A Princess Under The Mistletoe

Sara nearly collapsed in a combination of relief and strange disappointment. She stared after him and felt a flip in her stomach. Yes, she definitely needed more sleep.

Hours later, she heard the sound of Gavin’s voice. She immediately sat up in her bed. His voice was coming from the nursery. She glanced at the clock in her room. Seven thirty.

Sara leaped from her bed and ran into the nursery. “Problems?” she asked. “I can’t believe I slept this late.”

Gavin, still wearing pajamas, was changing Adelaide’s diaper. “She hasn’t slept this long in forever. She wet through her diaper to her sheets.”

“Oops,” she said.

Gavin shrugged. “It’s a good problem. Did you do something different with her bedtime routine?”

“I played a little Bach on the piano,” she said.

Gavin glanced at her. “Must have worked.”

She shrugged. “We can hope.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Can I take a quick shower?”

“Sure,” he said. “You’re due that after the past twenty-four hours.”

Sara grabbed a quick shower, rubbed herself dry and wrapped her hair in a towel for two minutes. Pulling on her clothes, she ditched the towel and pulled her hair into a wet knot at the back of the neck, all the while resolving to take her bath at night. She’d just been too tired last night.

Racing into the kitchen, she smiled her best smile. “I’m here for duty,” she said.

Three pairs of brown eyes stared back at her full of hope, fear and expectation.

“All right. Let’s get going.”

“You’re a brave woman,” Gavin said. He was dressed to head out the door. “Or crazy,” he muttered as he handed Adelaide over to her. “Just tell me you’ll last the week.”

Sara blinked. “Week? I thought this was at least a two-or three-month assignment.”

“Yes. Of course. Three months,” Gavin said. “Call me if you need me,” he added as he headed out the door.

“But you don’t really want me to call you, do you?” she said.

He paused just before he closed the door behind him. “Truth...” he said, turning around to face her. “I’m grateful for all you’ve already done. Call me for anything.”

Her heart took a strange twist and turn. He was a great father. Maybe even a great human being.

Chapter Two (#ulink_ca1f7e58-5c16-521e-9437-c99753ae7313)

Sara fed the kids, then secured them into child safety seats in her car. Sam attended preschool three days each week and this was one of his designated days. She’d also prepared a snack for him to eat.

Driving toward the small building, she got into the short car line.

“I don’t like preschool,” Sam said.

Sara glanced at him from the rearview mirror. “What’s not to like? You get to play and meet other children. You get to make things and eat a snack.”

“I don’t like my teacher,” he said. “She’s mean.”

“Mean,” Sara echoed. “What do you mean she’s mean? Does she hit you?”

“No,” he said reluctantly. “She won’t leave me alone. Sometimes I don’t want to play with everyone else.”

“You can play by yourself when you get home. Preschool is good for you. It’s only for a few hours. Maybe you can help someone else who is having a bad day,” she said in the most firm, positive nanny voice she could muster. “I’ll be back to pick you up before you know it.”

She wanted to give him a hug and kiss but knew he wasn’t interested in her affection. Just her sound machine, so far, she thought wryly.

Sara returned home with Adelaide and attempted to get more settled in to her bedroom. She called her sister to check on her, but the call went straight to voice mail. Who knew what her sister was up to? Tabitha was working as a hostess at an exclusive restaurant until the Devereaux family could help find a more suitable position for her.

Tabitha had seemed more than a bit restless lately, and that worried Sara. Their brother, Alex, had persuaded them to leave their home country for safety concerns. He’d assured them he would meet them in Chantaine, but he was nowhere to be found. Tabitha hadn’t tolerated any sort of restraints on her activities very well in the past and she’d been known to act impulsively. Sara hoped Tabitha would be able to keep herself under control a little longer.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Sara took a deep breath and tried to shake off her worries. There was little she could do about Tabitha since they weren’t supposed to be seen together, and there was nothing she could do about her brother. She needed to focus on the present. Who knew what the future would bring?

She picked up Sam from preschool and he presented her with a note from the teacher. Sara decided to pass it along to Gavin later and tried to converse with Sam to no avail. After asking ten questions and trying several times to start a conversation, she decided to shut up. Maybe Sam was decompressing.

Just as she pulled into the driveway, she heard Sam’s heavy sigh. “Everyone is talking about Christmas,” he said in a grumbly voice.

“Well, it’s that time of year. We’ll need to get a tree and decorate soon.”

“Bet Daddy won’t want one,” he said.

Sara looked at Sam in surprise. “Why not?”

“He doesn’t want to do anything fun,” Sam muttered. “Can I go inside?”

“Of course,” she said, and she unbuckled his seat belt.

In contrast to the previous day, the afternoon passed quietly. The part-time housekeeper and cook arrived to clean and prepare meals. Janece Dillon, a lovely middle-aged woman, prepared several meals to freeze for later. “So, you’re the new nanny,” Janece said. “You look so young.”

“Thank you. That’s what Mr. Sinclair said to me. I’m actually twenty-seven,” she said.

“Well, I hope you’ll be able to stay around for the sake of the mister and his little ones,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Sara asked, carrying Adelaide on her hip.

“Well, there have been quite a few,” Janece said as she stirred a pot of pasta sauce. “Nannies, that is. Poor man and his children have been through so much.”

Sara hadn’t been told there’d been several previous nannies. That must be why Gavin had expressed hope that she would make it through the week.

That evening after Gavin arrived home, she slipped him the note from Sam’s teacher. “I didn’t read it,” she said.

He opened the note and sighed, raking his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do. He hates going for therapy. He doesn’t like preschool. I feel like we’re not making any progress with him.”