Читать книгу The Texas Billionaire's Bride / The Texas Bodyguard's Proposal: The Texas Billionaire's Bride - Crystal Green, Crystal Green - Страница 10

From outside, the Victorian mansion and sweeping lawns of Tall Oaks made it seem as if every single rich-girl fantasy that Melanie had conjured in her life was coming true.

Grand willow and oak trees, majestic wrought iron furniture on the porch under the fine gingerbread woodwork…

But then she stepped foot inside.

As she struggled not to drop either of her suitcases, Mrs. Howe, the estate manager, closed the door behind them, whisking past Melanie on her way to the staircase.

“Ms. Grandy?” the bun-wearing, gray-dressed redhead said, pausing near the faded walnut handrail.

Melanie took a moment to gander at the Spartan foyer, then through the open pocket doors that led to a parlor. The furniture, from a closed rolltop desk set to a loveseat, was what a person would call “bleak.” The wooden herringbone floors were bare of warming rugs. And although the ceilings boasted hand-painted images of angels flying in cloudy harmony, the colors were leeched to almost nothing.

Ghostly, Melanie thought again.

Was it too late to quit?

Her gaze fell to a corner of the parlor, where a tall, unpolished gold cage held a lone canary that stirred on its perch, not even singing.

“That’s Sassy,” Mrs. Howe said. “She’s been in the family for a couple of years. Livie likes to try and persuade her to sing sometimes, but that bird doesn’t always oblige her. She’s a stubborn, quiet little thing.”

Melanie wanted to ask how often a canary like Sassy might want to warble in a place like this, but instead she blinked herself out of her stupor and followed Mrs. Howe, who was already mounting the steps.

Her suitcases seemed to weigh a ton, made all the heavier by the oppression in here, but she had politely refused Monty’s and Mrs. Howe’s help outside, and now she was paying for it as she climbed the stairs.

When they arrived at Melanie’s bedroom, her expectations were already low. And thank goodness, too, because the bed with its circa 1950 turquoise spread, and the muted lamps resting on the dull chests of drawers, didn’t exactly give off any kind of princess vibe.

But she wasn’t here to be royalty, she reminded herself.

Still, she recalled what she’d thought back at Zane Foley’s townhouse, when she’d wondered if she would find Livie stuck in a high-class jail.

She just hadn’t expected to be so right.

Heaving one suitcase, then the other, to the top of the bed, Melanie thanked Mrs. Howe for her welcoming attention.

The manager nodded, continuing the briefing. “Livie’s got some playtime at the moment, then it’s dinner at six, study time afterward, a bit of relaxing time and bed. She wakes up at seven on the dot for you to prepare her, then drive her to school.”

Zane Foley had already gone over all this, even supplying Melanie with directions to the private institution Livie attended for kindergarten.

“Study time?” Melanie asked, still hung up on that one detail. “Livie’s six. What does she have to study?”

Mrs. Howe smiled patiently, and Melanie suddenly saw from up close that the older woman couldn’t have been more than forty, given her smooth skin and the absence of deep wrinkles around her eyes. It was the bun and lack of cosmetics that had made Melanie think Mrs. Howe was even more mature at first.

But, beyond that, she couldn’t read the manager.

“Mr. Foley,” the other woman said, “has Livie read picture books and listen to phonics on her own, applying what she’s learned at school.”

“So much for being a kid,” Melanie said lightly, testing Mrs. Howe, to see just how strict she was.

The woman widened her eyes a tad, and Melanie realized that she might have surprised Mrs. Howe with her spiritedness.

“Sorry,” Melanie said. “It’s only that I got the impression Mr. Foley is rather…”

Okay, how could she put this?

Mrs. Howe helped her out. “A hard case?”

Now Melanie smiled.

But the other woman merely adopted a tolerant grin. “He makes sure Livie toes the line, and we all respect that, because he’s also a good, fair employer.”

The insinuation—Mr. Foley’s way or the highway—was clear.

And that was all she said, although Melanie kept thinking, What about Livie? Is she an employee, too?

Before she could even dare ask, Mrs. Howe’s brown gaze moved to the doorway, focusing on something behind Melanie.

She turned around just in time to see the last of a flowered spring dress flare out of sight in the hallway.

“I believe,” whispered Mrs. Howe, “you’ve drawn some interest.”

Melanie’s heart folded, as if trying to embrace itself.

Livie.

She walked to the door, but when she got there, no darling little girl was in sight.

