Читать книгу The Nanny's Secret - Elizabeth Lane - Страница 8

Two

With her emotions on the brink of spilling over, Leigh turned toward Wyatt. “Time for you two to get acquainted,” she said, thrusting the blue bundle toward him.

He seemed to hesitate. Then his big hands took the slight weight, holding the child away from his body like a jar of live honeybees. His expression was a stoic mask. Leigh stifled her dismay. Wyatt hadn’t asked for this little boy to come into his life, she reminded herself. Still it wouldn’t hurt for him to show some affection. How could anyone with a soul not love a baby?

Leigh noticed that Chloe was focused on the sight of her son in her father’s arms as well, but Chloe’s expression was difficult to read. Sadness? Wistfulness? Worry? Envy? Dismay? Maybe all of the above—or maybe none of them. Whatever she was feeling, she didn’t say a word. Leigh sighed, the task before her looming like a mountain. It wouldn’t be easy, maybe not even possible. But in the time allowed, she would do her best to help these people become a family.

* * *

Wyatt gazed down at the tiny face. The eyes that looked up at him were blue like Chloe’s, but with an openly trusting quality to them that Chloe’s hadn’t held in years. He saw his daughter in the wispy amber curls and full, heart-shaped mouth. But some features were unfamiliar. The unknown boy, who’d taken what he wanted without a second thought, had left traces of himself, too.

The boy who’d derailed Chloe’s young life.

If Wyatt had known about the pregnancy early on, would he have discouraged her from having this baby? Chloe was his only child, and he’d had such plans for her—college, maybe a career and a good marriage with children born at the right time. But it was too late for questions and regrets. The baby was here and she seemed determined to keep it. They would have to make the best of a bad situation.

But Lord, where would he find the wisdom? Where would he find the patience to be there for his daughter and grandchild? It just wasn’t in him.

Sensing his tension, perhaps, the baby broke into a plaintive wail. The knot in Wyatt’s stomach jerked tight. Now what? He didn’t know anything about babies, especially how to deal with crying ones.

“You take him.” He shoved the mewling child into Leigh’s arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chloe flinch. Something here didn’t seem right. But whatever it was, Wyatt didn’t know how to fix it. As a man, he’d taken pride in his ability to handle any situation. But right now he felt just plain lost.

* * *

Leigh cradled the baby close. He stopped crying and snuggled into her warmth, his rosebud mouth searching instinctively for something to suck. Aching, Leigh brushed a fingertip over the satiny head. He was so tiny, so sweet and so helpless. How could she do this job without losing her heart?

From the open doorway, delighted teenage squeals shattered the stillness.

“Chloe! Is that your baby?”

“OMG, he’s so little!”

“Let me hold him!”

Three pretty, stylish girls swarmed into the room, laden with wrapped gifts and shopping bags, which they piled on the foot of the bed. With a sigh of relief, Leigh surrendered little Mikey to one of them. Her eyes met Wyatt’s across the crowded room. He nodded toward the door. It was time for the grown-ups to leave.

“You look rattled. How about some coffee?” Wyatt’s hand brushed the small of Leigh’s back, setting off a shimmer of awareness as he guided her into the corridor.

“Thanks, that sounds good. I’d guess we’re both rattled.” Leigh’s knees were quivering. Only the arrival of Chloe’s girlfriends had saved her crumbling composure.

Kevin’s baby. Her own little nephew. And she couldn’t risk telling a soul.

Leigh and her teenage brother had always been close. Last spring Kevin had confided to her that he’d gotten a girl pregnant. Chloe Richardson—her dad owns Wolf Ridge and she goes to that snooty private school. She texted me that she was pregnant. I offered to...you know, man up and be responsible. But she said to forget it because she planned to get rid of the kid. She was moving away and never wanted to hear from me again. Promise me you won’t tell Mom, Leigh. It would kill her.

Leigh had kept her promise, believing the issue would never surface again. Then a few days ago, as she was proofing the ads for the paper, she’d discovered that Wyatt Richardson needed a nanny. Some simple math and a discreet call to the hospital had confirmed all she needed to know.

Telling Kevin was out of the question. After a long phase of teenage rebellion he was finally thinking of college and working toward a scholarship. The news that he had a son could fling the impulsive boy off course again. Worse, it could send him blundering into the path of a man angry and powerful enough to destroy his future. Leigh couldn’t risk letting that happen. But she wanted—needed—to know and help Kevin’s baby.

