Temporary Nanny

“It’s okay. Really.”

“No, it’s not okay.” She managed a small smile. “Please allow me to do this. We’ll eat in, say, forty-five minutes?”

“Goodbye.” He nudged her shoe out of the opening with his toe and quietly closed the door.

Was that a yes or a no? She’d assume yes.

“Good. We’ll see you in forty-five minutes,” she called through the closed door.

ROYCE PAUSED OUTSIDE the Garners’ place, a bottle of wine cradled on his left arm.

What in the hell was he doing here?

He was tempted to return to his apartment. Nobody had to ever know he’d been here.

But what would he do? Eat another bowl of cold cereal? Then maybe leave another voice mail for Michael? The thought left him feeling so hollow, he knocked on the door before he could change his mind.

The door opened almost instantly.

“Hi, Royce. C’mon in.” Jake’s hair was plastered damply against his head.

A pang of regret made Royce hesitate. Michael had adopted a similar hairstyle at about the same age. And now his son was a grown man, forging a career in stock-car racing, too busy to return calls from his old man. Or too alienated.

Royce was acutely aware of the passage of time. Funny, but when he’d worked out of the country, he’d sometimes felt as if the rest of the world went on hold until he got back. Children shouldn’t grow, parents shouldn’t age, ex-wives shouldn’t remarry.

Royce suppressed the thought as he followed Jake inside.

Katy hurried into the room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

“Right on time.” There was relief in her voice, but her smile was strained.

He handed her the bottle of wine. “I, um, figured it might be okay with enchiladas. But if you don’t drink, that’s okay, I won’t be offended.”

“This looks perfect. I’ll get wineglasses and you can pour, if that’s okay?”

Royce almost broke out into a cold sweat until he remembered the bottle had a twist- off top. By bracing the bottle between his left arm and chest, he could manage. A corkscrew might have required more dexterity than he could currently claim.

Jake watched, his dark eyes solemn. Finally, he asked, “Does it hurt?”

Royce cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure how graphic he should be. “Yeah, sometimes. But the weird part is that my left hand itches like crazy. I go to scratch it and realize it’s not there anymore.”

Jake wrinkled his nose.

Royce glanced at Katy, checking her reaction. No obvious signs of disgust. She seemed to be absorbed in cooking. Her gaze met his, then slid away.

“Did they let you keep it?” the boy asked.

“Keep what?” He turned his attention to Jake. “My hand? Nope. It was blown to smithereens.” So much for not getting too graphic. But the kid had asked.

Jake seemed to digest that information. “Oh.”

“Jake, would you please set the table?” Katy handed him three colorful stoneware plates. “Silverware for everyone, then a soda for you. Special occasion.”

The kid’s whoop of excitement made Royce smile. “It takes so little to make them happy at that age.”

“He won’t be so excited when I remind him he’s grounded for his part in this escapade. He disobeyed the rules.”

“I’m sorry I got him in trouble.”

“He’s usually a good boy, but there are moments when he’s a handful. Do you have kids?” She held up a hand. “No, don’t answer that. Jake’s grilled you enough already.”

Royce smiled. “I don’t mind. I have a grown son, Michael. We’re not close, but I thought I’d reconnect with him while I’m stateside.”

“Stateside?”

“Yeah, I was working in Russia when the accident happened. People tend to assume it was something cloak-and-dagger with the Russian Mafia. Truth is, I was welding and there was a propane leak. Sparks from a welder don’t mix well with combustibles.”

She made a face. “How horrible.”

“It wasn’t fun. I thought I was dead, so waking up in a German hospital was a real bonus.”

“And probably every day after that.”

“Not quite…but it’s getting better. Jake’s been a welcome distraction.”

She hesitated. “Why did you answer him? I mean, it’s a little unusual for a grown man to play spy with a boy.”

“Hey, you don’t think I’m some sort of weirdo, do you?”

“No, not at all,” she quickly assured him. Almost too quickly.

“In case you have any lingering doubts, I have both Russian and U.S. government clearance for my work abroad. I bet I’m the safest guy on the block, maybe even the state.”

“That’s good to know.” She wiped down the kitchen counter. “Does your son live in Phoenix?”

“Michael’s based out of Charlotte. He’s busy becoming the next phenomenon of the racing world.”

“Wait, you said your name is McIntyre? Is your son the Michael McIntyre?”

“Yes. You’ve heard of him?” Though his voice rang with pride, Royce knew he couldn’t take credit for Michael’s accomplishments. Tess deserved that.

“Who hasn’t? But I’m a Ryan Pearce fan myself. I grew up around cars. My dad was a ringman at car shows and I followed in his footsteps. I help keep track of the bids and bidders and I occasionally do the calling when the auctioneer needs a break.”

“I imagine that takes a special talent.”

“Talking really, really fast.” Laughter transformed her face and made her eyes crinkle at the corners. Combined with her upturned nose, she looked a bit like a mischievous elf. “Seriously, I love what I do, both as ringman and backup auctioneer. It requires a working knowledge of classic cars and the ability to read people, work a crowd, anticipate eventualities. I’ve heard some people refer to it as a gift.”

“I bet.”