Frowning, she glanced back at Mrs. Howe, who was fussing with the bedspread, correcting the wrinkles Melanie had already made by putting her suitcases on the cloth.

Oh, dear.

The manager straightened, ran her hands down her gray skirt. Then she walked out the door, saying one last thing to Melanie as she passed.

“You might want to continue up the staircase, Ms. Grandy, to Livie’s playroom.” She smiled once more. “Best of luck to you.”

And as she eased down the hall, Melanie could’ve sworn she heard Mrs. Howe add, “A lot of luck.”

After wondering if her ears were just playing tricks on her, Melanie went to the staircase again, traveling up to a dead end, where a closed door bled light from around its edges.

Lest she doubt that this was Livie’s playroom, she saw a sign written in the tremulous letters of a dark purple crayon.

LIVIE.

Somehow, the name felt like a territorial statement, and Melanie hesitated to knock. After all, with the structure put on Livie, didn’t she deserve a private place that allowed her some time alone when it was actually scheduled?

After knocking, she waited a moment, listening for a muffled “Come in” that never came.

She put her ear to the wood. Nothing.

“Livie?” she said. “Remember me from the other day? I’m Ms. Grandy, your new nanny. I’d like to say hello to you.”

Still no response.

Was the girl even in there?

Cautiously, Melanie tested the doorknob, finding it unlocked. It wasn’t a shock, since she doubted that Zane Foley would stand for being shut out of anything.

She thought of her own room in the quiet of night. Her own door creaking open. Mr. Foley paying a surprise visit…

A quiver ran through her, but she chased it away as she pushed at the door.

At first she only saw an austere attic, clean and ordered, with a couple of low, wood tables and several closed chests amongst shelves of toys.

Then, as she looked down, she found herself blocked by an army of stuffed animals that had been hastily tossed in a semi-circle.

A little voice came from the left.

“They don’t want you in here.”

Melanie glanced toward the sound, finding Livie sitting in a miniature rocking chair, her hands folded in her lap. She was wearing Mary Jane shoes with ankle socks, and her dark hair was held back by a lacy band, the bridge of her nose lightly freckled, just as the portrait in Zane Foley’s study had shown.

All that was missing was the stuffed lamb in her hands, but there was something Melanie saw in Livie that the painting hadn’t captured sufficiently at all.

The sadness in the girl’s big eyes.

It dug into Melanie’s chest.

“I thought the room might be empty.” She used her smile in a peacemaking fashion, gesturing toward the animals. “You’ve got a real collection.”

The little girl just kept serenely assessing her new nanny, and Melanie thought of how pretty she was, how pretty her mom must’ve been, too, although she hadn’t come across any published pictures of her to know for sure.

Livie glanced at her stuffed menagerie. “Daddy had them sent for my birthday this year. He couldn’t visit me this time.”

Owie.

Melanie only wished she had a huge bandage that would cover Livie’s heart from the damage done to her. She herself knew what it felt like to have a special time like a birthday fall to the wayside. It had happened every year with her own mom, until Leigh would suddenly remember after the fact and try to make it up to Melanie with day-old cake on sale at the bakery.

“So what are the animals doing right now?” she gently asked Livie, even though she knew they’d been set there to bar Melanie from intruding.

The girl stood up from her chair, and the rocker stirred, creaking, adding an odd level of discomfort. She went to a toy shelf, her back to Melanie. “It’s their room, and they want you to know that.”

And the gauntlet hits the floor, Melanie thought.

“Excellent,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll agree that there are other ground rules we’ll need to establish besides that, Livie. Why don’t we sit down to talk about them? I didn’t get much of a chance to do that the other day with you, and I’d really like to.”

Even with her back to Melanie, it was obvious that the child was crossing her arms. “My name is Olivia.”

“All right.” Melanie wasn’t going to lose even an iota of patience—not with what this child had gone through with her mother. “Olivia, maybe you’d enjoy lemonade on the back porch with me. How about it?”

“Lemonade has sugar. Sugar makes me hyper. Daddy says so.”

Melanie came this close to rolling her eyes, but she refrained. Zane Foley wasn’t even here, and he was still being a pain.

“Then if you can’t have sugar,” Melanie said, “perhaps I can wrangle up some ice tea without sweetener.”

Livie sighed, as if exasperated, and went about picking through her toys and ignoring Melanie altogether.

But the new nanny didn’t go anywhere. Nope. She just stood there and memorized the details of the room, the display of toys that would tell her something about Livie, whether or not the child wanted her to know.

