A Celebration Christmas

Hannah remained silent and sullen. Lily sat down on the edge of the couch nearest the girl and the dog. She reached out a hand and let the dog sniff it. He licked her and Lily took that as an invitation to give him a scratch behind the ears.

“You’re a good dog, aren’t you?” Lily cooed. He was a little smelly, emitting an odor of eau de wet dog, but he was definitely a gentle animal.

“His name is Franklin,” the girl said in a small, shaky voice. “Will you protect Franklin from Angie? Angie said she was going to put him out in the front yard. She wants him to go away like my mommy did.”

Lily’s heart tightened. She slanted Cullen a concerned, questioning look. He knit his brow and gave a quick shake of the head.

“Hannah, she didn’t mean it,” he said. “Angie was just upset because Franklin got mud on her new pants. We’re not going to let anything happen to your dog. I promise.”

“I don’t like Angie.” Hannah was crying. “She’s mean.”

“Oh, honey, please don’t cry.” Lily took a chance and reached out and smoothed a dark brown curl off the girl’s tearstained cheek. Hannah didn’t pull away. “Did you hear what Dr. Dunlevy said? We promise you no one is going to make Franklin go away. If they try, they’re going to have to tangle with me.”

Lily knew she shouldn’t speak for the man who hadn’t even hired her yet or talk as if she’d be around to protect the girl. But the poor child was overwrought. She’d lost her parents and her adoptive family, and now she feared she’d have to give up her dog. She must be confused and petrified. With or without permission—or the job—Lily felt it her duty to reassure the little girl.

Franklin licked Lily’s hand again.

“Franklin says he likes you,” Hannah said, peeking up at Lily through long, thick, wet lashes.

“Well, I like him, too.” As Lily smiled at Hannah, she heard young voices coming from the other room.

“The other children are in the family room,” said Dr. Dunlevy. “I’d like you to meet them, too.”

“Hannah, would you like to come and introduce me to your brothers and sisters?” Lily asked.

The girl shook her head. “I only have one brother. One brother and two sisters.”

“Thank you for letting me know,” Lily said. “I think Franklin needs you now. So Dr. Dunlevy can introduce me to the others. But it was very nice meeting you. I hope to see you again.”

Hannah didn’t answer. She buried her face in the dog’s back. As Lily turned and followed Dr. Dunlevy into the kitchen, she heard the sound of a slamming back door and then stillness settled over the house. The kids must’ve gone outside.

She could see from the kitchen through to the family room. The far wall was made up of tall windows, but from her vantage point, she couldn’t see outside where the kids might have gone.

Since Dr. Dunlevy didn’t seem concerned about their whereabouts, she took the opportunity to admire the kitchen. With its stainless-steel appliances and light-colored granite, it had the same sleek, unlived-in feel as the foyer and living room. But then she saw the six-burner gas range and the double oven. She immediately had appliance envy. How many holidays had she and her grandmother talked about the virtues of a kitchen with two ovens? It was a fantasy, like something reserved for television shows featuring dream homes and other places far beyond her reality.

“This is a great kitchen,” she said, smoothing her hand over the tiger-eye granite. “Do you cook?”

“Me?” Dr. Dunlevy laughed. “No. Other than using the refrigerator and the espresso machine—” he pointed to a fancy built-in coffeemaker with an array of spouts, nozzles and handles “—I’ve never used any of the appliances in here.”

Lily had to consciously keep herself from sighing. He must’ve seen the envy in her eyes.

“Do you cook?”

“I do. You might say that food is my favorite hobby.”

Standing there with his hands on his hips and his head cocked to one side, he seemed to size her up for a minute. He really was a good-looking guy.

“You’re more than welcome to cook for me anytime,” he said.

The suggestion made her stomach perform an odd dip. She desperately hoped her face didn’t betray her.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”

Ah. Okay.

There it was. It wasn’t an invitation to cook for him. Of course it wasn’t. Still, for a moment, Lily imagined what it would be like to cook dinner for a handsome man like him in a kitchen like this. Simultaneously, she felt irresistibly drawn to the idea and impossibly out of her element.

“The kids and I have been eating a lot of pizza and takeout since they arrived. Before they got here, I ate most of my meals at the hospital.”

She blinked away the ridiculous image of dining with the handsome doctor over a candlelit meal she’d whipped up in this dream kitchen. Good grief, she was his employee. Actually she wasn’t even that. He hadn’t even offered her the job yet. She needed to remember her place and stay focused on what was important. She couldn’t let her mind wander to places it had no business going. So what if he was a handsome man? So what if he had a nice smile and great eyes? If he hired her, her focus would be on the children.

From the kitchen, she followed him into the large family room that looked a little more comfortable than the rest of the house. It had warm wooden floors and an overstuffed sofa arranged across from two masculine-looking leather club chairs. A massive wooden coffee table anchored the grouping. On the wall to her right, a huge flat-screen TV loomed above a fireplace. The windows on the far wall overlooked a nice fenced-in backyard. She could see it better from here and finally caught her first glimpse of the other three kids.

“While Megan, George and Bridget are playing out back, why don’t we talk for a few minutes and then I’ll introduce you to them?”

Lily watched the trio running around the yard, playing what looked like a game of tag. At the moment, the kids showed no traces of sadness. Still, her heart broke for them. She hadn’t been much older than they looked when her own parents were killed in a car accident. Her one silver lining had been that her maternal grandmother had taken her in and raised her. Her mother had been an only child. So she and her grandmother shared more of a mother-daughter relationship, filling the void for each other the best that they could. At least they’d had each other until she’d died. She’d been gone almost two years now.

Lily had always felt loved and safe and wanted with her. Dr. Dunlevy obviously cared about the well-being of his charges, but she couldn’t help wondering what the kids must be going through. To be so young and dependent.

Or maybe the innocence of youth protected them? She hoped so.

Lily settled herself on the edge of the sofa. Dr. Dunlevy sat across from her on the closest chair. With his elbows on the armrests, he steepled his fingers and gazed at her for a moment, as if he were collecting his thoughts.

Finally he said, “Lily Palmer, I’m glad you don’t scare easily. Please tell me you know how to make order out of chaos.”

She sat up straighter, unsure how to answer that question.

He laughed. “Even if you don’t, you come highly recommended.”

“That’s very nice to know.”

She held up a finger. “I have a résumé for you.” She slid a folio out of her shoulder bag and retrieved a résumé and list of references. He gave it a once-over.

“Have you had any experience as a nanny in the past?”

“Actually I haven’t. No nanny experience per se, but as I said, I’m a second-grade schoolteacher.”

“I suppose that’s like being a full-time nanny to a bunch of kids,” he said.

She nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Let’s see,” he said as he continued to read the rundown of her career history. Suddenly, he put down the paper. “What would you do with four spirited kids? How would you care for them?”

“I would keep them busy, of course. But first you and I would need to discuss your expectations for them.”

Cullen nodded and rubbed his temples. “I’m glad you brought that up. I’m not going to lie. They’re a handful. They’re good kids. Their father was my best friend. But since the loss of their parents, they seem to be working through their grief by acting out. They are the reason my housekeeper quit.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss. The loss of your friend, I mean.”