The Nanny Affair

The garage owner explained again, and Kane said calmly, That’s all right. We’ll leave the car here and Emma can contact Mrs Firth when she gets home.’ He switched that hard-edged glance to her. ‘If Mrs Firth agrees to the repairs, ring Joe before five this afternoon and he’ll get the part couriered up from Auckland tonight. That way you’ll have the car back almost as soon as if you told him to go ahead now.’

‘Yep, that’s right,’ the mechanic said cheerfully.

Aware that her reluctance to do this was based entirely on the fact that it was Kane who’d suggested it, Emma nodded. ‘OK,’ she said to the mechanic. ‘I’ll contact you as soon as I’ve rung Mrs Firth.’

‘Fine.’ The mechanic nodded at Kane before going back into the workshop.

Emma stood quite still, battling a chill, empty feeling as though somehow the ground had been neatly cut from under her feet.

‘Have you left parcels somewhere?’ Kane asked.

‘At the supermarket.’

‘Right, we’ll go and get them.’

Because there was nothing else to do she went with him, accepting the unforced politeness that put her into the passenger’s seat. He obviously didn’t care whether she wanted him to extend such courtesies to her—he performed them automatically. After a rapid glance Emma decided that he’d probably never even heard of political correctness or the feminist movement.

She felt, she told herself crisply, sorry for that woman in Australia.

The seats were leather and very comfortable. Emma folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. The seatbelt fitting snugly across her chest seemed to be blocking her breath. Deliberately she inhaled, but barely had time to fill her lungs before Kane opened the door and got in behind the wheel.

CHAPTER TWO

‘ENJOY your morning?’ Kane asked as he turned the key.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘It’s a nice little town.’ He changed gear and inclined his dark head to someone who’d tooted and waved from another car. ‘How did that Rottweiler get its name? Lucky is all right for a sheepdog or a Labrador, but it’s no name for a guard dog.’

Emma was halfway through her answer before she remembered that she’d planned to stay stiff and distant all the way home. By then it was too late, so she kept on going in her usual pleasant voice.

‘He was lucky Mrs Firth came to collect Babe from the clinic I worked for in Taupo. Or perhaps he was lucky Babe chased a roaming goat out of Mrs Firth’s garden and hurt her paw. She stayed in the clinic overnight, and while she was there a man brought Lucky in. He’d been given the pup but his wife thought it would grow into a monster that might eat their children, so he dumped it on us. When Mrs Firth came to pick up Babe the pup was in a cage, bawling his head off.’

‘And she couldn’t resist him.’ He sounded amused and a little patronising.

A swift glance from beneath her lashes revealed that he was smiling. No doubt he never did anything on impulse.

Looking straight ahead, Emma said woodenly, ‘When she went over to say hello, Lucky rushed across and pressed his face into her hand as though she’d been sent to rescue him.’

Kane laughed quietly. ‘Did he do that to you too?’

‘Oh, yes, but I didn’t tell Mrs Firth that. He was going to be put down, you see.’

‘Not exactly good pet material,’ he observed. ‘They’re tough dogs, and they need a lot of work to keep them happy.’

‘Corgis might look very sweet, but they’re tough dogs too, and Mrs Firth trained Babe well enough.’ This was stretching the point; although Babe was devoted to her mistress, and more than amiable with Emma, she was inclined to snap at strangers, and she certainly ruled the roost in the house.

‘You can pick a corgi up if it misbehaves,’ Kane said ironically.

Emma shrugged. ‘Rottweilers are good, even-tempered dogs if they’re taught properly. They’re really clever—they remember almost everything. I think Lucky’s playfulness and exuberance comes from his grandmother, who was a boxer. His jumping ability certainly does. He’ll be fine.’

She hoped she sounded convincing.

The car slid into the supermarket car park. Kane Talbot got out and so did she, walking quickly inside to pick up her parcels. Again he caught her up before she’d taken more than a few steps.

It was, she thought a few moments later, rather like being with royalty. He knew everybody; they knew him. He greeted people as they walked through the shop, meeting smiles and interested glances. But he didn’t stop to introduce anyone. And he scooped up her three plastic bags without asking whether she needed any help.

The sort of man who simply took over, Emma thought, replacing a quirk of resentment with resignation. Good in emergencies, but unbearable in everyday life. That poor woman in Australia—after a year of marriage she wouldn’t have a thought to call her own.

Back in the car, groceries safely stowed, he switched on the engine and asked casually, ‘Do you ride?’

After a moment’s pause she said, ‘Yes.’

‘I have a mare that badly needs exercise. I’m too big for her and no one’s been on her for a couple of months.’

‘You don’t know whether I’m any good,’ she said.

When his tawny glance flicked across her hands, the fingers curled. She felt as though she’d been branded.

‘I think you’ll be all right,’ he said with cool, abrasive confidence, ‘but if you sit like a sack of spuds and saw at her mouth I’ll rescind the offer.’

Surprised into a short laugh, she said, ‘All right, I’d like to try her out.’

‘She’s not placid.’

‘Neither am I,’ Emma said dulcetly.

Something glittered beneath the long black lashes. ‘No? You look as sweet and demure as a good child.’

Slowly, with great effort, Emma relaxed her hands until they rested sedately in her lap. She’d like to hit him fair and square in the middle of that flat stomach, right on the solar plexus so that she winded him, so that he doubled up and gasped and had to wipe tears from those brilliant eyes.

Restraining the sudden and most unusual surge of anger, she looked down unseeingly. She’d probably break every knuckle if she tried to punch him, and besides, he didn’t look as though he’d accept an attack with equanimity. She stifled the quick, sly query from some hidden part of her brain about how he’d deal with a woman’s aggression, carefully smoothed her brow and leashed her imagination with a strong will.

He probably didn’t mean to sound patronising—and then she looked up and caught the narrow gleam of gold in his eyes and knew that he damned well did.

She produced a smile. ‘I know,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I look like Snow White. That wretched film’s blighted my life.’

‘You wouldn’t have let the wicked stepmama drive you out into the snow?’

How did—? No, he couldn’t know! Colour seeped back into her suddenly clammy skin. When she’d been sixteen she’d fought her prospective stepmother with the only weapon she’d had, her father’s love, and she’d won. Now, seven years too late, she regretted it bitterly.

Fighting to keep her voice even, she said, ‘No. As for housekeeping for seven miners—never.’

‘And I don’t suppose you’re just hanging about waiting for the prince to ride by on his white horse?’

‘Give her credit,’ she retorted, ‘she was in a coma—she couldn’t actually go out looking for him.’

‘True,’ he said, and ruthlessly dragged the conversation back to the subject. ‘So you don’t intend to be any man’s reward?’