Stuffed animals—dogs, sheep, dolphins. All gentle creatures.

Puzzle boxes nearer to the doorway that looked to have never even been opened.

Dolls—especially Barbies.

Melanie grinned to herself, then retreated down the stairs, but only because she had a secret weapon that had also served to disarm her first charge in those initial days with her.

She went to her room, to one of the suitcases, and pulled out a smaller bag that was filled with sewing materials and doll dresses. She’d taken up this hobby early, back in her babysitting days, because she’d found that Barbie clothes were catnip for ninety-nine percent of all little girls.

Then she went back to Livie’s domain.

There, she sat within the semicircle of sentinel animals and took out the most exquisite wee bridal dress. She began to fluff the airy sleeves and spread the sheer, belled skirt.

She didn’t call attention to herself, but then again, she didn’t have to.

Over the course of the next few minutes, Livie gravitated from one shelf to the other, closer to Melanie, although she wasn’t obvious about it.

Melanie lay the bride’s frock on her knee, smoothed it out, then reached into her bag for a long, splashy pink satin party dress that always made Barbie look like even more of a knock-out.

As she traced a finger over its sleekness, the glitz took her back to neon and jangling slot machines, and she shoved the memory of her old casino life away, just as if it were baggage she would keep in her own attic.

Soon, Livie was near Melanie, although still on the other side of the animals. Melanie glanced up, as if surprised to see her.

She casually offered the wedding dress, and Livie touched it with her fingers, then drew them away.

“It’s okay,” Melanie said. “Why don’t you get one of your dolls and see how she looks in it?”

Without meeting Melanie’s gaze, Livie went across the room to her toy shelf, and when she returned with a brunette Barbie, her gaze was fixed on that dress, her eyes shining.

As she put the frock on her doll, Melanie’s gaze lit on the bridal dress, too, unable to look away, as thoughts of Zane Foley taunted her with something she knew she would never have with a man like him.

Zane hadn’t moved an inch from his desk, ever since getting off the phone with his brother. Jason and he had been cut short by a slew of phone calls from Zane’s office, and he was just wrapping up the latest one while he multitasked, paging through a bound hard-copy file for the Santa Magdalena Diamond that he’d pulled from his library.

Magazine articles, news transcripts—everything, he thought, as he scanned a computer printout about Great Grandfather Elwin and his alleged role in making off with the gem. Zane was going through it all, just to see if he could find something he’d missed, a clue that might let him know where that diamond could’ve gone—something to lead him to it before the McCords saw it first.

Meanwhile, he listened to his assistant, Cindy, as she talked over the speakerphone.

“Just in case you’re wondering,” she drawled in her wry manner, “we’ve got your Fourth of July Dallas Children’s Hospital charity event about set and ready.”

“Two months ahead of time?”

“I aim to please, sir. Expect a crew to be descending on Tall Oaks within the month, to start whipping the estate into shape. You’ve commented yourself that it’s not exactly in showcase form.”

Zane was still looking at the diamond file. Sometimes Cindy could be incredibly direct, like a less-tactful version of—

As he thought of Melanie Grandy, his gaze drifted from the paperwork. Lively blue eyes, a spark in every gesture…

He wondered how she was getting on with Livie so far. Wondered if he would be having to hire another nanny soon.

Something like disappointment sank within him, but he ignored it.

“Next item on your list?” he asked.

“I’m working on your other charity commitments, but there’re no updates on those yet. However, we’ve got a lot to cover about that state representative seat. Judge Duarte’s been ringing my phone off the hook to get through to you about running during the next election.”

“I know.” Zane had been avoiding any and all calls about it. “That man’s head is thicker than timber. What’s it going to take to get him to understand that I’m not interested in running for anything?”

“You’d be perfect for it, Mr. Foley. Besides, your family isn’t exactly the hands-off type when it comes to politics.”

True, but Zane preferred to let his fundraising abilities and civic activism do the talking.

“I’ll call Duarte tomorrow,” he said. “By the way, isn’t it about time you headed home? Mike probably has dinner all cooked up for you.”

“Carne asada. I love being a newlywed and having a barbecue master for a hubby.”

“Then scram before he leaves you.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, they ended the call, but it wasn’t two minutes later that Zane got another one.

He didn’t mind, though. Business kept him going, gave him less time to think about everything else.

He saw his youngest brother Travis’s number on the caller ID, so he donned his earpiece, left the study and went to the kitchen, since his stomach felt empty.

