Undercover Nanny

Max eyed her up and down, his scrutiny so blatant she didn’t know whether to pose or cross her arms over her chest.

“You’re not from around here.”

“I was passing through town yesterday evening,” she told him, using the simple story she’d concocted to explain her appearance in a small-town bar, dressed to the hilt, and her subsequent desire to look for work here. “I was on my way home from a friend’s wedding. It was quite a bash. Naturally, I don’t dress like that for job interviews.”

“Where’s home and where was the party?”

“Ashland.” D.J. named a city south of Gold Hill. “That’s where the wedding was. And I’m from Portland.”

“Portland. Aren’t there any waitress jobs in Portland?”

“Sure.” Taking a deep breath, she put a sad little wriggle into the exhale. “But so are my fiancé and his new girlfriend.”

As a little girl, D.J. had heard a story about an angel who wrote down everything a person said or did, recording the entries in a big book for God to read when He was deciding who got into Heaven and who didn’t. There was a page for good acts and one for sins. If the angel existed and was listening to half of what she’d said so far today, she was in deep doo-doo.

The frown marring Max’s handsome brow dropped lower. His lips pursed as he digested the information she was feeding him. She didn’t want him to work at it too long.

“I really want to relocate to someplace peaceful, and I’m going to need a job right away. If you already have a full staff, maybe you know of another restaurant job in the area? I don’t mind the dirty work. Even dishwashing is fine.” She curled her polished fingers into her palm, hoping he had a nice big dishwasher in his kitchen. “Oh, and by the way,” she said as if the thought had just occurred to her, “I baby-sit, too. I mean, if you and your wife or someone you know ever needs anyone.”

Smooth, Daisy. Oh, smooth. Make him think it’s not all about him. “I know this is a small town, and there may not be much work, so I’m willing to be flexible. And cheap for the first month trial period.” And if that don’t grab you, Mr. Lotorto, I can’t imagine what will.

Maxwell’s brow arched perceptibly with each fib she told. He was definitely mulling it over. “How flexible are you willing to be?”

Daisy shrugged. “Make me an offer.”

Max wanted to bite the hook; she could tell. “How do you feel about full-time work with kids?” he asked.

She plastered an enthusiastic smile over her natural trepidation. “I love kids. Your boys are great.”

“How do you feel about them 24/7?”

“So, just to get this straight. You want a babysitter? Someone to watch your children while you’re working?” So far this was playing out the way she’d intended it to. D.J.’s maternal instincts were nil, but hanging out at the restaurant or at Max’s home, watching the kids would give her a chance to observe Max up close and personal, and a few hours of playing cops and robbers under the tables wouldn’t kill her.

Max frowned over her question. “No.” He gave a quick, sharp shake of his head. “I don’t want a babysitter. I need a nanny.”

Good Lord. A nanny? Nannies were responsible for discipline. Nannies were responsible for feeding. Nannies…

Lived in.

“I could be a nanny,” D.J. blurted before she let herself think twice. The investigator in her could no more turn down the opportunity to spend legitimate time in Maxwell Lotorto’s home than her inner clothes hog would say no to free Jimmy Choo shoes.

“Do you have experience with kids?” Max’s narrowed eyes suggested he might already be reconsidering his hasty overture.

“Do I have experience!” D.J. decided to lay it on thick. “I have thirteen brothers and sisters.”

Max’s astonishment was gratifying. “Thirteen?”

Give or take. A baker’s dozen was probably a conservative estimate of the boys and girls with whom she’d spent her early, early years. The fact was they were all foster siblings, some of whom D.J. had known a month on the outside, and she hadn’t seen any of them since she was twelve. She had never actually taken care of children, but growing up around them had to count for something.

Max ran a hand over his ink-dark hair and shook his head. “And I thought four was a handful.”

“Are you on your own with your children?”

“Yeah. Our housekeeper…retired recently.”

“Oh.” Retired, huh? If that scene on his front lawn had been a “retirement,” she’d machine wash all her hand-knit sweaters on Hot.

“Yeah. She was a great gal. The kids loved her. They’re very loving kids.”

“I’m sure they are.” Poor Max. His page in the recording angel’s book wasn’t going to look any better than hers. “That must have been very hard, losing someone you all counted on.”

