His Potential Wife

The swimming hole was on the Galbraith estate, and because of the craggy cliff that rose from the far bank, the area was inaccessible to the public and could be reached only via a private trail through the woods from Summerhill.

He hadn’t been near the old swimming hole in years; and he wondered, idly, how Ms. Tyler even knew of its existence.

Willow packed away the picnic things and stood for a moment watching the children frolic in the shallow waves that washed over the smooth sun-warmed sandy beach.

It had been difficult for her to come here. She’d found it distressing to walk past the deep secluded pool where she and Chad had spent so many secret hours swimming together as teenagers—but she’d known her charges would love playing in the water and on the sandy beach so she’d made the effort. And now she was glad. They’d had fun.

They made a colorful picture, she mused as she watched them splash around in their expensive designer togs, Lizzie in her yellow bikini, Amy in a blue one-piece, Mikey in his neon-orange shorts.

She should have brought her camera. She would, when they came back another day.

But it was time now to be heading home, so she should be calling to them to come and get dried off and dressed.

First, though, she should put her own clothes on.

She slipped behind a leafy bush high enough to give her some privacy from the children but not too high that she couldn’t see over it to check on them.

She slipped off her bikini…and then, on an impulse, stretched up her arms to the sky, relishing the unfamiliar and primitive sensation of being naked in the golden sun—

A twig crackled nearby.

Her pulse gave an erratic jump, and when she slewed her gaze to where the sound had come from, she felt her heart stop. Scott Galbraith was standing as if frozen to the spot, just three yards away on the fringe of the forest, his blue eyes staring at her with as much shock as she knew must be glittering in her own.

Suppressing a horrified gasp, she swept up her towel and screened herself from the neck down. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire; her heartbeats scrambled out of control. She clamped her jaw to keep from yelping “What are you doing here?” and waited tensely for him to make a move.

He grimaced.

And then muttering something under his breath, he took a step backward.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was thick, his tone filled with abject apology. “I didn’t mean…I only walked over to…I just thought I’d—oh, dammit, Ms. Tyler,” he sputtered. “I hadn’t a clue that you’d be…I hadn’t a clue I’d find you…”

“Naked?” Willow’s voice came out as coolly as she’d ordered it to—and with just the right touch of wry amusement. “Dr. Galbraith, this is surely not the first time you’ve seen a nude woman. And I’m sure it won’t be the last. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get dressed and attend to your children.”

He looked as if he was going to say something more.

Again she waited. And willed him to leave.

In the end, he scratched a hand clumsily through his hair, twisted his face in an expression of excruciating embarrassment, before turning away with one last muttered “Sorry,” and disappearing into the forest.

Willow’s breath quivered out in a whimper of relief.

He was gone.

Thank heaven.

But…oh Lord…what a disaster!

How on earth was she going to face the man now? Now that he’d seen her with nothing on but her watch!

Scott crashed through the woods, wondering if he’d ever felt so stupid. What a blundering idiot. Served him right, for snooping. He’d got more than he bargained for. Far more.

How was he going to face her now?

And would he ever again be able to look at her without picturing her naked? He groaned. If only he’d turned up five minutes later. If only he hadn’t walked out of the trees just as she’d stretched her arms up to the skies, gilded in sunshine like a wood nymph, without a stitch of clothing and her smooth skin tanned to a deliciously dusky brown except for the stark white areas where her bikini—

Oh damn, damn, damn!

He punched one hand into the palm of the other. Willow Tyler had told him that morning that he was in a pickle. He snorted. A pickle was mild compared to the situation he was in now.

He’d asked Ida Trent to send him a plain-Jane nanny. A plain-Jane nanny she was not. It wasn’t that she was a looker; in fact, hadn’t he already decided her face was eminently forgettable? The problem was…her figure. It was exquisite. The most exquisite he’d ever seen and—she was right about one thing!—he’d seen more than a few naked ladies in his day! But he just couldn’t have this girl prancing around the house in skimpy T-shirts and shorts now that he knew what she looked like underneath.

He needed to suit her up in armor—some kind of armor that would obliterate the sexy image from his mind.

He pondered the problem as he emerged from the trees and started walking up the path to the house. And then, just as he reached the back door, the solution came to him.

The nannies who’d worked for him in the city had worn uniforms ordered from the smartnannies.com catalog—each outfit consisting of a crisp blue dress, with white collar and cuffs; white stockings; white lace-up shoes.

And that, of course, was the answer. He would put Ms. Tyler in a uniform. Then she’d blend in with the woodwork. And far from being stimulated to fantasize about her, he wouldn’t even see her!

It would work.

He groaned again and rolled his eyes heavenward.

It had to work!

“Ms. Tyler, could you come into my study for a moment?”

Willow paused at the foot of the stairs, her stomach sinking. Dr. Galbraith had kept scrupulously out of her way for the rest of the day after the creek incident and she’d hoped she could escape to her room for the night without having encountered him. Her hopes were not to be realized.

Indicating the pile of clothing and towels clutched in her arms, she said, “Okay if I put these in the washer first?”

“Sure, go ahead.” He withdrew into his study again, but left the door open.

Willow hurried along to the laundry room, wondering what he was going to say. Was he going to fire her? Did he think her behavior that afternoon had been…unbecoming? Well, she’d find out soon enough!

After setting the washer going, she brushed a nervous hand over her hair, making sure her ponytail was tidy, before making her way reluctantly through to the study.

She gave a light rat-tat on the door and walked in.

Her employer was pacing restlessly, his head down, his hands jammed into his trouser pockets.

As she entered, he halted and jerked his head up.

“Ah, there you are.” He looked as ill at ease as she felt. And that gave her confidence a slight boost. She said, quietly,

“You wanted to see me.”

“I wanted to tell you that the cook/housekeeper I’ve hired—a Mrs. Caird—will be starting tomorrow. She’ll do all the cooking plus all the housework, except for your laundry and the children’s, and the cleaning of your room. Will that be satisfactory?”