“Hey, Trav,” Zane said as he walked down the dark hall. He knew every unlit step by heart. “You out on the range?”

“Just got back in from seeing to some fences that needed fixing. I hear Jason told you about the McCords’ unwelcome interest in the ranch.”

“That’s right.”

“I already talked to him about the grand plan with Penny McCord. I don’t love this sneaking around Jason’s going to be doing with her,” he said, “but if it clears the air in any way, I’ll live with it.”

He distrusted the McCords just the same as any of them, yet Travis was a cowboy, a loner, and loathed being distracted by what he thought to be less important matters, such as the other family’s “sniffing around.”

“Jace and I didn’t want to go forward on anything without your knowing it,” Zane said, opening the fridge, discovering that it didn’t contain much more than a drop of milk in a carton, and several long-neck bottles of beer. He grabbed one of those and headed for a pantry cupboard.

“Jason said the same thing.” Travis waited a beat, and Zane could hear the change in his voice as he switched gears. The less time he could dwell on the McCords, the better. “Aside from the drama, I hear you’ve got yourself a new nanny. Jason thinks you like her.”

Zane almost dropped his beer, and it wasn’t just because Travis was being a smart-ass.

It was because a bolt of contained need had shot through him, released from somewhere deep down, where he’d repressed the longing, thinking that it was useless.

He recovered in time to say, “For Pete’s sake, do you two live in a middle-school locker room?”

Travis laughed softly. “Just bustin’ your chops. But he did tell me that Livie’s finally going to have some dedicated company again. I have to say I’m glad for that, because I imagine she’s lonely over there.”

Zane wrapped up all remainders of desire that he’d felt this afternoon, packing it tightly away at the mention of his daughter.

Travis and Jason adored their niece, and occasionally they tried to let Zane know that he could improve his fatherly skills.

But they didn’t understand how tough it was. They hadn’t lived with Danielle, hadn’t tried to keep it all together after her death.

How could they understand Zane’s failures and his need to keep it from happening again with Livie?

“Zane,” Travis said, clearly knowing that he was treading on thin ice, “I know the anniversary of Danielle’s death is coming up, and I’m sorry for broaching this again, but what’re you going to do about Livie?”

“Stay out of this, Travis.”

Every inch a Foley, his sibling did no such thing.

“You think it’s a good idea to keep sweeping every mention of Danielle under the carpet?” his brother asked. “It’s not like Livie’s ever going to forget she had a mother. Your pretending as if Danielle never existed is only going to do more harm than good.”

Zane’s temper crept up, squeezing his temples.

But maybe “temper” was the wrong word. “Remorse” was more like it.

“I don’t need to hear this from you,” he said.

“Zane—”

Unable to stand any more, he hung up on his brother and leaned against the cupboard in the darkness of his home, wanting to say he was sorry.

And not just to Travis, either.

At ten minutes to six, a bell clanged from downstairs, and Livie jumped up from her spot on the floor in her upstairs playroom, immediately beginning to tidy all the Barbies and stuffed animals she’d brought out.

“Dinnertime,” the little girl said, as serious as ever.

Melanie gathered the doll clothes, watching her charge bustle here and there, as if her life depended upon a spic-and-span performance. Once again, she felt for Livie, who’d actually began removing those stuffed animals bit by bit, until she’d opened a hole for herself to come through and get closer to Melanie.

Of course, she’d done it slyly, as if her new nanny wouldn’t notice, and Melanie had played along, trying not to look too happy about even that bit of progress.

Livie was so efficient that she had most of the stuffed toys back in place before Melanie had cleaned her own mess, and before she knew it, the little girl was standing at the side of the door, her back straight as she expectantly folded her hands in front of her.

Melanie wasn’t sure what was happening until Livie said, “This is where you’re allowed to come in to make sure everything is in its place.”

Oh. Right.

But Melanie kept near the doorway, on her side of the invisible semicircle that the girl had created earlier with the stuffed animals. “Do you mind if I come in, Olivia?”

The child gave Melanie a sidelong glance, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

The hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, revealing darling dimples, and she nodded. And went back to not smiling.

Melanie didn’t mind, though; she entered the room, making sure all the dolls they’d played with were lined up on the shelves. She was tempted to mess them up ever so slightly, just because she wondered what Zane Foley would do if he saw the aberration, yet she resisted.

“Top-notch job,” she said, turning around just in time to see Livie watching her, then quickly fix her gaze on a spot above Melanie’s head. “You’re a hard worker, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ms. Grandy.”