“It hasn’t been easy. I’m working a lot, trying to get this restaurant opened. School doesn’t start for another few weeks, and I don’t want to put the kids in day care.” He was starting to appear endearingly less cocky, more earnest. “We’ve had some upheavals here lately. I’d like to give the kids continuity.”

Which meant they hadn’t had any for a while. D.J. filed the information away for Loretta. She’d have to probe later and get further details.

For some reason, a fresh pang of guilt squeezed her chest. She reminded herself that this was a job. A good one.

“Do you have references?” he asked.

“For waitressing, not for babysitting,” D.J. said.

She’d already phoned Angelo at the gym and her neighbor Mrs. Pirello to tell them she might need a cover for a job she was working. They both owed her a few dozen favors and had family in the restaurant business. Devoted NYPD Blue fans, they had agreed immediately to help out.

“For waitressing I can get you a résumé. I don’t have anything on me, though.” Going whole hog, she grimaced, cheesily snapping her fingers. “Darn. Too bad I didn’t think to slip a résumé into my suitcase. I packed quite a few clothes, because I decided to vacation in the Rogue Valley for a week before the wedding. I could have started right away.”

He was still wavering, changing his mind about hiring someone with no experience. Never mind that the thought of caring for four kids could send her running for antacids; the fact that Max had second thoughts about hiring her made D.J. want to fight for the job.

C’mon, Maxie, give it up, she thought. Heck, if Loretta liked what D.J. had to report, Maxwell Lotorto and his kiddos would be richer than Oprah very shortly. Loretta wanted an heir, but she wanted one capable of running the family business. If Max proved to be responsible and genuine, with a head for business on his broad shoulders, then he would assume his rightful place in the family biz. He’d be able to hire a veritable Mary Poppins to be his nanny. A team of Mary Poppinses. D.J. figured Max might take exception to her subterfuge at first, but in the end he’d thank her. Who wouldn’t?

With the goal of entering the Lotorto home uppermost in her mind, Daisy had to thank her lucky stars for what happened next.

A tiny girl not much higher than Max’s knee, ran in from the lounge. The area all around her lips was stained red from something she’d eaten. Since she’d come from the bar, D.J. guessed she’d been filling up on maraschino cherries. There were tears in her eyes as she clung to Max’s leg, and her bright red lips quivered.

“Sean says I ate Free Willy! I don’t want to eat a whale!”

The tiny person let loose a torrent of sobs worthy of a Broad way star. Her hollering apparently drew the three other children. Even before Max could admonish the boys for goading their sister, they began to heatedly defend themselves while the elder girl patted the little one—maybe a bit too hard—on the back. As the little one cried, spurts of tears arced from her eyes as if they were tiny fountains. Then she leaned forward and barfed on Max’s shoes.

Max looked down then up, locking gazes with D.J. “Get your suitcase and meet me back here at three. You’re hired.”

“And this is the master bedroom,” Maxwell said, concluding an abbreviated tour of the rustic, ranch-style house set on two un-landscaped acres along Sardine Creek Road in Gold Hill, Oregon. “I haven’t had time to move all my things out yet, but make yourself at home.”

He’d rushed D.J. through the kitchen, living and dining areas and hadn’t shown her the kids’ rooms yet at all. For good reason, too, D.J. guessed. The house looked like a family of monkeys inhabited it. Obviously, Max had made a quick trip home earlier in the day to arrange the endless stacks of papers, books and games into some approximation of order; but riotous piles of loose things, and garbage pails overflowing with paper cups, cereal boxes and who knew what else, wouldn’t win the Good Housekeeping seal of approval. The brief—very brief—glimpse he’d allowed her of the kitchen had almost made her call Loretta to quit.

Turning to Max, she plastered a game smile over her misgivings. She was no coward. If she had to, she could suck it up and restore order to this pigsty. “Thanks. I’m sorry to be kicking you out of your room.”

Behind the fatigue, a flash of wry humor lit his light eyes. “I’d sleep in the backyard on a bed of nails if it’d help get this household on track.”

“When did it go off track?” D.J. punctuated her question by swinging her suitcase onto the well-made bed. Clearly Max had taken more trouble with this room than with the others. If there’d been any reminders of the children’s mother—photos, clothing—it was all gone now.