you did.”

Nicole had warmed to the housekeeper for the trust implicit in her words. She’d bathed Tommy and read him a story, then sat with him until he’d fallen asleep. Those last few minutes had been precious in their intimacy.

“Nicole?” he’d said, clutching his dee-dee.

She stroked a finger up his cheek, “Yes, darling?”

“Is Mommy coming home tomorrow?”

What she wouldn’t have given to be able to say yes. And what she wouldn’t do to make sure he’d never have to wonder if she’d be there for him in the morning. “No, sweetheart, but I’ll be here.”

His eyes had clouded and she’d folded him in her arms, her heart aching with a pain that could be assuaged only by holding that little boy as close to her as possible, and hoping that, in easing his sorrow, perhaps she’d find a little relief for herself. “What would you like for breakfast when you wake up, Tommy?”

“Pancakes,” he’d murmured drowsily. “And brown syrup.”

“Then pancakes it’ll be.”

And it was. Every day for the rest of that week.

Pierce always had breakfast with them and was often there for dinner, too. “Is all that stuff good for him?” he asked, on the third morning. “Shouldn’t he be eating something more wholesome, like porridge, and forget about the syrup?”

“Not when the weather’s so hot, Pierce. Porridge is winter food. As for the syrup, I give him only a minimal amount. As long as he brushes his teeth, it won’t do him any harm.”

“Well, you’re the nurse,” he’d said doubtfully. “I suppose you know what you’re doing.”

But he didn’t really believe that and continued to keep tabs on her and question her about everything, from the number of times a day that she changed Tommy’s clothes to the amount of time it took him to polish off a meal.

“Twenty minutes should be enough for anyone to clean his plate,” he claimed irritably, on the Friday evening when Tommy was particularly slow to finish his main course. “My crew could get through four times that amount of food in half the time he takes.”

“Since he’s not in the Navy,” she replied tartly, “I hardly think it matters. In any case, mealtimes shouldn’t be reduced to races to see who can cross the finishing line first. They should be social occasions.”

Pierce had let the subject lie but the look he gave her across the table reminded her that she could push him only so far. In the final analysis, he was the boss and she made a mental note not to forget it. She wouldn’t have been able to bear it if he’d fired her.