Project: Daddy

“Paris.” This time she was the one to do the correcting and was surprised to discover it felt good.

“You don’t have to worry about me. Just take care of the kids so I can get to work and hang onto the job that provides for all of us.”

Paris didn’t much like the way he said that, as if what she did with the kids wasn’t important as long as they were cared for. Maybe she had given him too much credit when considering how generous he was to take in Elly and Simon. It didn’t sound as though he had any intention of being involved with them at all.

To test the waters, she asked, “And what time will you be coming home in the evenings? I’m sure you’ll want to spend some quality time with the children when you do.”

His head drew back. Was that panic she saw flash in his eyes? Puzzled, she blinked at him.

“I’ll be home when I get home. This is the busy season in the construction industry and we work as many hours as we can before the winter rains hit. In fact, I often work weekends.”

Dismayed, Paris couldn’t think of a thing to say. She understood he had to work, but he sounded as if he wanted to do all he could to avoid coming home to Elly and Simon. At this point, she was tempted to back away, to accept what he said and meekly agree to it. She’d done that so often with Keith who’d had so many good-natured stories and excuses for his actions that she’d become mired in his logic. This was different, though. In her discussions with Keith, she’d had only herself to consider. Now she had to think about two children and what was best for them. Being stuck all day with the housekeeper/nanny, no matter how devoted, wasn’t best for them. For their sake, she went on instead of backing off as she might have done before.

“So you’re saying that we should just expect you when we see you?”

“That about covers it. I’m trusting you to take care of everything they need.” His eyes narrowed. “I thought I’d made that clear this morning.”

“I understand what my duties are, I just don’t understand what you think yours are if not to be a caring, loving presence for them.”

Annoyance swept over his face. She didn’t need any kind of interpreter to tell her that she’d gone too far, but she couldn’t back down even if she got fired as the culmination of her first day of work.

He stepped forward and leaned in to look into her eyes. Toughness and irritation seemed to vibrate from him like light waves. “If I get fired, I’ll be a constant presence for them since I’ll be hanging around the house all day, but I’d rather not get fired, if it’s all the same to you.”

Paris’s lips thinned as she met his gaze. Because she couldn’t trust herself to speak, she nodded once, quickly and he answered with a nod of his own as if they’d sealed a bargain.

Mac started to step away, then checked himself as if he had more to say. Her eyes holding his, Paris waited for what else would come. He opened his mouth, then paused. His gaze drifted from hers, then dropped lower, touching on her cheek, then her lips. She felt a tingling there which seemed to sweep down her throat and chest to strike with a thud in the center of her stomach. Jerking in a huge breath, she stepped back.

He blinked as if a fingersnap had roused him, and he, too, stepped back. Mac cleared his throat, stuck his hands, palm out into the back pockets of his jeans, then pulled them out again. “I called your references.”

“And?” Paris couldn’t help the caution in her voice.

“They checked out, even though that girl you had listed, Carolyn, said she hadn’t seen you in five years.”

Paris’s hands drifted up to play with the collar of her blouse. “Has it been that long?”

“And the man—your family doctor? Well, he could barely stop laughing long enough for me to ask the questions, but he did confirm the excellent state of your health.”

“Laughing?”

“Apparently, he thought the idea of you being a housekeeper and nanny was pretty funny.”

“Well,” Paris said primly. “Dr. Gaddis is…easily amused.”

“Mm-hm.”

He obviously didn’t believe that stretching of the truth, so she dropped it and said, “The important thing is that they could vouch for my character, right? So my two-week trial is on?”

“Looks like.” Mac tilted his head and gave her a speculative look as if once again, there was more he wanted to say. Instead, he turned abruptly and started from the room. “I’m going to bed. Wake me if you need help with the kids in the night.”

Paris stared at his disappearing back. “Well, I’ll be darned,” she murmured. In one breath he’d virtually turned the kids and their complete care over to her, and in the next, he’d subtly reminded her that he was watching her closely.

