His Potential Wife

His Potential Wife Grace Green Dr. Scott Galbraith is fed up of women trying to get him up the aisle! He's looking for a new nanny, not a wife, and his ad has one condition–the successful candidate must strictly have no interest in marriage!Willow is single and attractive but she certainly seems immune to Scott's charms–something which, to his surprise, begins to infuriate him! And suddenly he's thinking the unthinkable: a marriage proposal… “Welcome, Ms. Tyler, to Summerhill.” Scott Galbraith’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “Yesterday, as I recall, you pronounced my children the worst-behaved you had ever seen,” he continued. With an exaggeratedly courtly gesture he invited her to come inside. “From now on they are in your hands.” As Willow walked past him, her heart hammering like mad, he added, “I should warn you that in the last twenty months my children have gone through no less than five top-notch nannies.” “I wonder,” Scott continued in that already so familiar brown velvet voice, “just how long you are going to last.” Grace Green grew up in Scotland, but later immigrated to Canada with her husband and children. They settled in “Beautiful Super Natural B.C.,” and Grace now lives in a house just minutes from ocean, beaches, mountains and rain forest. She makes no secret of her favorite occupation—her bumper sticker reads, I’d Rather Be Writing Romance! Grace also enjoys walking the seawall, gardening, getting together with other authors…and watching her characters come to life, because she knows that once they do, they will take over and write her stories for her. Books by Grace Green HARLEQUIN ROMANCE 3706—THE NANNY’S SECRET 3714—THE PREGNANCY PLAN 3737—FOREVER WIFE AND MOTHER His Potential Wife Grace Green www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) CONTENTS CHAPTER ONE (#u4f354ec8-f27e-54d1-87d1-bfc07a09d25f) CHAPTER TWO (#u77e0516d-f3d4-592b-b5c9-56c07bcd59b9) CHAPTER THREE (#ud8745196-c05c-5576-a873-ef767658b398) CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ONE “WHAT I want, Mrs. Trent, is a plain-Jane nanny.” “A…plain-Jane nanny, Dr. Galbraith?” Ida Trent looked startled. “I’m not sure I underst—” Scott Galbraith shot forward in his chair. “Mikey, get your fingers out of there!” He swept his son onto his lap a nanosecond before the two-year-old managed to tug a purple African violet from its clay pot on Ida Trent’s tidy desk. The owner of the Trent Employment Agency cleared her throat. “Dr. Galbraith, I’m not sure exactly what you—” “Let me spell it out.” Abstractedly Scott dusted potting soil from Mikey’s fingers. “I want a woman whose top priority—in fact, her only priority!—is caring for my three motherless children. I want a woman who doesn’t dream of orange blossom or see me as a potential husband—” He broke off as four-year-old Amy stomped toward the office door. “Amy, get back here!” Amy plodded on. “Lizzie!” Urgently he prodded his elder daughter, who was slouched, reading, against the end of the desk. “Would you please catch your sister before she hits the street!” Lizzie sighed as only a put-upon eight-year-old can sigh and took off to restrain her sister. Then none-too-gently she pushed the sturdy redhead down onto a sofa by the window. “Stay there,” she snapped. “And try not to be such an absolute pest!” Amy’s blue eyes puddled with tears. “I am not a pest!” “Are, too!” “Am not!” Lizzie flicked back her long blond braid and curled her upper lip in a sneer. “Pest, pest, pest!” Stalking back to the end of the desk, she resumed her slouching position and fixed her gaze again on the pages of her book. Scott opened his mouth to chastise her…but closed it again when he noticed that his daughter’s face had become paper-white and her lips were trembling. The sight reduced him to despair and helplessness—emotions that had become all too familiar to him over the past twenty months. He felt his heart go out to Lizzie, aware that her emotions must often be in a turmoil similar to his own. Of the three children, she was the one who missed her mother most. And he knew that because she was the eldest, he’d often stuck her with too much responsibility. So instead of berating her, he returned his attention to the woman seated across the desk from him. “Now, Mrs. Trent, where were we?” “You were telling me you wanted a plain-Jane nanny—” “And one who isn’t man mad!” “—and one who isn’t man mad. Actually—” Ida Trent looked thoughtful “—I believe I have someone who will suit you perfectly. She has excellent references and a true love of children…and I know, for a fact, that the last thing she’s looking for in her life is romance. Fortunately she’s between positions and could start right away.” An ominous warm dampness suddenly seeped from Mikey’s diaper-padded bottom through the fabric of Scott’s brand-new designer pants. Oh, great. Just what he needed. “So tell me,” he said resignedly, “does this paragon of virtue have a name?” “She does, Dr. Galbraith. Her name is Willow Tyler.” “Hey, Mom!” Willow Tyler glanced up from her sunny bench and as she saw her son race toward her from the Rec Center’s entrance, she stuffed her wallet back into her handbag. She would worry about her low bank balance later. For the present she would focus on Jamie. Once she got another job—and she prayed that would happen soon—she’d have little enough time to spend with him. She couldn’t help smiling now as he approached her, his black hair dripping wet, his T-shirt outside-in, his sneakers ineptly tied. She itched to tidy him…but he was the most independent child on the face of the earth and she knew he would balk. From the beginning, he’d adamantly refused to let her tend to him after his swimming lessons. “You’re not allowed into the men’s changing rooms,” he’d announced. “And—sorry, Mom!—no way am I going into the ladies’ changing rooms!” Now—reeking of chlorine—he danced in front of her, his gray-green eyes eager. “Can we go to Morganti’s for a burger? Please? I’m starving!” Willow hesitated. She hated spending money on fast food…yet she hated to disappoint Jamie; he didn’t ask for much. “All right—but let’s not make a habit of it.” Morganti’s was only a hop and a skip away, at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Fir Street. When they got inside, Jamie said, “Are you having a burger, too, Mom?” “No, I’ll have a hot caramel sundae.” “I’ll get it.” He’d adopted a take-charge tone and she knew that for the moment, he’d assumed his man-of-the-house role. He held out his hand for money. “You want nuts on it?” “No nuts.” She gave him a ten-dollar bill. “But I’ll have double caramel.” “Can I have a large cola?” “Sure.” “Yes!” Gleefully he thrust his backpack at her and scampered off to take his place at the counter. Willow sat at a vacant table and tucked his backpack under her chair before glancing around. The restaurant was busy but Tradition, British Columbia, was a small town and she knew most of the people there. With a friendly wave she acknowledged those who sent a smile her way. At the next table was a group of four—a man and three small children. He was dark-haired and broad-shouldered but he had his back to her so she couldn’t see his face. She had a plain view of the children, though, and they were strangers to her—a lovely blond girl of around nine, who was reading while eating a burger; a younger redheaded girl with grubby tear-stained cheeks; and a little boy in a high chair, whose fair hair was smeared with what looked like ketchup from the French fries spread out on his tray. The man got up and she heard him say in a deep voice that made her think of dark brown velvet, “Lizzie, keep an eye on these two. I’m going for a coffee refill.” He strode away toward the counter and she saw that he was quite tall, and wearing a beautifully cut charcoal-gray suit. She also