The Nanny's Plan Page 2

  Beside her, Pierce sighed. “I should have set an alarm clock or something. I shouldn’t have left them alone for so long.”

  “You’ve got your work,” Amy said. “When Mrs. Winthrop flew out to meet with me last week, she stressed that you had just been offered some kind of special contract. That you were on a pressing deadline. It’s understandable that—”

  “But the boys could have been hurt.”

  Guilt seemed to pulse from him.

  “I’m sorry there was a time lag between the boys’ parents’ departure,” Amy felt compelled to say, “and my arriving. But it really couldn’t be helped.” She lifted one shoulder. “I’m unable to fly.”

  “Yes. Cynthia told me that you’d been grounded.”

  Amy pointed to the side of her head. “It’s an inner ear thing. I’m not in any pain. Can’t even tell there’s anything wrong. But the company physician refused to risk a perforated eardrum that might be caused by in-flight pressure changes.”

  “I see.”

  Silence fell like a lead balloon. Her bare feet made her feel oddly vulnerable, but she didn’t want to ruin her shoes by putting them on when salt water was still dripping down her legs from the hem of her dress. She wondered if he noticed the faint but tangy odor of the bay emanating from her. She really was a mess.

  “Do you have experience with children?”

  “What?” The question startled her. “No, I don’t. But your sister thought I’d do okay with the boys.”

  “This isn’t an interview,” he quickly assured her. “I’m not questioning your skills.”

  Maybe not, but he was probing for information that would cause him to form opinions about her. It was her habit to avoid talking about herself as much as possible. There were certain facts about herself she’d rather no one discovered.

  “It’s just that you were so good with them,” he continued. “With Jeremiah especially. He’s been pretty miserable since Cynthia and John left.”

  The slate stones of the patio were cool and smooth under the damp soles of her feet.

  “Well, it’s easy to imagine how he’s feeling.” She moistened her lips, shifted her shoes to her other hand. “Anyone who’s hurting deserves a little compassion.”

  “It eases my mind to know that you would reach out to him like you did.”

  That odd stillness descended on them again, that strange heating up of the temperature, although Amy knew that was impossible.

  “You must be exhausted,” he said, his voice feather soft. “You’ve been driving for two days. I’ll show you to your room so you can freshen up.”

  He slid open the French door through which the boys had already disappeared and motioned for her to enter before him.

  “But I’m wet,” she said, eyeing the carpet. “I’ll ruin—”

  “It’s okay. Go on in.”

  The cream-colored rug felt luxuriously thick as she stepped inside on tiptoes.

  “And don’t worry if you don’t make it down to eat with us,” he told her, closing the door behind them. “Take your time freshening up. I’ll keep a plate warm for you.”

  Just then they heard what sounded like a chair being dragged across the kitchen floor, then a loud thump, then the murmur of children’s voices.

  “Why don’t you let me find my room by myself,” she suggested. “It sounds like the boys might be getting…hungry.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? They are a handful. Go up the back stairs there—” he pointed the way “—and your room is the yellow one just to the right. You can’t miss it. Oh, and maybe later, after things quiet down, the two of us can meet in my study and discuss our schedules over a glass of wine. You’ll need some time off. We can figure out which days you’ll have free.”

  “That sounds good,” she told him.

  He started off toward the kitchen.

  “Excuse me,” she called.

  He turned to face her.

  “Um, I will need my suitcase.”

  “Oh, of course.” He brought her the case with a murmured apology. “Sorry about that.”

  A grin that sexy should be deemed illegal, and his absentmindedness made him less formidable. It made him quite appealing, in fact.

  She was smiling when he started off again. She couldn’t help but call out his name a final time. From the expression on his face when he looked at her, it was clear he was baffled by what else could have slipped his mind.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I like ruffled sprouts.”

  There was absolutely no logical reason for the odd feelings pulsing through Pierce. No logical reason whatsoever. He sat at his desk worrying his chin between his index finger and thumb.

  He’d taken great care planning this room when he’d had the house built. With its floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the long oak conference table, the reading nook and the wall of wide windows, his study doubled as a library. A place he could feel comfortable reading, deciphering the data of his research and writing up his scientific findings. This richly paneled room was his oasis.

  However, tonight he was finding no solace here.

  “Amy Edwards is a great girl,” his sister had told him. “She’s unassuming and, well…very sweet. She’ll be great with the boys, and you’ll like her, I’m sure.”

  Cynthia had explained that for years Amy’s father had owned a small motel just off the intrastate in Kansas. Amy had helped run the business. Cynthia and John had gotten to know the family while John had been the pastor of a small church in Lebo earlier in his career.

  “She’s honest and trustworthy,” Cynthia had said, “and she’s got a great work ethic.”

  His brother-in-law had added, “From what I remember, she was a mousy little thing.”

  Unassuming. Mousy. For some odd reason, those were the two adjectives that had stuck with him when he’d agreed to have the nanny in his home.

  Pierce had always thought unassuming meant ordinary. And there was nothing ordinary about Amy Edwards. There was nothing mousy about her, either. She was the epitome of aplomb from the top of her coiffed head to the scarlet-painted tips of her toes…and they were very dainty toes, at that.

