Project: Daddy

She started to protest again, but he held up his hand. “While you’re gone, I’ll check your references.”

Her expression told him she wanted to argue, but she kept a lid on it. He hadn’t meant to make it sound like coercion, but if it would get her to do as he asked without having to go into detailed explanations, he would let her think what she liked.

Finally, her lips pinched together and she nodded. “All right.”

He could tell she was put out, though he wasn’t sure if it was directed at him for being so insistent, or herself for giving in so easily. He saw a small war waging in her as if she was battling to keep her thoughts to herself. He had to admire that, but he didn’t want to because it would make her too real to him, too much a person.

He’d known her less than an hour, and he didn’t intend to get to know her much better. After all, she was an employee and he’d learned the hard way that employer/employee familiarity was to be avoided at all costs. In spite of that resolution, he found himself offering the use of his truck for her trip to Alban.

“Is that it?” she asked, nodding toward the ten-year-old battle-scarred extended cab pickup truck parked in the driveway.

“Yes. You’ll need space for all the items on that list.”

The annoyance he’d seen in her eyes was replaced by amusement. “No thanks. I don’t like driving unfamiliar vehicles. I’ll take my own car.” She hesitated, then pushed her unruly hair back from her face and met his gaze. “I just brought in one suitcase. Since I’m going to be staying, I might as well bring in everything to make room for the groceries in my car.”

With that, she whirled out the door and left him to trail along in her wake battling his own irritation that she’d turned the tables on him. Still, he felt another spurt of grudging admiration at the way she’d done it.

They unloaded her car and he carried everything inside while she’d roared away in the small compact that sounded as if it badly needed a tune-up. As he placed her things in the room she’d chosen next to the children’s then went to check on Elly and Simon, Mac speculated that, given her resume, she’d probably been accustomed to a better car but she’d obviously fallen on hard times. Or hard times had fallen on her.

That made two of them. He’d had a fancy, fully-loaded sport utility vehicle that had impressed the heck out of the neighborhood, as well as a midnight-blue sports car that had been his pride, but he’d sold them both without a qualm when he’d needed money. Funny how little either of those had mattered when weighed against his good name.

Now as he stared out at the ocean, Mac, who hadn’t been curious about much of anything for more than a year now, wondered what she’d given up, and why, to be where she was now—a nanny and housekeeper to a lonely man and two abandoned kids.

Paris quietly pulled the bedroom door almost closed behind her, leaving it open just enough to provide a night light for the children and enable her to hear them if they cried out. After peeking down the long, bare hall to make sure she was alone, she allowed her shoulders to slump wearily as she headed for her own room next door.

She was grateful that Elly and Simon had been tired enough to go right to sleep. Though she didn’t know very much about children, she fully understood what it was like to have the world turn upside down and land on top of her and that’s exactly what Elly and Simon had experienced. She’d known them less than fourteen hours, but she wanted to try and make things easier for them. It broke her heart to see sturdy little Elly’s stoic acceptance of her circumstances and her protectiveness toward Simon. Elly had warmed toward Paris during the course of the day and they had made a cautious start toward being friends. When Simon had lost some of his shyness and begun to talk to Paris, Elly had interpreted his baby talk. Still, Paris wondered if the little girl would call out in the night if she was frightened. Hoping she would, and that Paris herself would waken if she was needed, she turned her thoughts to her own situation.

Sheer nerve and desperation had carried her through the day and she was bone-tired. Rubbing her knuckles across her forehead, she sank onto the side of the bed and asked herself what in the world she’d gotten into.

The newspaper ad had seemed like a wonderful gift when she’d first seen it; work she knew she could do in an out-of-the way place where no one knew or cared about her, but this…

Dismayed, she looked around at the stark place. A bed, a table, and a lamp were the entire furnishings, the bleakness of it almost identical to the children’s room which held only a baby playpen and a single bed. Every item looked as though it had been recently purchased at a rummage sale. Elly’s bed still had a little yellow stick-on tag with the price printed by hand. Paris wondered if Mac had run out to scavenge whatever he could as soon as he knew he had to keep the children. She admired that, even as she knew he probably only saw it as doing his duty.

The saddest thing she’d seen among the children’s belongings, though, was the lack of toys and clothes in the closet, as if their mother couldn’t be bothered to bring all they might need or want. She’d wanted to cry at the sight. Her horror at the way they’d been abandoned had been matched by her distress over their uncle’s ineptitude. Truthfully though, she couldn’t say he didn’t care about them. Mac, at least, had some sense of responsibility, certainly more than his sister had.

The sight of the imposing glass-and-cedar home had given her pause when she had first sighted it that morning, but it was so beautiful, and so perfectly positioned on the cliff overlooking the Pacific, she had decided to at least ask about the job. The closer she’d come to the door, the more she had tightened up on her courage until even the sight of the imposing man who answered it couldn’t stop her from barreling inside as if she had every right to be there.

She knew she had given Mac an erroneous impression of herself, maybe even a wrong one, letting him think she was bold and outspoken, when in truth, she was outgoing but not bossy. Usually, only nervousness made her that way. When she had left her small hometown of Hadley in the Imperial Valley, though, she had decided that she had to change. Her days of depending on others to look out for her were over. Being dependent had gained her nothing but a mountain of debts and a broken heart.