noticed that he walked in an athletic way that spoke of lean muscles and coiled strength, and with a sense of purpose that gave an impression of self-confidence. He took up his place in one of the short lineups and as he did, she saw Jamie turn from the counter. He began walking toward her, carefully balancing his tray. She held her breath as the tall cola cup wavered, but he paused and it steadied and he resumed his precarious journey. All went well until a fracas suddenly erupted at the next table. The tot in the high chair let out an enraged howl: apparently the middle child had stolen a handful of French fries from his tray because the one called Lizzie snapped, “Put those back, Amy! You said you didn’t want any fries. When are you going to stop being such a pest!” She grabbed Amy’s fist and tore the half-dozen fries from her. “Give those back!” screamed Amy and reached after them. “No way, you little pest! Pest! Pest! Pest!” Taunting her sister, Lizzie swung her hand away, out into the aisle… And banged it into Jamie’s carefully balanced tray, knocking it wildly from his hands. For a split second, silence fell on the group of three. The boy’s mouth froze in a wide-open O; the redhead’s screams stopped as if chopped off by an ax; and the girl called Lizzie’s expression turned to one of stark shock. And then…oh, the clatter as the tray bounced on the tiled floor; the mess as the cola spilled out in a sticky stream; the cry of dismay from Jamie as he stared in horror at the demise of his gleefully anticipated treat. But even as Willow shot to her feet, the three children resumed their squabbling. “That was all your fault, Amy. If you hadn’t been such a pest—” “You did it!” Amy’s shout was outraged. “It was—” “I want more fries!” The little boy hammered his hands on his tray. “More, more, more!” Jamie was quietly sobbing. “Oh, honey!” Willow hunkered down and gathered his slight body to her. “Don’t cry. It wasn’t your fault, you were being so very careful. We’ll get someone to clean up this mess, and then we’ll just order the same thing again.” He leaned away from her and furiously swiped his hands over his teary eyes. “I want to go home. I don’t like it in here today.” He glared at the still-squabbling trio who were paying him no attention. “And I don’t like them! They didn’t even say they were sorry—” “Excuse me.” At the same time as she heard and recognized the brown velvet voice, Willow saw, over Jamie’s shoulders, a pair of long legs encased in fine charcoal-gray fabric. She felt a surge of grim satisfaction: the man had returned at just the right time to be assaulted by the full force of her annoyance. Grabbing Jamie’s hand, she lurched upright, bursting to vent the words of censure that were rising up inside her— She gulped. And reared back. The stranger was way, way taller than she’d realized. And he was undoubtedly the most devastatingly attractive man she had ever seen. Her senses reeled from the dazzling effect of electric-blue eyes twinkling at her from under a slash of black eyebrows; Hollywood white teeth glinting in a wry smile; and features so perfectly chiseled they could have been computer-generated. By Bill Gates himself. But even as she gawked at him she had a disturbing feeling of d?j? vu. She had seen this man before. Somewhere. But if she had, wouldn’t she have remembered him? He was surely unforgettable— “Excuse me,” he murmured again, a toe-curling, coaxing tone now brushing his velvety, sexy voice. Willow stiffened her toes. And her knees. And her resolve. She was not going to allow this man to sweet-talk her. She was made, was she not, of sterner stuff? She lasered him with an icy glare. “Are those—” she flicked her head curtly toward the trio who were still going at it hammer and tongs “—your children?” “Yeah.” He raked a long-fingered hand through his black hair. Gold gleamed from his wafer-thin gold watch and from a stylishly engraved gold cuff link and from his wide gold wedding band. He dropped his hand and his hair fell back into perfect place—the unmistakable sign of a very expensive salon cut, Willow thought sourly. “I have to confess,” he murmured, “they are most certainly mine—” “Then I have to confess they are the very worst-behaved children I have ever seen!” “If you’ll let me apologize for them—” “Apologize for them?” Her laugh was scornful. “Oh, don’t apologize for them.” From the corner of her eye, she saw an employee approach to clean up the mess on the floor. “You are the one who should be ashamed. When children behave as yours do there’s no one to blame but the parents!” She should have stopped there. And she probably would, if she hadn’t suddenly realized how pathetic she must seem to him in her cheap T-shirt and old cutoffs, while he looked elegant enough to have dinner at Buckingham Palace. So instead of calling a halt, she charged recklessly on. “Maybe if you spent less time on your hair and your clothes and your…your fancy accessories,” she sputtered, “and more time reading up on child psychology, you’d be able to take your family out into the world without having to apologize for them.” How rude! As soon as she’d said the words, she felt a shock of disbelief, and wanted desperately to drag them back. But of course it was too late… And now he was angry. A dangerous glitter had replaced the twinkle in his eyes. A thin, compressed line had replaced the full sensual curve of his mouth. And his pleasant demeanor had been replaced by an aura of hostile menace that made her think apprehensively of a cougar making ready to strike. Uh-oh. Alarm rattled through her. A speedy retreat was most definitely called for. Grabbing up Jamie’s backpack, she stuck her nose in the air and in a valiant attempt to appear regal—which was a bit of a stretch considering her petite build and her ragtag outfit—she swept Jamie toward the exit door. An imperious “Hey, hang on there!” rang after her. She pretended not to hear it. Once outside, she walked even faster in case he came after her, and hurried Jamie along the street, not looking back till they reached the end of the block. And when she did and saw no sign of him, she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness! The whole incident, she reflected with a grimace, had been distressing to say the least. Jamie said, “Who were they, Mom?” “Just strangers. Passing through.” “Well, I’m glad about that because I sure wouldn’t ever want to see them again.” Willow echoed his sentiments exactly. Jamie dug into his pocket. “Here’s your change.” “Put it in your bank,” Willow said. “After your next swimming lesson, we’ll go back to Morganti’s again.” “Will we tell Gran what happened today?” “Sure, if you like.” But when they got home, Willow’s mother, Gemma, had news to pass on—news so welcome that both Willow and Jamie forgot all about the unfortunate incident at Morganti’s. The employment agency had called. At last Mrs. Trent had a job for Willow—an excellent job, she had enthused to Gemma, as nanny to a family of darling, darling children. Willow must call in at the office right away, her mother told her happily, to sign the new contract. “The job’s at Summerhill?” Appalled, Willow stared at Ida Trent. “Yes, Willow. Do you have a problem with that?” Willow’s stomach dropped sickeningly as memories flooded her mind. Memories that still, after seven years, tore at her heart and filled it to overflowing with sorrow…and guilt. More than anything, guilt. Guilt that would never, she knew, go away. “Willow?” With an effort, Willow gathered herself together. “Of course not. You know how keen I am to be working again.” Ida set her palms on the desk in front of her. “Good, because this job is perfect for you. And Summerhill is a beautiful house. Of course, it’s been lying empty for the past seven years…the Galbraiths—Galen and Anna—moved to Nova Scotia right after