“Here we are.” Wyatt opened the door to the hospital cafeteria. “Nothing fancy, but I can vouch for the coffee.” Finding an empty table, he pulled out a chair for Leigh. She waited while he went through the line and returned with two steaming mugs along with napkins, spoons, cream and sugar.

Seating himself across from her, he leaned back in his chair and regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Well, what do you think?” he demanded.

Leigh took her time, adding cream to her coffee and stirring it with a spoon. “The baby’s beautiful. But I get the impression your daughter is scared to death. She’s going to need a lot of help.”

“Are you prepared to give her that help?”

Leigh studied him over the rim of her mug. She saw a successful man, a winner in every way that mattered to the world. She saw a tired man, his jaw unshaven and his eyes laced with fatigue. She saw a father at his wits’ end, and she knew what he wanted to hear. But if she couldn’t be honest in everything, she would at least be honest in this.

“Assuming the job’s mine, I’ll do my best to give her some support. But make no mistake, Wyatt, it’s the baby I’ll be there for. Chloe’s your child. If you think you can step aside and leave her parenting to me, we’ll both end up failing her. Do I make myself clear?”

For an instant he looked as if she’d doused him with a fire hose. Then a spark of annoyance flared in his deep blue eyes. One dark eyebrow shifted upward. Had she said too much and blown her chance? As he straightened in his chair, Leigh braced herself for a storm. But he only exhaled, like a steam locomotive braking to a halt.

“Good. You’re not afraid to speak your mind. With Chloe, that trait will come in handy.”

“But did you hear what I said?”

“Heard and duly noted. We’ll see how things go.” He whipped a pen out of his pocket and wrote something on a napkin. “This is the weekly salary I propose to pay you. I trust it’s enough.”

He slid the napkin toward her. Leigh gasped. The amount was more than twice what she’d anticipated. “That’s very...generous,” she mumbled.

“I expect you’ll earn every cent. Until Chloe and the baby settle into a routine, you’ll be needed pretty much 24/7. After things calm down we’ll talk about schedules and time off. In the next few days, I’ll have a formal contract drawn up for you. That nondisclosure document you signed will be part of it. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Leigh felt as if she’d just consigned away her soul. But it was all for Kevin’s baby. She took a lingering sip of her coffee, which had cooled. “So when do you want me to start?”

“How about now? The nursery needs to be set up. I’d intended for that to happen before the baby was born, but Chloe couldn’t make up her mind on what she wanted. It can’t wait any longer—you’ll just have to decide for her. Earlier today I called Baby Mart and opened an account. After I take you back to your car, you can go there and pick out whatever the baby’s going to need—clothes, diapers, formula, a crib, the works. Everything top-of-the-line. I’ve arranged for special delivery by the end of the day.” He rose from his chair, all energy and impatience. “After that, you should have a couple of hours to resign from the paper, pack your things and report to my house.”

“You want me there tonight?”

“If the baby’s coming home tomorrow, we’ve got to have the nursery ready and waiting. Will you need directions to the house?”

“No. I know where you live.” No one who’d been to Wolf Ridge could miss the majestic glass-and-timber house that sat like a baron’s castle on a rocky bluff, overlooking the resort. Finding her way shouldn’t be a problem, even in the dark. But Leigh couldn’t ignore a feeling of unease, as if she were being swept into a maelstrom.

Wyatt Richardson was a man who’d started poor and achieved all he had through force of will. Mere moments after she’d agreed to work for him, he was taking over her life, barking orders as if he owned her—which to his way of thinking, he probably did.

Since he was her employer, she would put up with a certain amount of it. But if the man expected her to be a doormat he was in for a surprise. She would be little Mikey’s advocate, speaking up for his welfare, even if it meant bashing heads with Wyatt.

Kevin’s child had been born into a family with an immature teenage mother, an uncaring grandmother and a reluctant grandfather, whose idea of family duty was to turn everything over to the hired help. In the hospital room, when she’d given Wyatt the baby, he’d handled the tiny blue bundle like a ticking bomb. He seemed to be in denial about his grandson’s very existence, never referring to him by name, only calling him “the baby.”

Changing things would be up to her. She could only hope she was wise enough, and tough enough, for the challenge.