Shuddering at the memory of her flight from Hadley, and some of the things that had happened since, she stood suddenly and began unpacking her suitcase, laying the items she would need for the night on the bed and making a mental note to find boxes of some kind to use as a makeshift dresser.

She was wildly curious to know why the house was so bare. Couldn’t he afford furniture? Didn’t he want any? As yet, she didn’t know him well enough to judge whether or not he seemed content with so little, but somehow she didn’t think it mattered to him.

Paris considered the man who had hired her. Mac seemed tense, watchful. More than once that day she’d felt his attention on her and looked up to find him viewing her with a gaze that seemed to be questioning her actions and motives. Not that she blamed him. She knew her resume was far less than impressive—as were her references. However, what Mac had learned about her must have been satisfactory because he hadn’t backed down on his offer to hire her.

Although she was grateful for the job, she wondered why she’d been awarded it. She wasn’t going to ask him and risk being told it was all a terrible mistake and she’d have to go.

“Avoidance at all costs,” she murmured to herself, wincing guiltily as she acknowledged it was a character flaw she was trying to overcome. She wouldn’t be in this predicament now if she hadn’t been so intent on pretending that everything was okay with Keith, if she hadn’t avoided knowing that he was gullibly squandering his own fortune and everything she’d inherited from her parents, if she hadn’t helped him squander it until she’d finally wised up.

Shaking off those maudlin thoughts, Paris moved her tired body out of the room and into the hallway to speak to her new boss. When she got no answer to her knock on his bedroom door, she knew she’d have to search the house for him. “Shouldn’t be hard to find,” she whispered to herself, examining the picture-free walls and pristine carpet. “He can’t exactly hide behind the furniture.”

Telling herself that she wasn’t intimidated by this brooding, disturbing man, Paris walked briskly through the house until she found him before the huge plate glass of the living room windows, staring out into the night. She stopped and hung back so that her reflection wouldn’t catch his attention.

Mac stood with his head thrust forward, causing his midnight-black hair to fall over his forehead. His hands were thrust into the back pockets of his jeans. Though he was physically fit and his arms were roped with muscles, he was too skinny. His clothes hung on a frame that seemed to carry twenty pounds less than it should. She doubted that he had thinned down on purpose. He had told her he was a carpenter and she knew he needed strength and stamina for such a job. Another quick examination of the living room had her wondering if he was more than a carpenter. He may have built this place himself, and she had a hunch he’d also had a hand in designing it. Something about the design of the house, the high ceilings and view of the ocean made her picture him bending over a draftsman’s table, carefully laying out the plans.

His face was thin and gaunt, as well, his dark eyes shadowed, hiding secrets. He stood with one shoulder turned slightly toward the window in a way that made her think of someone shouldering a burden, taking on yet another heavy load. She had never considered herself to be particularly astute at reading people. If she had, she certainly would have tried to keep Keith from giving their money to fast-talking charlatans. She could read Mac Weston, though, and what she saw told her he had been through rough times and they still weren’t behind him.

Against her will, she felt herself drawn to him as she was to his niece and nephew. She had no idea what his story was, but it struck a chord in her and made her more curious about him. Paris reminded herself that she needed to remember that this was just a job, one she would hold until she got back on her feet and decided what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

She must have moved or made a sound, because Mac’s head came up and the brooding look in his eyes gave way to caution as if he feared he’d revealed something of himself. He had, but she pretended as if she hadn’t seen it. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “The kids…”

“Are asleep,” she said, forcing briskness into her voice and striding into the room. Strangely, she felt her exhaustion fall away and vitality take its place as she joined him. “I left their door open so I could hear them. Will they sleep all night?”

“They’ve only been here two nights, and they haven’t slept much either night.” Mac ran his hand over his face. Paris knew he hadn’t either.

“I came to find out when you want breakfast.” She hadn’t been a housekeeper for very long, but she knew that was the kind of question she was supposed to ask. After all, her housekeeper used to ask her that question.

“Feed them whenever they get hungry,” he answered, his dark eyes regarding her in some confusion.

“No, I mean you, what time do you want your breakfast?”

“I can take care of myself,” he said gruffly, as if it didn’t matter. “That’s not why I hired you. You’re here to take care of Elly and Simon.”

Paris took exception to his dismissive tone. “And this house and everything connected with it, right? Including meals.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll get my own food.”

Even though she hadn’t intended to, Paris glanced at the way his jeans hung on his frame. Against her will, her lips tilted into a smile as if to say he hadn’t been doing such a good job of feeding himself. “You hired me to cook and that’s what I intend to—”

“No,” he said, scowling at her. “I don’t need you fussing over me.”

Her eyes widened. “Fussing? I’m trying to do my job.”

“Which is to take care of Elly and Simon, not me.”

Paris could only stare. What kind of man was this who couldn’t accept anything from someone he’d hired to help him? A stubborn and proud one, she concluded.

“Wait a minute, Mr. Weston…”

Wincing, he held up his hand. “Mac, please,” he said.

“Mac, then.” She took a breath. “Although I admit I don’t have much experience as a housekeeper…”

“Much?” he asked, his black brows rising skeptically.

“All right. Very little actual hands-on experience as a housekeeper,” she said, exasperated. “But I’ve been around many of them and their job is to cook and care for the whole family, not just the children.”

“Think of yourself as a pioneer in the housekeeping field, then Mrs. Barbour,” he suggested.