their son’s funeral, and then Galen suffered a fatal heart attack just days later. His wife never came back, and when she remarried this spring, the house passed on to the surviving son…Dr. Scott Galbraith. He arrived at Summerhill with his family a week ago.” “They’re staying here permanently?” “Yes. He’s going into partnership with Dr. Black at the local clinic, starting first of next month. I know, Willow, that you prefer to be home at night, but he wants a live-in nanny and he’s offering an extremely generous salary.” “And…you say you met the children?” “Darling, darling children—” The phone rang and murmuring “Excuse me,” Mrs. Trent picked it up. She listened to the caller and with a worried sigh, said, “Yes, Dora, of course. I’ll be right there.” Putting down the phone, she pushed the contract across the desk to Willow. “I’m sorry to rush you, dear.” She got to her feet. “But I have to close the office and dash home. My husband has had one of his turns, that was his sitter.” Feeling disorientated, as if everything was happening a bit too fast, and she hadn’t taken everything in yet, Willow scanned the contract and then signed her name. As soon as she put down the pen, the agency owner said, “I really must hurry!” Clasping her handbag, she ushered Willow to the door. “Mrs. Trent, the children—” “Darling, darling children,” Mrs. Trent assured her again, with an unaccustomed vagueness. “Dr. Galbraith is expecting you at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. He’ll fill you in on everything once you get to Summerhill.” The agency owner’s white car was parked nearby. As she ran toward it, she added, over her shoulder, “The man’s a widower, Willow, and he warned me not to send anyone who would see him as a potential husband. A plain-Jane nanny is what he asked for,” she continued breathlessly, “and he more than hinted that women consider him devilishly attractive and find it difficult to keep their hands off him.” Willow gaped. The conceit of the man. Who did he think he was? And as to that, it didn’t do her own self-image much good to know Mrs. Trent considered her a plain-Jane. She knew she was no beauty but— “I told him,” the agency owner continued as she threw herself into her car, “that you had no interest in men.” She slammed the car door. “So all in all,” she called through the open window, “I think the relationship will work out very well. You and Dr. Galbraith would seem to be a perfect match!” Mind still awhirl, Willow stood staring after the car as it sped away. She was not looking for a husband; Mrs. Trent had at least got that right. But…she and this Scott Galbraith a perfect match? Hardly! Of all the men in all the world she didn’t want to work for, one as arrogant as he apparently was would be at the top of her list. And of all the places in all of the world where she didn’t want to work, Summerhill would be right up there, too. She had no option, however, but to take the job, and to work for him, because she desperately needed the money. Not only had bills piled up during her most recent period of unemployment, but she’d had to take her car off the road because she couldn’t afford to renew the insurance, and Gemma would need a car to drive Jamie to school once the stormy winter weather set in. Being the sole breadwinner for their household was a challenging and never-ending task; however, it was one she was not about to shirk. So she’d take this job and she’d turn up for work at Summerhill tomorrow because she had no other choice. But if Scott Galbraith were ever to discover that she was responsible for the tragedy that had beset his family seven years ago, he would boot her out of his house so fast she wouldn’t have time to blink! The morning after the Morganti’s fiasco, Scott woke from a deep sleep to the sound of Mikey’s demanding cry. He rolled his eyes. Who needed an alarm clock with this kid in the house? Lurching out of bed, he was stumbling to the door when Lizzie stormed into the room. She was holding a paperback in one hand and dragging her sister with the other. “This little pest tore the last page out of my book!” She gave Amy a rough shake. “Before I’d even read it! Now she won’t tell me where she put it!” Scott said, “Lizzie, isn’t that the book you bought at the library sale? The page might’ve been missing when—” “I didn’t tear her old book!” Amy managed to wrench herself free. “I like books. I’d never tear—” Another demanding scream from Mikey’s room drowned out whatever Amy had been going to say. Scott tugged up the waistband of his cotton boxer shorts and made for the door. “Hang on, kids, we’ll settle this after I change Mikey’s diaper.” “Pest!” Lizzie hissed at her sister. “Am not!” “Are, too!” Shaking his head, Scott went into Mikey’s bedroom. His son and heir was jumping up and down in his crib, his pyjama bottoms at half-mast, weighed down by a soggy diaper. He stopped crying when he saw his father, and greeted him with a watery, heart-melting smile. “Morning, buster,” Scott said. “Potty, Dad!” Scott grinned. “I think we’ve missed the boat there, son!” He noticed that Mikey’s blankets were scattered with scraps of paper. What the heck…? Gathering up a few of the pieces, he scrutinized them and frowned as realization dawned. “Mikey,” he said. “Where did you get this?” “Book.” “Lizzie’s book? This is a page from Lizzie’s book?” “It fell out.” He nodded gravely. “Amy said.” Out in the corridor, Scott heard Lizzie and her sister yelling at each other. Like a pair of heathens. As he swept Mikey up and headed for the children’s bathroom, he felt a great surge of thankfulness that this was going to be the last morning he’d have to cope alone with his rebellious troops. The new nanny—Mrs. Trent’s promised “paragon of virtue”—was due to arrive at ten. He could hardly wait. Willow pedaled up the driveway to Summerhill on her bike, slowing as she reached the fork at the top. One road led to the forecourt of the Cape Cod house with its white siding and blue shuttered windows; the other led to the back. The last—and only other time—she had ever visited this house, she had come not as an employee but as a highly distraught teenager with a letter to deliver. The memory of that night, and the consequences of her actions, were still vivid in her mind. Far too vivid. And far too painful. She shoved them back into their compartment and locked them up where they belonged. In the past. She took the road to the rear of the house, where she parked her bike against the wall and then rang the doorbell. Taking in a deep breath to calm her nerves, she waited for someone to answer her summons. She didn’t have long to wait. The door swung in and as it did, her tentative smile froze in place when she saw the person facing her. Her new employer was the man she’d confronted so rudely yesterday! And with a suddenness that stole her breath away, she realized why she’d had that feeling of d?j? vu at the sight of him. Yes, she had met Scott Galbraith before…and on this very spot. The memory sent a chill shivering through her. But no way would he recognize her. That long-ago night had been dark and moonless, and as she’d handed over the envelope, she’d skulked embarrassedly in the shadows. No, he certainly wouldn’t recognize her from seven years ago but he certainly recognized her from yesterday—and he seemed as stunned to see her as she was to see him. “You!” His black eyebrows beetled in a scowl. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be my—” “New nanny.” Willow was grateful that the words came out in her normal voice rather than in the mousy squeak she’d half expected. “Yes. I’m Willow Tyler—” From the interior of the house came a wail, followed by a shrill “Pest! Pest! Pest!” followed by an ominous crash. “Welcome, Ms. Tyler, to Summerhill.” Scott Galbraith’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “Yesterday, as I recall, you pronounced my children the worst-behaved you had ever seen.” With an exaggeratedly courtly gesture, he invited her to come inside. “From now on, they are in your hands.” As she walked past him, her heart hammering like mad, he added, “I should warn you that in the past twenty months since their mother’s death, my children have gone through no fewer than five top-notch nannies.” He closed the door firmly behind her. Trapping her. “I wonder,” he continued in that already so-familiar brown velvet voice, “just how long you are going to last!” CHAPTER TWO TWELVE hours. That was how long she had lasted… And, Willow reflected unhappily, she’d have to admit as much to Dr. Galbraith in the morning. Fighting tears of misery and frustration, she stepped into the bath she’d run for herself in her en suite bathroom. Nothing was worth this hassle. The Galbraith children were monsters. They had absolutely defeated her attempts to get through to them and all day long had deliberately set themselves to provoke her. But she’d been determined not to let them get the better of her and she’d really believed she had come out on top…until after she’d finally managed to settle them down for the night and had retired to her own room. There, to her dismay, she had discovered that furtive little hands had been at work in her backpack. Oh, she could have forgiven the splodges of blue toothpaste gel squeezed over her best cream sweatshirt. She could even have forgiven the scarlet felt pen scrawls over every page of her new journal—a present from her mother. She could even have forgiven the broken chain of a favorite necklace. What she found impossible to forgive was the destruction of the last precious photograph of her father and herself, taken just weeks before he died. Someone—Lizzie?—had tugged the picture from its brass frame and crumpled it into a crackly ball. It was the final straw in a day straight out of hell. And she needed to talk to someone about it! There was a phone on her nightstand, and after her bath she put on her T-shirt nightie, and slumping down on the edge of the bed, called her mother and spilled out the whole dismal story. Gemma Tyler “tsked” in all the right places, and when her daughter was finished, said softly, “Willow, the first day on a new job is very often the worst.” “I know, Mom. But I’ve had first days on new jobs before and not one was a tenth as bad as today. These kids are monsters, they really are.” “Tell me about them.” Willow wriggled onto the middle of the bed and lying back on her pillows, stared up at the ceiling. “The eldest, Lizzie, is blond and a true beauty. Her sister, Amy, has the loveliest curly red hair and big blue eyes. And Mikey looks so cute he could model diapers on TV—” “They sound nice—” “Looks are only skin deep, Mom. Lizzie’s as hostile as she is beautiful, her sister shouts ‘Black!’ if I as much as think ‘White’…and Mikey…that child bellows ‘Not!’ at me every time he opens his little mouth!” “Ah.” Sympathy flowed across the line like a warm milk and honey drink. “I can see you have your work cut out for you. Tell me,” Gemma continued before Willow had time to tell her she was quitting in the morning, “just one thing. When you look at these three children—I mean, really look at them—do you see at least a kernel of good in them?” Willow crinkled her nose. A kernel of good? She wanted to say “No, absolutely not!” but she tried to be fair. And reluctantly she recalled that when she’d gone upstairs to check on the children during what she’d told them was to be their daily after-lunch “quiet time,” instead of finding Mikey in his crib where she’d settled him she’d found him in Lizzie’s room. Amy was there, too. The three were cuddled up asleep on top of Lizzie’s bed…and Lizzie had her arms protectively around her two younger siblings. The sight had touched something deep in Willow’s soul. But that had all gone by the wayside ten minutes later when the trio charged downstairs, squabbling and shoving and making so much racket they could have been an army. “Ye…es, Mom. I do think there might be a kernel of good in them.” “Then you mustn’t give up. These poor tots have lost their mother and it’s only natural they’d fight against anyone who tried to take her place. You must give them a chance to work through their grief. And you must find a new place, for yourself, in their wounded hearts.” Wounded hearts. Out of the blue, the words brought a tightness to Willow’s throat and tears to her eyes as she remembered how wounded her own heart had been after her father had died. And she knew, then, that she wouldn’t run away from this daunting task that fate had sent her. She would stay on, at Summerhill, for as long as these children needed her. “Good morning, Ms. Tyler.” “Good morning, Dr. Galbraith.” Scott leaned back against the counter, one hand wrapped around his coffee mug, as he regarded his new employee who had just raced into the kitchen. She’d come to a breathless halt and was darting a panicky glance around the room, taking in the harvest table with its empty chairs. Flustered and flushed, she blurted out, “I’m sorry, I slept in and the children aren’t in their rooms and—” “Not a very good start.” He sent her a look of challenge. “I hope this isn’t going to be a regular occurrence?” “No, of course not!” Her flush deepened. “I don’t know what came over me.” “Perhaps my children are too much for you. They tired you out yesterday?” She ran her hands nervously down the sides of her shorts. “The first day with a new family isn’t always easy. But your children are definitely not too much for me. Now if you’ll just tell me where they are—” “Relax.” He put down his mug and filled another one with coffee. “They’ve been fed and watered and they’re in the den, watching TV. Lizzie’s in charge. But you and I need to talk. Please sit down.” He saw wariness flicker in her eyes—wariness and anxiety. What a funny little creature she was, he reflected as he set her mug on the table. If he’d had to choose one word to describe her, it would be “forgettable.” Swiftly he ran a gaze over her and took in sandy sun-streaked hair scraped back in a neat ponytail. Eyes that couldn’t make up their mind if they were green or gray. Nice skin but without a scrap of makeup other than a touch of pink lip gloss. And under her white T-shirt and perky pink shorts, the slim figure of a teenage boy. As she slipped onto her seat and reached awkwardly for her coffee mug, he frowned. She hardly seemed the same person he’d had the altercation with in Morganti’s. Then she’d been all fire and spit and though she’d irritated the hell out of him, he’d had to admire her spunk. Now she looked ready to jump out of her skin. He dragged out the chair opposite hers and sat down. “Ms. Tyler.” He tried to keep the impatience from his voice. “Do you think I’m an ogre?” She blinked. “No, of course not—” “Ms. Tyler.” He rat-tatted the fingers of one hand on the pine table surface. “If we’re to have any kind of a working relationship, you’re going to have to be honest with me. I’ll ask you again, do you think I’m an ogre?” She met his gaze steadily. “No, Dr. Galbraith, I don’t.” “Well, good.” He leaned back in his chair. “So—” he quirked one black eyebrow “—what do you think of me?” “It’s early days, Dr. Galbraith. I don’t—” “You must have formed some opinion!” Ah, now he saw her eyes spark with the same fire he’d noticed at their first meeting. “All right,” she said. “Since you insist on knowing, I’ll give you my opinion. I believe that ever since your wife’s death you’ve been wallowing around in an absolute emotional mess and you’re pretty sure your children are, too, especially Lizzie, so you’ve been cutting them all a lot of slack—way too much slack—and they’ve taken advantage of it. Are still taking advantage of it. And