* * *

Wyatt boosted Leigh into the Hummer, struggling against the awareness of his hands sliding over her warm curves. Her fragrance was clean and subtle, teasing his senses to the point of arousal. Her long legs, clad in silky hose, flashed past his eyes as she climbed onto the seat. What would she do if she knew he was imagining those legs wrapping his hips?

She’d probably kick him halfway across the parking lot.

What had gotten into him? Didn’t he have enough trouble on his hands with Chloe and the baby? Did he really need to complicate things with an attraction toward the woman he’d hired to be the nanny?

He’d never had trouble getting bed partners. All he needed to do was stroll through the resort lodge and make eye contact with an attractive female. If she was available, the rest would be easy.

So why was he suddenly craving a woman who came with a hands-off sign?

Maybe that was the problem. With Chloe and the baby sharing his house, an affair with the nanny would be a dicey proposition. For that matter, with Chloe in residence, bringing any woman to his bedroom would be a bad idea—just one of the ways his life was about to change.

But right now, that was the least of his worries.

Closing the door, he walked around the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat. Leigh had fastened her safety belt and was attempting to tug her little skirt over her lovely knees. Wyatt willed himself to avert his eyes.

“Just for the record,” he said, starting the engine, “we don’t hold with formal dress at the house. Pack things you’ll be comfortable in, like jeans and sneakers.”

Or maybe you should dress like a nun, to remind me to keep my hands off you.

“Jeans and sneakers will be fine.” Her laugh sounded strained. “I don’t suppose your grandson will care what I’m wearing.”

“My grandson. Lord, don’t remind me. I’m still getting used to that idea.”

“This isn’t about you. It’s about an innocent baby who’ll need a world of love—and a young girl learning to be a mother. You’ll need to be there for both of them.”

Isn’t that where you come in? Wyatt knew better than to voice that thought. Leigh had expressed some strong notions about family responsibility. But wasn’t he doing enough, taking Chloe and her baby under his roof, buying everything they needed and hiring a nanny to help out?

Back when he was married, Tina had complained that he was never home—but blast it, he’d been busy working to support his wife and daughter. He’d been determined to give them a better life than he’d had growing up.

Even after the divorce he’d taken good care of them. He’d given Tina a million-dollar house, paid generous alimony and child support and always remembered Chloe’s birthday and Christmas with expensive gifts—gifts he’d never have been able to afford if he hadn’t poured so much time and energy into the resort.

Hadn’t he done enough? Was it fair that he was expected to finish raising a spoiled teenager with a baby so Tina could run off with her twenty-seven-year-old husband?

“There’s my car.” Leigh pointed to a rusting station wagon parked outside the office he’d used for the interviews. One look was enough to tell him that the car would never make it up the canyon on winter roads. He would need to get her something safe to drive before the first snowfall.

Wyatt pulled the Hummer into a nearby parking place. Steeling himself against her nearness, he climbed out and opened the door on the passenger side. Leigh was waiting for him to boost her to the ground. She leaned outward, her hands stretching toward his shoulders. Wyatt was reaching for her waist when her high heel caught on the edge of the floor mat. Yanked off balance, she tumbled forward on top of him.

He managed to break her fall—barely. For a frantic instant she clung to him, her arms clasping his neck, her skirt hiked high enough for one leg to hook his waist. But his grip wasn’t secure enough to hold her in place. Pulled by her own weight, she slid down his body. Wyatt stifled a groan as his sex responded to the delicious pressure of her curves pressed against him so intimately.

Her sudden gasp told him she’d felt his response. He glimpsed wide eyes and flaming cheeks as she slipped downward. Then her feet touched the ground and she stumbled back, breaking contact. They stood facing each other, both of them half-breathless. Her hair was mussed and one of her shoes was missing. She tugged her skirt down over her thighs.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Wyatt tried his best to laugh it off. “No, I’m fine. But that maneuver could’ve gotten us both arrested.”

Her narrowing gaze told him she didn’t appreciate his humor. It appeared that, despite her naughty little skirt, Miss Leigh Foster was a prim and proper lady. All to the good. He’d be wise to keep that in mind.

“Excuse me, but I need my shoe.” She teetered on one high-heeled pump. Wyatt retrieved the mate from the floor of the SUV, along with her brown leather purse. She took them from him, wiggling her foot into the shoe.

“You’ll be all right?” he asked her.

“Fine. I’ll be going straight to Baby Mart from here, then home. I should be knocking on your door by nightfall.”