  A scowl had his facial muscles tensing. He shouldn’t be noticing Amy’s bare toes. Or any of her other physical attributes, either. Like those shapely calves and thighs, and that nicely curved fanny.

  But the wet silk had clung to her like the skin on a ripe plum. The sight had been just as enticing as a juicy piece of fruit, too, and he’d ended up feeling like a man who’d been starved for that particular food group.

  His frowned deepened. He pushed himself from the chair and stalked to the window. What had gotten into him?

  The reason he’d been so discombobulated by the woman, he guessed, was that he’d been expecting a plain Jane…but what had arrived was a stunning Stella. However, there had been more to it than merely her looks.

  From his sister’s accounting, Pierce had imagined Amy would be an average, regular, normal young woman—a barely grown kid, really, from the way Cynthia had described her. But the woman he’d seen when he’d gone down to the water’s edge was polished and professional. Even standing up to her waist in the bay, she’d exuded a calm, no-nonsense air. When he’d questioned her methods of rescuing his nephews, she’d been quick to fire back a logical explanation that had exonerated her of any unsound decisions.

  Although Pierce wouldn’t have admitted this to anyone, he’d been a tad intimidated by the magnitude of her poise. He couldn’t be sure, but at one point he suspected she’d actually chuckled at his handling of the whole situation. Of course, she’d explained away her sudden humor by expressing how cute the boys were, so his suspicion that she’d been laughing at his expense could be all in his head…

  The knock on his study door made him turn. Amy stood at the threshold wearing a gold blouse that set off her rich brown eyes. Her skirt was short enough to show off her perfect knees. Her feet were clad in high heels that accentuated her narrow ankles and sh
apely calves. His gaze rose to her face, and when he noticed that her light brown hair was still swept up off her shoulders, he couldn’t help but wonder how long it was and what it might look like in a tumble.

  His mind was suddenly besieged with the image of him pulling the pins free himself, combing his fingers through those dark tresses. His gut tightened.

  “Come in,” he said, doing his damnedest to shove the alluring picture from his head.

  “Is this a good time?” She entered the room, her shoulders square, her head high.

  “Yes,” he told her. “Have a seat. Would you like a glass of wine?”

  Amy smiled. “That would be nice, thanks.”

  He went to the bar cabinet to pour their drinks. “I played a board game with the boys after dinner, gave them their baths and then tucked them into bed. They’re settled for the night.”

  When he handed her the glass of merlot, he said, “They’re in the room next door to you, by the way.”

  She took a sip, swallowed and then gazed off for a second. When she looked at him again her expression glowed with pleasure. “Delicious,” she said, then her tongue smoothed over her lips.

  Something happened down low in his belly. An odd fiery sensation sprouted to life.

  “I’m ready to take over responsibility of the boys tomorrow morning.”

  She shifted in the seat, and Pierce was aware of the swish of her skirt fabric against the leather couch cushion. When she crossed her legs, the whisper of flesh against flesh had his breath stilling in his throat.

  It was silly, really, this sudden fascination he found with that sound.

  He took a drink—and a deep breath—desperate to clear this strange fog from his head.

  “I’d like to gently recommend,” he began, his gaze traveling down the length of her, “a change in your wardrobe.”

  A tiny crease appeared between her deep-set eyes.

  “What I mean is,” he rushed to explain, “Benjamin and Jeremiah are rambunctious boys. They run and jump and dig in the dirt and heaven only knows what else they’ll have you doing.”

  “I see.” Her smile was easy as she evidently realized he was only offering some friendly advice. “So I guess I’d be better off in pants.”

  “Exactly.”

  The tension in the room seemed to slacken then and the two of them spent some time talking about their situation—his work schedule and hers, and what each expected of the other.

  As he refilled her glass, she commented, “This is a wonderful thing you’re doing, letting the boys stay here. When Mrs. Winthrop and I met in Lebo, she was so excited about this trip to Africa.”

  Pierce topped off his own glass and then set the bottle on the marble-topped side table. His mouth screwed up in a grimace as he admitted, “I turned down her request at first.”

  “Oh?”

  He eased himself back into the chair. “Yes. Cynthia came to me to explain that John had been offered the opportunity of his career. Six weeks as a missionary in Africa. Having the chance to do missionary work has always been my brother-in-law’s dream, she said. She asked if I’d keep the boys for eight weeks, as the position required two weeks of studying the language and customs. I gently but firmly refused.”

  Pierce chuckled, remembering his well-reasoned denial.

  “I reminded her,” he continued, “that I wasn’t the one who’d pined for hearth and home. That had been her. That I wasn’t the one who’d been certain that parenthood would be the experience of a lifetime. That, too, had been her. And besides that, as she explained to you, I was just about to land a huge contract with one of the largest perfumeries in France. I couldn’t afford to be away from the lab, away from my work…not for a single week, let alone two months.

  “Cynthia seemed to understand.” His smile widened. “But my sister is pretty stubborn. And it wasn’t long before she returned with a whole new plan. A plan that involved you. She made it all sound so…workable. In the end, I agreed to take my nephews for the summer. As long as you were here to look after them during my working hours.”