of you. In a nutshell, they’re totally out of control—which is something a man like you finds intolerable but under the circumstances you’re suffering it and this is putting even more stress on you. Oh, you’re in quite a pickle, Dr. Galbraith. Quite a pickle.” Her words scraped still-tender scars off painful wounds, exposing raw nerves that screamed in protest. He felt blood pound against his eardrums, but even as he struggled to curb his emotions, a surge of anger sent reason flying out the window. The girl was outspoken and way out of line. He would fire her. His decision was swiftly made…the way he made most decisions. He was not, nor had he ever been, a ditherer. But before he could tell her she was “out,” he heard the thunder of approaching feet accompanied by Amy’s screams and Lizzie’s gratingly familiar “Pest! Pest! Pest!” And as the noise reverberated in his head, he acknowledged—reluctantly, frustratedly, wearily—that firing Ms. Tyler was not an option. She was right. He was in a pickle, one helluva pickle. And though she was far too blunt for her own good, he had to admit he’d asked for it. Furthermore, the reason she’d managed to upset him was that she’d hit the nail on the head…and the truth hurt. Willow Tyler was as perspicacious as she was plain. And she had survived a day that would have sent any of his previous five nannies running for the hills. So after all, though Ms. Tyler had certainly got off to a bad start this morning, there was still a hope—however small that hope might be—that she would turn out to be the one person who could make his small family functional again. “You certainly don’t pull your punches,” he said. “But I did ask for your opinion so I can’t complain. I hope you’ll always be as forthright with me. If there’s one quality I appreciate in a person, it’s honesty…and the flip side, of course, is that I can’t tolerate deceit!” He saw an odd expression flicker over her eyes—he thought for a moment it was fear, but he quickly dismissed the idea. She had told him the truth, so what did she have to be afraid of? Puzzled, he tried to figure out what it could have been…but before he could come up with an answer, he heard his storming troops thunder ever closer. With a wince, he forgot all about Ms. Tyler’s odd expression and shoved himself up from the table. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said hurriedly, “I have to go out. I’ll be back in the early afternoon.” Feeling like a commander deserting on the eve of battle, he swiveled around and strode to the back door. Wrenching it open, he stepped outside and slammed the door shut just as his children erupted into the kitchen. He stood on the stoop, leaning back against the door and sending up a prayer of gratitude for his timely escape. Then inhaling a deep breath of the morning-scented air, he was about to leave when through the open window he heard the nanny say, in a clear and decidedly no-nonsense voice, “Before we make any plans for the day, I want you to know how upset I was last night when I discovered that one or more of you had snuck into my room and destroyed some of my treasures.” He froze where he stood. They’d sneaked into her room? They’d not only gone through her private things, but they had destroyed some of them? Anger swelled up inside him. This was intolerable. He’d march inside right now and sort the little devils out. But good! Wheeling around, he reached for the door handle. No way should she have to put up with— He stopped himself just as he touched the knob. And told himself to calm down. Think it through. And when he did, he realized it would be a major mistake to insert himself into the situation. He couldn’t run interference every time the children misbehaved. It would ruin any hope Ms. Tyler had of gaining their respect. In the long run, it would do more harm than good. So he stood there a little while longer, listening, then he turned away from the door and made his way to the three-car detached garage that sat on the grounds at the westerly side of the house. “So…is that understood?” Willow stood over the children, who were clustered in a hostile group by the kitchen table. “We all have our own areas of privacy, and those areas are sacrosanct.” “What’s sacrosanct?” muttered Amy. “It’s what she said.” Lizzie sounded sullen. “We don’t go there. It’s private. We don’t touch stuff that belongs to other people. Just like you should never have touched my book and ripped out the page!” “I didn’t!” Amy cried. “I told you last night, it just fell out and I put it in Mikey’s crib so you—” “Children.” Willow gritted her teeth. “Let’s move on, shall we? Let’s start over. It’s a new day.” Lizzie avoided looking at her. “Where’s Dad?” “He went out.” Lizzie frowned. “Where did he go?” “He didn’t say,” Willow responded lightly. “But since it’s such a lovely day, we’ll all go out, too.” “Don’t wanna go out!” Amy fisted her hands on her hips. “Wanna watch TV!” “Me, too!” Mikey dumped himself solidly down on his bottom, his attitude screaming I’m on strike! “We’ll go for a swim.” Willow opened the fridge and took out a jar of peanut butter. Scooping a bag of buns from the bread bin, she said, “We’ll pack a lunch and have a picnic after.” Lizzie finally raised her eyes and fixed her with a scornful gaze. “We can’t go for a swim. Dad says it’s too late in the season to bother opening up the Summerhill pool!” Willow slit the buns and began spreading them with peanut butter. “We’re not going to be using your pool.” She rummaged in the cupboard, found a jar of honey and screwed off the lid. “Now would you run upstairs, Lizzie, and fetch all the swimsuits?” “How do you know we’ve got any!” Amy screwed up her freckled little nose. “We might not!” “Not!” bawled Mikey. “If you don’t have any swimsuits,” Willow said in an airy tone, “then you’ll all have to skinny-dip!” Lizzie gaped. “You can’t make us!” Willow slathered honey atop the peanut butter. “You’ll have the choice of skinny-dipping or going into the water with your clothes on. It’s up to you.” She focused her gaze on the buns as she sliced them into neat quarters. “We’ve got swimsuits.” Lizzie’s tone was dour. “Good!” Willow packed the sandwiches in a plastic bag. “But,” Lizzie sneered, “we won’t be using them today because we’re not allowed to go in public swimming pools! Our last nanny said that’s where people pick up all sorts of things like athlete’s foot and…other dangerous bugs!” “So there!” Amy was triumphant. “We’re not allowed.” “Not!” echoed Mikey. “We won’t be going to a public pool.” Willow arranged the bag of sandwiches in her backpack. “Then where are we going?” Lizzie’s chin had a belligerent jut. “It’s a surprise.” Willow regarded her charges with a pleasant smile. “But I think you’re going to enjoy it.” Scott got home around two and as soon as he walked into the kitchen, he spotted the note propped against the fruit basket on the harvest table. Dr. Galbraith, I’ve taken the children to the creek, to play in the shallower water down below the swimming hole. How was his new nanny coping? he wondered. He could just imagine the protestations she’d been subjected to when she’d suggested a swim. No matter what she’d suggested, the arguments would have been the same. And if the kids hadn’t objected in so many words, they’d have expressed their hostility in attitude. He’d seen them in action untold times, with the previous five nannies. It might be interesting, he reflected, to take a stroll through the forest, and sneak a peek at the situation. The swimming hole was on the Galbraith estate, and because of the craggy cliff that rose from the far bank, the area was inaccessible to the public and could be reached only via a private trail through the woods from Summerhill. He hadn’t been near the old swimming hole in years; and he wondered, idly, how Ms. Tyler even knew of