She walked toward her charge, wishing she could rest her hand on Livie’s dark head or touch her shoulder, offering some reassurance.

But sensing that this wouldn’t go over well—not just yet—she instead said, “Let’s get washed up and see what’s on the menu.”

Livie spent one more second checking Melanie out, then spun around and dashed down the stairway.

“Careful,” Melanie said, and the girl stopped, then slowed down, using the banister.

But, as if realizing that she was being too nice to the nanny she still had to haze, she sped up again, yet not enough to be chastised for it.

Good heavens, Melanie thought, wishing she had a million more Barbie clothes to use as placating lures from this point on.

After cleaning up herself, she went to the dining room, which was just as stark as the rest of the house, with a long table—an item Zane Foley seemed to favor for the distance it established between diners—and plain chairs and a sideboard. The only ornamentation, if you could call it that, was a bland chandelier, with frosted glass cups lending illumination.

Livie took a seat at the long side of the table, and just as Melanie sat down opposite her, Mrs. Howe appeared through a door.

It was only when the manager cleared her throat that Melanie noticed Livie’s saucered eyes that stared at her new nanny sitting at the main table.

Oh.

“Ms. Grandy,” Mrs. Howe said, “Livie will eat here. Why don’t you follow me?”

Livie looked down at her table setting, and Melanie couldn’t read her expression.

Without causing a scene, Melanie rose, went through the door with Mrs. Howe, but stopped the manager before they got too far.

“I appreciate that there are certain ways you’ve done things around here,” Melanie said, “but I’d really like to be with Olivia tonight. She’s not resisting me as much as she did earlier, and if I could continue that streak…”

Mrs. Howe’s face was unreadable. “That would be between Mr. Foley and you, Ms. Grandy. He’s the one who wants the help to eat in the kitchen.”

Really now?

“Well, I’m willing to answer to him for this,” Melanie said evenly, smiling at the manager.

With a curious look, the woman left her alone.

Truly alone, too, because when it would come time to answer to Zane Foley, it’d be all on Melanie.

But, seriously—like she was going to leave poor Livie to eat by herself?

She went back into the dining room, and when the girl looked up, her sad eyes softened a tad.

Then she glanced back at her plate; but it was too late—because she’d already wrapped her tiny fingers around Melanie’s heart.

She waited, not trusting herself to speak for a moment.

Finally, when she’d gotten some composure, she said, “I like it better out here. It’s nice and quiet.”

“Yes.” The girl peeked at Melanie.

Melanie gave her a reassuring grin, and from the way Livie held back her own smile, she guessed that the child understood that her nanny had risked a spot of trouble just to eat with her.

The door behind them opened again, and a young blond man with a scraggly beard stepped through with a table setting for Melanie. He was dressed in chef’s whites, so she assumed he was the cook.

Without saying anything, he nodded to her, then winked.

Approval. Thank goodness there was someone here who wasn’t giving her the near-silent treatment.

Then he left, but only to bring out a well-balanced meal of meatloaf with broccoli, fruit cocktail and macaroni and cheese.

Livie dug right in after the cook was gone, then slowed down when she saw Melanie’s are-we-at-the-zoo? expression.

She swallowed. “I’m only eating fast because Mrs. Howe said I can play with my new present from Daddy after dinner and study time.”

“Oh?”

The girl nodded, a fork full of mac and cheese halfway to her mouth now. “An American Girl doll. Daddy sends one every week if I’m good.”

Livie chowed down again, but Melanie didn’t touch her food yet. Her stomach roiled a bit at the thought of how Zane Foley couldn’t be bothered to visit his daughter, seemingly buying her off with gifts instead.

And when Livie next spoke, she only confirmed Melanie’s heartsick suspicions.

“I like the dolls,” she said softly, “but they’d be even better if he’d bring them to me.”

Melanie held back a swell of emotion. This little girl needed the love and attention of the only parent she had left.

Why couldn’t he see that?

“I know what you mean, Olivia,” Melanie said, thinking of her own mom. “I know exactly what you mean.”

The child didn’t look up from her plate, but her next words revealed everything, even if her tone was just as subtly guarded as it’d been earlier in the attic.

“My name’s Livie.”

Melanie swallowed back the tightness in her throat, then picked up her fork so they could eat their meal together.

She only wished that Zane Foley could be here, too—for his daughter, of course.

But when an unwelcome, low burn heated her belly, pooling down and down, Melanie admitted that maybe she also wanted him here for a different reason altogether.