It wasn’t fair, she thought grumpily, as she switched off the living room light and made her way to her own room. She wanted to slot him into a neat pigeonhole in her mind, but he wouldn’t fit.

Her father had been a robust, yet simple man whose life had revolved around planting and harvesting, watching the weather and gauging how many cubic feet of water he would need for irrigating his celery crop. Her husband Keith had been sweet and shy, eager to please absolutely everyone around him.

This man had more facets than a fistful of diamonds. She frowned at that poor analogy. There was nothing precious or jewel-like about him, though he certainly seemed to have the hardness of a diamond. Bemused, she prepared for bed.

Paris woke up when a small hand pinched her nostrils shut. Gasping, she jerked into wakefulness and reached out to grab Elly’s wrist and pull it away.

“You ’wake?” the little girl whispered, putting her face up close to Paris’s.

“I am now,” Paris admitted, struggling upward. She reached out to snap on the light.

In the sudden brightness, she and Elly blinked at each other. The little girl’s fiery curls tumbled about her face, her eyes were full of tears and her bottom lip trembled. She clutched a tattered stuffed rabbit to her chest and was holding one of its ears to her cheek.

“Simon wants to sleep with you,” she announced. “He’s scared and he wants to get in your bed. He wants me to be in your bed, too.”

“He does?” Trying hard to focus and clear sleep-fog from her brain, Paris looked around the room. It was empty except for her and Elly. “Where is he?”

Elly turned. “He’s goned,” she said, alarm rising in her voice as she scooted off the bed and hurried from the room.

Paris threw back the covers, grabbed for her robe and rushed after the little girl. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and fumbled for the belt as she shuffled into the hallway. Elly was already in her own room, frantically searching the playpen for her little brother when Paris joined her.

“He’s not here,” Elly wailed. “Somebody’s got him.”

“No, no, we’ll find him,” Paris assured her, sweeping Elly into her arms. The little girl immediately curled her arms around Paris’s neck in a stranglehold. A soft cry behind them told her where the little boy was. Paris turned and hurried back to the hallway, where she found Simon sleepily fumbling at the knob of Mac’s bedroom door. He couldn’t quite reach it, and his groggy efforts were heartrending to see.

Paris rushed to him. “It’s okay, Simon. Come with me,” she whispered, staggering slightly as Elly’s weight around her neck pitched her forward. She stumbled against the door just as it was swept open by Mac. Paris barreled into him.

“Oomph,” he grunted, taking the impact of her head against his chest muscles.

Paris bounced back, her ears ringing. Were his pectoral muscles made of iron, she wondered, as she struggled to keep her grip on Elly. Mac’s arm shot out automatically to hold the two females upright. His free hand slapped the hall light on and they all squinted in its brightness.

“Oomph,” Simon repeated softly, wrapping himself around Mac’s legs, then said “oomph” again as if the sound of it pleased him and his fright was forgotten. Calm now, he looked up to see what everyone else was going to do.

“What’s going on?” Mac asked, his voice low and knotted with sleep.

“The children woke, and…” Paris began, pushing away from the disturbing strength of his arms and clutching Elly to her like a shield. She wished she had a free hand to smooth her tumbled hair and make sure her knee-length robe covered her decently, then wondered why she cared. No one else did.

“We wanna sleep with you,” Elly said, bringing Paris back to the reason for these midnight wanderings. “Me and Simon.”

Paris blinked at her. “I thought you wanted to sleep with me.”

“Yeah.” Elly’s tangled curls bounced as she nodded vigorously. “We do. Don’t we, Simon? Elly and Simon want to sleep with you.”

“Seep,” Simon confirmed, and popped his thumb into his mouth.

“You can’t have it both ways, Elly. You can either sleep with your Uncle Mac, or with Paris,” she pointed out, automatically picking up on Elly’s habit of speaking of herself in the third person.