its existence. Willow packed away the picnic things and stood for a moment watching the children frolic in the shallow waves that washed over the smooth sun-warmed sandy beach. It had been difficult for her to come here. She’d found it distressing to walk past the deep secluded pool where she and Chad had spent so many secret hours swimming together as teenagers—but she’d known her charges would love playing in the water and on the sandy beach so she’d made the effort. And now she was glad. They’d had fun. They made a colorful picture, she mused as she watched them splash around in their expensive designer togs, Lizzie in her yellow bikini, Amy in a blue one-piece, Mikey in his neon-orange shorts. She should have brought her camera. She would, when they came back another day. But it was time now to be heading home, so she should be calling to them to come and get dried off and dressed. First, though, she should put her own clothes on. She slipped behind a leafy bush high enough to give her some privacy from the children but not too high that she couldn’t see over it to check on them. She slipped off her bikini…and then, on an impulse, stretched up her arms to the sky, relishing the unfamiliar and primitive sensation of being naked in the golden sun— A twig crackled nearby. Her pulse gave an erratic jump, and when she slewed her gaze to where the sound had come from, she felt her heart stop. Scott Galbraith was standing as if frozen to the spot, just three yards away on the fringe of the forest, his blue eyes staring at her with as much shock as she knew must be glittering in her own. Suppressing a horrified gasp, she swept up her towel and screened herself from the neck down. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire; her heartbeats scrambled out of control. She clamped her jaw to keep from yelping “What are you doing here?” and waited tensely for him to make a move. He grimaced. And then muttering something under his breath, he took a step backward. “I’m sorry.” His voice was thick, his tone filled with abject apology. “I didn’t mean…I only walked over to…I just thought I’d—oh, dammit, Ms. Tyler,” he sputtered. “I hadn’t a clue that you’d be…I hadn’t a clue I’d find you…” “Naked?” Willow’s voice came out as coolly as she’d ordered it to—and with just the right touch of wry amusement. “Dr. Galbraith, this is surely not the first time you’ve seen a nude woman. And I’m sure it won’t be the last. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get dressed and attend to your children.” He looked as if he was going to say something more. Again she waited. And willed him to leave. In the end, he scratched a hand clumsily through his hair, twisted his face in an expression of excruciating embarrassment, before turning away with one last muttered “Sorry,” and disappearing into the forest. Willow’s breath quivered out in a whimper of relief. He was gone. Thank heaven. But…oh Lord…what a disaster! How on earth was she going to face the man now? Now that he’d seen her with nothing on but her watch! Scott crashed through the woods, wondering if he’d ever felt so stupid. What a blundering idiot. Served him right, for snooping. He’d got more than he bargained for. Far more. How was he going to face her now? And would he ever again be able to look at her without picturing her naked? He groaned. If only he’d turned up five minutes later. If only he hadn’t walked out of the trees just as she’d stretched her arms up to the skies, gilded in sunshine like a wood nymph, without a stitch of clothing and her smooth skin tanned to a deliciously dusky brown except for the stark white areas where her bikini— Oh damn, damn, damn! He punched one hand into the palm of the other. Willow Tyler had told him that morning that he was in a pickle. He snorted. A pickle was mild compared to the situation he was in now. He’d asked Ida Trent to send him a plain-Jane nanny. A plain-Jane nanny she was not. It wasn’t that she was a looker; in fact, hadn’t he already decided her face was eminently forgettable? The problem was…her figure. It was exquisite. The most exquisite he’d ever seen and—she was right about one thing!—he’d seen more than a few naked ladies in his day! But he just couldn’t have this girl prancing around the house in skimpy T-shirts and shorts now that he knew what she looked like underneath. He needed to suit her up in armor—some kind of armor that would obliterate the sexy image from his mind. He pondered the problem as he emerged from the trees and started walking up the path to the house. And then, just as he reached the back door, the solution came to him. The nannies who’d worked for him in the city had worn uniforms ordered from the smartnannies.com catalog—each outfit consisting of a crisp blue dress, with white collar and cuffs; white stockings; white lace-up shoes. And that, of course, was the answer. He would put Ms. Tyler in a uniform. Then she’d blend in with the woodwork. And far from being stimulated to fantasize about her, he wouldn’t even see her! It would work. He groaned again and rolled his eyes heavenward. It had to work! “Ms. Tyler, could you come into my study for a moment?” Willow paused at the foot of the stairs, her stomach sinking. Dr. Galbraith had kept scrupulously out of her way for the rest of the day after the creek incident and she’d hoped she could escape to her room for the night without having encountered him. Her hopes were not to be realized. Indicating the pile of clothing and towels clutched in her arms, she said, “Okay if I put these in the washer first?” “Sure, go ahead.” He withdrew into his study again, but left the door open. Willow hurried along to the laundry room, wondering what he was going to say. Was he going to fire her? Did he think her behavior that afternoon had been…unbecoming? Well, she’d find out soon enough! After setting the washer going, she brushed a nervous hand over her hair, making sure her ponytail was tidy, before making her way reluctantly through to the study. She gave a light rat-tat on the door and walked in. Her employer was pacing restlessly, his head down, his hands jammed into his trouser pockets. As she entered, he halted and jerked his head up. “Ah, there you are.” He looked as ill at ease as she felt. And that gave her confidence a slight boost. She said, quietly, “You wanted to see me.” “I wanted to tell you that the cook/housekeeper I’ve hired—a Mrs. Caird—will be starting tomorrow. She’ll do all the cooking plus all the housework, except for your laundry and the children’s, and the cleaning of your room. Will that be satisfactory?” Willow nodded, feeling dizzy with relief that she still had her job. “Of course. But…I’ll have the run of the kitchen, for making snacks for the children and so on?” “That’s something you can arrange with Mrs. Caird. I’m sure she’ll have no objections as long as you clean up after yourself.” “Thank you.” Willow turned away and started toward the door. “Er…before you disappear again…there’s something I…need to know.” Willow turned around, questioningly. But when she saw the evasive expression in his eyes, she felt a quiver of apprehension. Was he going to chastise her, now, for her immodest behavior that afternoon? “Ye…es,” she said. “And what is that?” “I need to…know…er…your measurements.” “I don’t understand. What measurements?” A vein throbbed at his right temple. “Do I need to spell it out?” He scowled at her. And dark color seeped into his cheeks. “The usual measurements, for heaven’s sake!” “The…usual measurements?” “The size, Ms. Tyler, of your waist, and your hips. And—” he looked as if he was going to choke on the words but finally he got them out “—the size of your breasts.” CHAPTER THREE HELL will freeze over first! Willow tried to sputter the words out but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. Her body