The Nanny's Plan

He sniffed. “Did your mom and dad go to Africa?”

Her mouth curled. “No. My dad is back in Kansas.” She paused, not quite knowing how to explain about her mother. “My mom went far, far away.”

“Farther than Africa?” Benjamin’s tone was awed.

“Farther than Africa.” She gave both boys a smile. “But you know what I do when I’m missing them something fierce?”

The children waited, subdued anticipation holding them still.

“I keep busy doing fun things,” she told him. Then she grinned. “And that’s just what we’re going to do this summer. You and me. Lots of fun things.”

“Speaking of fun things,” the boys’ uncle interjected, “who’s ready for dinner?”

She straightened and saw that he’d picked up the suitcase she’d left on the grass. He’d also gathered up her shoes. Having him carry her shoes felt too…personal to Amy. She hurried to take them from him. Their gazes collided and she murmured her appreciation. For a moment it seemed as if the cool breeze died and the sun grew hotter. Amy found it difficult to swallow.

But the stillness was broken when Jeremiah got upset all over again. He wailed, “But I don’t like ruffled sprouts.”

Benjamin’s nose wrinkled. “They smell bad.”

“They’re Brussels sprouts.” Pierce corrected his nephew with a laugh. “And they’re good for you. Packed full of vitamins. If you don’t like them, you don’t have to eat them. All I ask is that you try them.”

The boys trudged ahead of them toward the house, grumbling a warning that they intended to try only one, and that their uncle would know they didn’t like it by all the gagging they would surely make.

Beside her, Pierce sighed. “I should have set an alarm clock or something. I shouldn’t have left them alone for so long.”

“You’ve got your work,” Amy said. “When Mrs. Winthrop flew out to meet with me last week, she stressed that you had just been offered some kind of special contract. That you were on a pressing deadline. It’s understandable that—”

“But the boys could have been hurt.”

Guilt seemed to pulse from him.

“I’m sorry there was a time lag between the boys’ parents’ departure,” Amy felt compelled to say, “and my arriving. But it really couldn’t be helped.” She lifted one shoulder. “I’m unable to fly.”

“Yes. Cynthia told me that you’d been grounded.”

Amy pointed to the side of her head. “It’s an inner ear thing. I’m not in any pain. Can’t even tell there’s anything wrong. But the company physician refused to risk a perforated eardrum that might be caused by in-flight pressure changes.”

“I see.”

Silence fell like a lead balloon. Her bare feet made her feel oddly vulnerable, but she didn’t want to ruin her shoes by putting them on when salt water was still dripping down her legs from the hem of her dress. She wondered if he noticed the faint but tangy odor of the bay emanating from her. She really was a mess.

“Do you have experience with children?”

“What?” The question startled her. “No, I don’t. But your sister thought I’d do okay with the boys.”

“This isn’t an interview,” he quickly assured her. “I’m not questioning your skills.”

Maybe not, but he was probing for information that would cause him to form opinions about her. It was her habit to avoid talking about herself as much as possible. There were certain facts about herself she’d rather no one discovered.

“It’s just that you were so good with them,” he continued. “With Jeremiah especially. He’s been pretty miserable since Cynthia and John left.”

The slate stones of the patio were cool and smooth under the damp soles of her feet.

“Well, it’s easy to imagine how he’s feeling.” She moistened her lips, shifted her shoes to her other hand. “Anyone who’s hurting deserves a little compassion.”

“It eases my mind to know that you would reach out to him like you did.”

That odd stillness descended on them again, that strange heating up of the temperature, although Amy knew that was impossible.

“You must be exhausted,” he said, his voice feather soft. “You’ve been driving for two days. I’ll show you to your room so you can freshen up.”

He slid open the French door through which the boys had already disappeared and motioned for her to enter before him.

“But I’m wet,” she said, eyeing the carpet. “I’ll ruin—”

“It’s okay. Go on in.”

The cream-colored rug felt luxuriously thick as she stepped inside on tiptoes.

“And don’t worry if you don’t make it down to eat with us,” he told her, closing the door behind them. “Take your time freshening up. I’ll keep a plate warm for you.”

Just then they heard what sounded like a chair being dragged across the kitchen floor, then a loud thump, then the murmur of children’s voices.

“Why don’t you let me find my room by myself,” she suggested. “It sounds like the boys might be getting…hungry.”

“It does, doesn’t it? They are a handful. Go up the back stairs there—” he pointed the way “—and your room is the yellow one just to the right. You can’t miss it. Oh, and maybe later, after things quiet down, the two of us can meet in my study and discuss our schedules over a glass of wine. You’ll need some time off. We can figure out which days you’ll have free.”

“That sounds good,” she told him.

He started off toward the kitchen.

“Excuse me,” she called.

He turned to face her.

“Um, I will need my suitcase.”

“Oh, of course.” He brought her the case with a murmured apology. “Sorry about that.”

A grin that sexy should be deemed illegal, and his absentmindedness made him less formidable. It made him quite appealing, in fact.

She was smiling when he started off again. She couldn’t help but call out his name a final time. From the expression on his face when he looked at her, it was clear he was baffled by what else could have slipped his mind.

“I just wanted to tell you that I like ruffled sprouts.”

There was absolutely no logical reason for the odd feelings pulsing through Pierce. No logical reason whatsoever. He sat at his desk worrying his chin between his index finger and thumb.

He’d taken great care planning this room when he’d had the house built. With its floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the long oak conference table, the reading nook and the wall of wide windows, his study doubled as a library. A place he could feel comfortable reading, deciphering the data of his research and writing up his scientific findings. This richly paneled room was his oasis.