“Plan on dinner at the house, with me. And remember you’re to say nothing about Chloe and her baby. All the people at Baby Mart need to know is who’s paying for the order and where it’s to be delivered.” He fished a business card out of his wallet and scribbled his private cell number on the back. “Any questions or problems, give me a call.”

“Got it.” She tucked the card in her purse, pulled out her keys and walked away without a backward glance. He watched her go, her deliberate strides punctuating the sway of her hips. Her clicking heels tapped out a subtle code of annoyance. Could she be upset with him?

Wyatt watched the station wagon shudder to a start, spitting gravel as it pulled into the street. No, he hadn’t read her wrong. The woman was in a snit about something.

Maybe she thought he’d pushed her too hard, giving her orders right out of the starting gate. But since he was paying her salary, it made sense to let her know what he expected. After all, he was her employer, not her lover.

And that, he mused, was too damned bad.

Returning to his vehicle, he pulled into traffic and headed toward the road that would take him out of town. He’d gone less than two blocks when he saw something ahead that hadn’t been there earlier. City workers were digging up the asphalt to fix what looked like a broken water main. Neon orange barricades blocked the roadway. A flashing detour sign pointed drivers to the right, down a narrow side street.

He’d made the right turn and was following a blue Pontiac toward the next intersection before he realized where he was. A vague nausea congealed in the pit of his stomach. He never drove this street if he could help it. There were too many memories here—most of them bad.

Most of those memories centered around the house partway down the block, on the left. With its peeling paint and weed-choked yard, it looked much the same as when he’d lived there growing up. Wyatt willed himself to look away as he passed it, but he’d seen enough to trigger a memory—one of the worst.

He’d been twelve at the time, coming home one summer night after his first real job—sweeping up at the corner grocery. The owner, Mr. Papanikolas, had paid him two dollars and given him some expired milk and a loaf of bread to take home to his mother. It wasn’t much, but every little bit helped.

His mouth had gone dry when he’d spotted his father’s old Ranchero parked at the curb. Pops had come by, most likely wanting money for the cheap whiskey he drank. He didn’t spend much time at home, but he knew when his wife got paid at the motel. If she gave him the cash, there’d be nothing to live on for the next two weeks.

Wyatt was tempted to stay outside, especially when he heard his father’s cursing voice. But he couldn’t leave his mother alone. Pops would be less apt to hurt her if he was there to see.

Leaving the bread and milk by the porch, he mounted the creaking steps and pushed open the door. By the light of the single bulb he saw his mother cowering on the ragged sofa. Her thin face was splotched with red, her eye swollen with a fresh bruise. His father, a hulking man in a dirty undershirt, loomed over her, his hands clenched into fists.

“Give me the money, bitch!” he snarled. “Give it to me now or you won’t walk out of this house!”

“Don’t hurt her!” Wyatt sprang between them, pulling the two rumpled bills out of his pocket. “Here, I’ve got money! Take it and go!”

“Out of my way, brat!” Cuffing Wyatt aside, he raised a fist to punch his wife again. Wyatt seized a light wooden chair. Swinging it with all his twelve-year-old strength, he struck his father on the side of the head.

The blow couldn’t have done much damage. But it hurt enough to turn the man’s rage in a new direction. One kick from a heavy boot sent the boy sprawling. The last thing Wyatt remembered was the blistering whack of a belt on his body, and his mother’s screams....

Forcing the images from his mind, Wyatt turned left at the intersection and followed the detour signs back to the main road. His father had taken the money that night. And while his mother rubbed salve on his welts, he’d vowed to her that he would change their lives. One day he’d be rich enough to buy her all the things she didn’t have now. And she would never have to change another bed or scrub another toilet again.

He’d accomplished his goals and more. But his mother hadn’t lived to see his Olympic triumph or the successes that followed. She’d died of cancer while he was still in high school.

His father had gone to prison for killing a man in a bar fight. Years later, still behind bars, he’d dropped dead from a heart attack.

Wyatt had not attended the burial service.

He’d put that whole life behind him—had made himself into a new man who was nothing at all like his dad.

So why did he feel so lost when it came to dealing with his daughter?

Not that he didn’t love Chloe. He’d never denied the girl anything that might make her happy. He’d been the best provider a man could be and not once—not ever—had he raised a hand against her. But now it slammed home that in spite of all the work he’d done and the things he’d bought, he still didn’t know the first thing about being a father.