measurements? Wasn’t it bad enough that the man had caught her naked…now he wanted to know her bust size? His boldness beggared belief! What kind of a sleazy— “I—” He shifted his feet awkwardly. “I want to put you in an outfit and since I have to order it from a catalog—” “An outfit, Dr. Galbraith?” At last she’d found her voice but it was so stunned she hardly recognized it. “What kind of an outfit? Do you see me perhaps in a crimson lace bra with a black and crimson garter belt and…and…sheer black stockings with red sparkly high-heeled shoes…and—” “I meant…a uniform, Ms. Tyler.” The man sounded as if he had a fishbone stuck in his craw. “A nanny’s uniform, of the type my children’s previous nannies wore. Ordered through the smartnannies.com catalog on the Internet.” Willow wanted to shrivel up and disappear. A nanny’s uniform. What an absolute idiot she’d made of herself. “I apologize.” Her cheeks must be as crimson as the scanty lace bra her imagination had so vividly conjured up. “We seem to have been talking at cross-purposes.” “Yes,” he murmured. “It would seem we have.” But, she reflected defensively, it hadn’t been totally her fault. He should have made himself clear, instead of bumbling along like an embarrassed teenager. With a touch of asperity, she said, “Did none of your previous nannies balk at providing you with such…personal…information?” “I always left that kind of stuff to my stepmother. She did the hiring of the nannies…and the ordering of their uniforms. This is all new to me, Ms. Tyler. I’d appreciate if you’d make some allowances!” His sudden smile was as unexpected as it was disarming: a curve of sensual lips, a flash of white teeth, a twinkle of wickedly blue eyes. The smile not only dazzled her, but it almost felled her. When Scott Galbraith set out to charm—as he was obviously doing now!—he was irresistible. And when she stared, transfixed, into those arresting blue eyes, she realized with a bone-chilling sense of alarm that if she let her guard down, how dangerously easy it would be to let herself fall in love with him. She sensed herself teetering on the edge of it already—as if she were balancing in the open doorway of a plane at thirty thousand feet, with no parachute strapped to her back. And falling for Dr. Scott Galbraith would be the worst mistake she had ever made. No, the second worst. The worst mistake was the one she’d made seven years ago, when she had—with such tragic consequences—mistaken teenage infatuation for true love. He was speaking again, and drawing in a shivery breath, she dragged her thoughts from the past and forced herself to concentrate. “Tell you what,” he said. “Since you seem so averse to giving me your measurements, I’ll set you up at my computer and you can input your order yourself.” He started toward his desk. “Would you find that acceptable?” “No.” He halted and regarded her with a surprised expression. “You don’t want to input the info yourself?” he asked. “I’d…prefer not to wear a uniform.” “Why not?” “It would come between me and the children.” “Ms. Tyler, they’re accustomed to their nannies being in uniform. If anything, it would give them a feeling of continuity, which could only be good.” “Granted, but it would also set me apart, which could only be bad.” “It would give you an aura of authority,” he argued, “which would help you to establish control.” “From what you’ve told me,” she said, “wearing a uniform didn’t help the previous nannies in that regard! Besides,” she added, “a uniform might be appropriate in a city setting but here…” “Yes?” “I can’t see myself in a uniform while I splash around in the creek with the children, or while we play hide-and-seek in the woods. Can you?” He stared at her with a perplexed expression, as if she’d posed a highly complex problem. “I’ll order a couple of uniforms,” he said finally. “And you’ll give it your best shot. If after one week, you find it too…cumbersome…for certain activities, then we’ll discuss the matter again and come up with a compromise that satisfies us both. Is that acceptable?” “Yes,” she said, but without any great enthusiasm. “That would be acceptable.” “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” He took his seat at the desk, in front of the computer. She should have been watching the screen as he accessed the Web site, instead she found herself looking down at the top of his head…and noticing how rich his black hair was, and how much silkier it seemed, up close— He rose from his chair. “Sit down.” She did, and felt his warmth lingering on the padded leather seat. There was an intimacy about it that she found disconcerting. Wriggling impatiently, she shifted her mind to a higher plane as he crossed to the window and stood with his back to her. After she’d input her info, she rolled back the swivel chair and got to her feet. She said, to the back of his head and his impressively wide shoulders, “It seems a bit stupid now…” He turned. “What does?” “That I made such a fuss about giving out my measurements.” She gave an ironic chuckle and added, almost to herself, “It’s not as if I’ve that much to hide!” As soon as she’d spoken, she wished the words unsaid. Thanks to her strip-show at the creek, her employer knew exactly how much—or, rather, how little!—she had to hide. And she knew, by the shadow darkening his blue eyes, that reminding him of it had not been one of her better ideas. He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and she heard the impatient jingle of coins or keys. The sound was as dismissive as the ring of a school bell. “Will that be all?” she asked. “Just one more thing. This morning I drove to Crestville to visit my in-laws and I’ve invited them here for dinner. On Friday. That’ll give Mrs. Caird time to get used to my kitchen before she has to cook for guests, and it will give you the best part of a week to lick my children into some kind of shape so they don’t disgrace me too deplorably. Do you think you can do that?” Willow hadn’t been aware that his in-laws lived in Crestville, a town about fifty miles up the highway. “I’ll certainly do my best.” “That’s all I can ask. But,” he added, and flashed her another of his debilitating smiles, “I can hope for a miracle!” A series of warm tingles fluttered Willow’s senses as she was exposed to the full force of his charm. Did Scott Galbraith have any idea what a heartbreaker he was? But even as she asked herself the question, she recalled what Ida Trent had said about the man believing himself to be “devilishly attractive” to the opposite sex. The memory frosted the warm glow that had suffused her skin. And instead of fainting at his feet as she’d momentarily felt prone to do, she returned crisply, “Hope, as they say, springs eternal! Now, will that be all?” “Yes, that will be all. Good night, Ms. Tyler.” “Good night, Dr. Galbraith.” As she drew the door closed behind her, she heard him add, very softly, “Try to get to bed early, Ms. Tyler. We wouldn’t want your sleeping in to become a habit.” Next morning, Willow’s alarm went off at seven. Yawning, she flicked it off and got up. Then she wansdered sleepily across the plush pink carpet to the window and drew back the luxuriously heavy pink drapes. It was dreary outside. A wild gale was blowing and rain lashed the countryside in gunmetal-gray sheets. Unless the storm eased up later, it would be too wet to take the children out. She’d be cooped up in the house with the little monsters. The prospect made her shudder. But as she padded toward the en suite bathroom—past the bed with its pink-sprigged duvet and past the elegant white wicker furniture—she experienced a sudden rush of pleasure. How lucky she was to have such beautiful quarters. Quite a change from home, where space was at a premium—and walking barefoot over toy-littered floors was as risk-fraught as crossing a minefield! After