The Nanny's Plan

“I’m coming.” Without thought, Amy slipped off her high-heeled shoes and started toward them. She hoped the water wasn’t too deep. Swimming wasn’t much of a concern in Kansas, where you were surrounded by farmland.

The bay was cold, despite the clear, sunny sky overhead. Her skin broke out in goose bumps when the water reached waist level, and she shivered. She was nearly within arm’s reach of the rowboat when the thought passed through her mind that the twins had gone oddly silent. That’s when she heard a masculine voice behind her say, “Maybe this will help.”

She twisted around just as her hand closed over the wooden bow.

Sunlight gilded the man’s jet-black hair, sparked the greenest gaze in all the universe. The honed angles comprising his features made for an utterly handsome face. A breath-stealing face.

Amy gaped.

Inexorably, she slowly became aware that the gorgeous man standing on the shore had a rope in his hand. Her gaze followed the dripping line, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment when she realized that one end was tethered to the front of the rowboat.

“Jeremiah,” the man said, “sit down.”

The child obeyed. The boat swayed under her grasp.

“Hold on,” he told the twins. “I’m going to haul you in.”

Out of the corner of her eye she spied the oar. She waded toward it, and when her fingers curled around the smooth surface, she was struck with the realization that the salty bay water had surely ruined her silk shirtdress. She was going to look a wreck when she trudged ashore.

Confidence. She must remember to don an air of self-assurance. Her instructor at flight attendant school had been adamant—perception was everything. If a traveler sensed you were calm and in control during any given situation, then the battle was nearly won.

She slogged onto the sand, the fabric of her dress sticking to her thighs as if it had been glued on.

The man had pulled the bow of the boat onto dry land and was plucking the boys from it when he said to her, “You’re Amy Edwards? The nanny?”

“Yes. That would be me.” She stepped forward meaning to offer him her hand, but realized her fingers were cold and damp, so she eased them behind her back. “You’re Dr. Kincaid. The boys’ uncle.”

Her well-practiced, cocksure tone came without thought, but she was anything but certain. The boys’ parents had been scheduled to leave before she arrived in Glory, Delaware. But for all Amy knew, plans could have changed. Cynthia Winthrop had told her that her brother would be with the boys when Amy arrived; however, the man could be anyone—another relative, a family friend, a neighbor.

He smiled, and Amy’s brain went haywire. She felt as if she might melt right into the carpet of thick grass beneath her bare feet.

“That’s right,” he told her. “Call me Pierce.”

He crouched down on his haunches then, turning his attention to the children.

“I thought I left you in front of the television watching a video,” he said, a distinct reprimand in his tone.

“But the movie’s been over for a long time, Uncle Pierce,” one of the boys complained.

“A long time,” the other parroted.

Surprise lifted his features. He studied his wristwatch. Then his shoulders rounded a bit and he looked down at his nephews. “So it has. I’m sorry, boys. I guess I got caught up in my work.”

Once again that vivid green gaze was on her, and it unsettled her all over again. She fought the urge to smooth her hand over her soggy dress.

“I have to say,” he told her, placing his palms on his knees and standing, “I’m impressed with your quick attempt to fetch the boys. Although I find it amusing that you went at the rescue the hard way. The lanyard was lying right there.”

Her heart pounded. Explaining herself wasn’t something she did very well, especially when she felt put on the spot. Her father had warned her that Dr. Pierce Kincaid was a highly intelligent man…and Amy usually avoided highly intelligent men. For very good reason. However, neither her dad nor Cynthia Winthrop had warned Amy that the doctor could be a grumpy Gus when he wanted to be.

During her two-day drive from Kansas, she’d pondered a hundred possible situations that might leave her looking like an idiot in front of the doctor, as well as means to avoid them. Walking into the Delaware Bay, fully clothed, had not been a scenario she’d anticipated.

“How could I see it?” she asked when the idea came to her like a bolt from the blue. “It was under water until you picked it up.”

The man’s oh-so-perfect mouth went flat. He murmured, “I guess that’s true enough.”

She added, “Besides that, someone had to rescue the oar.”

He nodded, his features relaxing as he looked at her.

“They shouldn’t have been out here alone.” She hadn’t meant to criticize, but the opinion seemed to roll off her tongue by its own volition.

Contrition darkened his green gaze. “You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t have lost track of time like that.” After a moment, he sighed and then focused his attention on the twins.

“What were the two of you thinking?”

“The boat wasn’t on the list of rules you gave us,” one child quickly replied, blatant defensiveness in his tone. “So we thought it would be okay.”

One of the man’s dark eyebrows arched dubiously.

“Obviously your powers of deduction haven’t fully matured.”

The second twin said, “It was Benjamin’s idea.”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

“Boys.”

Although his voice hadn’t risen at all, the children went quiet. Amy chuckled.

Horrified that all eyes were on her, she reached up and pressed her fingers to her mouth. It was nerves. No doubt about it. This situation had her as tense as a lop-eared rabbit in a rocking-chair factory.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Unwilling to reveal her state of anxiety, she only shrugged. “The twins sure are cute when they squabble.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “They’re cuter when they’re not getting into trouble.”

Automatically Amy’s gaze drifted to the twins. The red, bleary eyes of one, the defiant chin thrust of the other. A strange thing happened to her insides. They turned all warm and mushy.

“You said you were heading east,” she said. “Out into the Atlantic. You were going after your mom and dad, weren’t you? You were heading for Africa.”

The child who had been crying blinked, his chin trembling at the mention of his parents, and Amy thought her heart would dissolve right there in her chest.

She went to him, bent down and tilted her head to one side. His cheek was downy soft against her fingertips. “Are you Jeremiah? Or Benjamin?”

“Jeremiah.” The child could barely speak around the emotion lumping in his throat.

“Well, Jeremiah, I know how you’re feeling. I miss my parents, too.”