  Amy set her empty glass on the table. “A reluctant hero is still a hero in my book.”

  Pierce had never thought of himself as a hero, reluctant or otherwise. The very idea unsettled him. He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. The atmosphere stiffened up.

  A few moments passed, and she stood. “I think I should head off to bed. If those boys are as rambunctious as you say, then I’m going to need a good night’s sleep.”

  Her tapered fingers shot out and she tipped up her chin, and it took him a second to realize that she wanted to shake his hand. He stood and slid his palm into hers.

  Her skin was warm against his. Smooth. And soft.

  It was as if his every thought gurgled right out of his head.

  “I want to assure you that I plan to do a good job,” she proclaimed, giving his hand several good pumps. “We won’t interrupt your work. In fact, when I’m with the boys you won’t even know we’re here.”

  Even though his gaze was riveted on the gentle sway of her bottom as she left his study, he did have enough of his wits about him to doubt her promise.

  You won’t even know we’re here.

  Her words echoed in his head. But he had serious doubts that he could be oblivious to the fact that Amy Edwards had invaded his home.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m so glad you told me about that tiny scar on your chin, Jeremiah,” Amy said as she combed the child’s hair neatly into place.

  “It’s the only way to tell me and Benjamin apart. I guess it’s kinda lucky that I was jumpin’ on the bed and fell on the bedpost.”

  Amy’s nose scrunched. “I don’t know that I’d call it lucky.”

  Benjamin looked up from where he was fussing with a stubborn button. “He had to get three stitches. With a needle and everything.”

  “I’ll bet that hurt,” Amy said.

  “Nah. Not even a little bit.” But Jeremiah’s chest puffed as he scoffed at the experience. Then he added, “The doctor numbed my chin.”

  His brother’s eyes widened. “With a needle.”

  “Mom still teases me about it,” Jeremiah added, “because I started snorin’ while the doctor was puttin’ in the stitches.”

  “When did all this happen?” Amy asked.

  “A couple of years ago,” he told her. “When I was really little.”

  She wrestled with the grin that tugged at one corner of her mouth. One thing she’d learned in the past five days of caring for the boys was that there was nothing quite like experiencing life through the eyes of a child.

  “Ah, so it happened when you were a petit garçon.” She did her best to implement a perfect accent when she spoke the last two words.

  “What’s that?” Jeremiah asked.

  Amy chuckled. “That means ‘little boy’ in French.”

  “You can talk in French?” Benjamin looked to be in awe.

  “Don’t be too impressed.” She grinned. “I’m not very good. When I was a little girl I had teachers who were trained in France.” She didn’t think the boys would understand about the Oblate Sisters and the life of spiritual devotion they chose, so she just stuck to a simple explanation. “They introduced me to the language. All the students had to take French lessons, from the youngest to the oldest. I’ve tried to keep up with it by listening to audio tapes.”

  “Cool,” Jeremiah said.

  “Can you teach us some?” Benjamin’s gaze lit with curiosity.

  “Sure I can,” she told them. “If you really want to learn.” She ruffled Jeremiah’s head of dark hair. “I think the luckiest thing about your ordeal with the bedpost is that your scar is so small. I have to squint to see it. But it is good to know I have a way of knowing which one of you I’m talking to.” She smiled as she tapped the boy on the tip of his chin with the pad of her index finger, and then she reached to help Benjamin fasten his button.

  Life had fallen into
a comfortable routine very quickly, and that had surprised Amy. She’d wake early and get herself ready for the day. She’d help the boys dress, feed them breakfast and then they would plan the day’s activities.

  One day she’d taken them to Glory’s public library, where they had found a huge globe on which Amy had pointed out Africa and the wide expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Then they had read some children’s books about the area where the boys’ parents were serving as missionaries. They had spent another day exploring the small town of Glory together, and Benjamin and Jeremiah had been more than happy to point out the pizza place, the ice cream shop and the arcade. And yesterday she’d helped the boys pull out the fishing gear. Unable to deal with the idea of worms, she’d baited the hooks with bits of ham she’d found in the fridge. But they hadn’t gotten a single nibble, so the three of them had climbed on boulders at one end of the cove and watched the blue crabs shimmy sideways under the water.

  Pierce had been right when he’d told her she needed to rethink her attire. The tailored skirts and dresses that had helped to bolster her confidence since her flight training simply weren’t appropriate for traipsing around after the twins. To be honest, even the slacks and leather flats she’d reverted to wearing were still not fitting for this job. What she needed was sturdier, more casual clothing. Jeans and shorts, sneakers and sandals. The stuff she used to knock around in back in Kansas. However, she’d purposely yet unfortunately left those items in her dresser back home.

  During her flight attendant training, it had been stressed to her over and over again that if she wanted to garner the respect due a professional, then she must be perceived as a professional. She had to dress and act the part.

  One day during her training something had clicked. She’d realized that if she looked and acted assured and capable, that’s what people would believe her to be—no matter what she felt inside, no matter how lacking her background. That had been the day she’d resolved to put on the armor that would protect her from her past: carefully applied makeup, hair that was styled, coordinated apparel and a cool, confident air.