showering, she dressed in jeans and an aqua sweatshirt and then set out to check on her charges. She was almost at Mikey’s room, which was next door to her own, when she heard a fretful cry. She pushed the door open and switched on the light. The sudden brightness took the child aback, and his cry stopped in midstream. As Willow entered the room, she saw him standing up in his crib, his cheeks scarlet, his eyes pearled with tears, his hands clutching the crib rail. He stared at her for ten long seconds, then he released the crib rail and plumped down onto his bottom. Lower lip jutting, he watched warily as she approached the crib. Willow set her hands on the top rail and looked down at him with a smile. “Hi,” she said. “Good morning!” He scowled. “Not!” She laughed. “You’re right. Actually it’s not. It’s raining and it looks as if it might be on for the duration! Now,” she said, “let’s get your diaper changed and—” “Dry!” She lowered the side of the crib and leaning over, checked his diaper and found it was, indeed, dry. “What a good boy!” She looked at him admiringly. “Aren’t you clever!” His face creased in a delighted smile. “I clever!” He was so like his father! He had the same electric-blue eyes, the same heart-stealing smile. What a cute little guy he was. And of course he wasn’t a monster. How could she ever have thought he was! “Up!” he demanded. “Potty!” “Right!” She swung him up and gave him a big hug. He grabbed her hair, and snuggled his face in it, sniffing it. “So we’re friends now?” she asked as she carried him out to the passage and across to the large bathroom shared by the three children. She felt his arms go around her neck. Felt his lips against her skin as he pressed his open mouth to her cheek. His response was muffled so she couldn’t make out what he was saying. But she didn’t need to. His message was clear. Scott zipped up his jeans, and fastening the metal button at the waistband, headed for his bedroom door. Stepping out into the passage, he caught sight of his new nanny. She was crossing to the children’s bathroom from Mikey’s room and she had his son in her arms. Even from twenty feet away, he could sense the rapport between them. It didn’t surprise him. Mikey was usually pretty easy to win over when his sisters weren’t around. Ms. Tyler would find the girls a much bigger challenge. But at least, he mused as she disappeared from sight, she had made a start. Checking on his daughters, he found them still asleep. Whistling under his breath, he made his way to the kitchen. After putting on coffee, he boiled an egg for Mikey, made toast and fried a batch of eggs and tomatoes and hash browns while he nuked rashers of bacon in the microwave. By the time he heard Ms. Tyler come down the stairs, everything was ready and the table set. “Good timing,” he said as she came in. “I’m just finished.” The nanny’s straight little nose crinkled. “I thought, when I smelled the bacon, that Mrs. Caird had arrived early!” Her eyes looked more green than gray today, he noted absently—probably reflecting the color from her aqua sweatshirt. Quite pretty eyes, with incredibly long feathery lashes, a shade or two darker than her sandy hair. “Dad!” Mikey strained toward him. He stepped over and scooped the child from her arms—and got a whiff of whatever perfume she was wearing. It was soft and powdery. Feminine. It made him want to nuzzle his face into her neck, the way he’d seen Mikey do earlier! And how totally inappropriate that would be. Grounds for a sexual harassment suit… He squelched the wayward urge. “Hi, Mikey.” He dropped a kiss on his son’s head before strapping the child into his high chair. “And good morning to you, Ms. Tyler. No, Mrs. Caird won’t be here till after lunch. Pour yourself a coffee, and I’ll feed Mikey.” He peeled the toddler’s egg, dropped it into a bowl and chopped it up, before setting the bowl on Mikey’s white plastic tray along with a few fingers of buttered toast. In the meantime, Ms. Tyler had poured her coffee and was hovering. “I must admit,” she said, “that I’m surprised to find you so…at home…in the kitchen.” “Did you think I was just a hewer of wood and a drawer of water?” He grinned. “Heck no, I’m a New Age Man. Able to turn my hand to any household task you care to mention.” Waving her toward a chair, he said, “I hope you’re hungry.” As she perched on the chair, he opened the oven door and withdrew two plates arranged with the bacon, over-easy eggs, hash browns and tomato wedges he’d prepared earlier. Setting a plate in front of her, he murmured, “Bon app?tit.” And setting the other plate down on the table across from her, he took his own seat. She looked at her plate with a dazed expression. “Dig in,” he said. “I…usually just have coffee in the morning. But…I must admit, this is very tempting…” “Coffee’s not a food, Ms. Tyler. As long as you’re under my roof, you’ll eat properly. And that means, no skipping breakfast. Understood?” Her tone had a mischievous edge as she said, “Then perhaps we should have held off on ordering my uniform…or perhaps we should reorder now. The next size up!” He deliberately sidestepped any further discussion of uniforms. “Believe me,” he said, “no matter how heartily you may eat, my brood will keep you so busy running after them you won’t put on a single ounce. I guarantee it.” “Then—” she lowered her eyes demurely to her plate as she picked up her fork “—we’ll stick with the Small.” Out of nowhere, he was suddenly visited by an image of her petite figure, stretching naked in the sunlight. The memory was vivid. Tantalizingly vivid. He felt a stirring of desire and decided it was time—past time!—to change the subject completely. “Tell me, Ms. Tyler, the little boy you were with at Morganti’s the other day…was he one of your charges?” She dropped a morsel of bacon from her fork, and it fell into her mug. Her cheeks turned pink and she made a vexed tsking sound. She seemed to take an inordinate length of time to rescue the bacon scrap from the coffee. Only after she’d achieved her goal and finally transferred the scrap to the edge of her plate did she look up at him. Her eyes were blank of emotion as she gazed at him levelly. “He’s my son.” “Your son?” “I’d assumed Mrs. Trent would have filled you in on my background.” “Mrs. Trent filled me in on your credentials, and your experience, but…no, she didn’t mention that you have a child. Who’s looking after him at present? His father?” The pink in her cheeks had faded away, leaving her skin pale. Paler than it had been before. “His father…isn’t involved. My mother looks after Jamie.” “Does the guy at least give you financial support?” “No.” Lowering her gaze to her plate, she toyed with her hash browns. When she looked up again, her gaze was still shuttered. “He’s no longer in my life. I’m a single mom, yes, but that’s not going to affect how I carry out my work here. I have everything under control.” He nodded. “Good.” And for the next few minutes they ate. He cleared his plate, and brushed his napkin over his mouth, before starting up the conversation again. “Where,” he asked, “does your mother live?” “We rent a house at the east end of town. It’s small, but the area’s quiet. My mother’s been a widow for some years—her health isn’t all that good so she doesn’t go out to work. She enjoys staying home and looking after Jamie.” “How old is the boy?” “Six.” “In between Lizzie and Amy. But,” he added with a self-deprecatory twist of his lips, “judging by what I saw of him at Morganti’s, much better behaved.” He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you could bring him up here sometime? He might be a good influence.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/grace-green/his-potential-wife/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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