Читать книгу Professor and The Pregnant Nanny - Emily Dalton - Страница 12

Melissa lived in Sugarhouse, about ten miles south of Charles’s place. It took her fifteen minutes to get home, but by the time she got to her building and climbed the stairs to her apartment, she was ready to die from the heat.

When she got inside, she turned up the air conditioning—which she always turned off completely while she was gone for more than a couple of hours—and plopped down on the couch directly in front of the window-mounted unit. She toed off her shoes and propped her feet on the coffee table. Sure enough, her ankles looked as though they were encircled by a couple of inflated inner tubes. When Charles had got down on his knees to tie her shoes, he’d been up close and personal with those poor, swollen ankles!

Melissa closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the sofa, lamenting the fact that she couldn’t have met Charles Avery under better circumstances. For example, when she’d had a figure, trim ankles and no ex-husband. Then she reminded herself that she had met him under those circumstances…thirteen years ago.

The baby kicked and Melissa rested her hands on her stomach, stroking it in a circular motion. She smiled dreamily. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she murmured to her unborn child. “I don’t really regret anything that got me to this place in my life. ’Cause I’ve got you.” Although she wouldn’t mind if Charles was the baby’s father and not Brad.

Melissa was shocked by this thought, coming unbidden to her mind just as she was about to doze off. After all, she barely knew Charles.

Melissa’s almost-nap was interrupted by the unmistakable three knocks, a pause, and two more knocks on the front door that was her mother’s calling card. Although she was tired, she was glad for the company. “Come in, Mom.”

Pam Richardson swung open the door and breezed into the room, looking not at all hot or uncomfortable from the heat. “How many times have I told you to lock your door, Missy!” she scolded, then scooped down to kiss Melissa on the cheek.

“I just got home. I didn’t have time to lock the door.”

“How long does it take?”

“Did you bring me something?” Melissa eyed the Tupperware her mother was carrying. There were five containers and one of them looked like brownies. Suddenly she was hungry again.

“I brought you lasagna, tuna casserole, beef stew with carrots and onions, fruit salad and—”

“Brownies?”

Pam handed her daughter the brownie container and took the rest into the kitchen, placing all but the fruit salad in the freezer. “You ate a decent dinner at that professor’s house, didn’t you?” she asked over her shoulder as she rummaged in the fridge, then emerged with a diet cola. She turned, pulled the tab on her drink and leaned her hip against the counter as she took a long swallow.

Melissa marveled at how slim, vibrant and young-looking her mother was at fifty-one. She dyed her hair to hide the emerging streaks of gray, of course, but who didn’t anymore?

Taking a bite of brownie, Melissa considered telling her mother she’d eaten a good dinner, but she never lied to her mother. She wasn’t any good at lying and it never got her anywhere, anyway. Today’s debacle was a perfect example.

She swallowed her bite of brownie and confessed, “I couldn’t eat. I was too tired.”

Pam immediately retrieved one of the Tupperware containers from the fridge, put it in the microwave and punched the appropriate buttons to heat up the food. “Guess you and the baby need some dinner, then. Chocolate may be food for the gods, but it doesn’t contain all the nutrients necessary for pregnant women and their babies.”

Melissa didn’t bother to explain to her mother that she was planning to eat one of the meals she’d brought over as soon as she’d appeased her sweet tooth. But her mom liked fussing over her, and it made Melissa feel cherished. She definitely enjoyed that feeling these days, and it made her mother feel good, too.

Melissa’s parents had wanted her to move in with them when she and Brad had split and she’d been faced with so many financial challenges, along with the pregnancy. But Melissa withstood their heartfelt entreaties to let them take care of her for a while. She knew she needed to get on with her life as independently as possible. Besides, they still managed to help her a bunch, especially with her business. She’d have never been able to take care of the physical demands of carting her product to stores and putting up displays without the help of her parents and her older brothers, Kent and Craig.

“Thanks, Mom,” Melissa said with a smile.

Pam’s eyebrows lifted. “For lecturing you? That’s a first.”

“No, Mom, for everything.” Melissa was embarrassed when her eyes filled with tears again.

“Missy, what’s the matter?” Her mom was instantly beside her on the sofa, her hand on her knee, her worried gaze searching Melissa’s face. “Don’t you feel well? Was this professor a tyrant who made you work like a dog, then sent you away without eating?”

Melissa gave a watery chuckle, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Oh, no. Charles Avery is anything but a tyrant. It’s just pregnancy hormones. I’ve been emotional all day.”

Pam sat back and gazed intently at Melissa. “Charles Avery? This professor you’re working for isn’t by any chance the Charles Avery who helped you pass your trig class, is he?”

Melissa was surprised. “You remember Charles Avery?”

Pam shrugged. “Of course I do. I was very impressed by him. And he was doing a good deed for my daughter—a mother never forgets something like that. Besides, he had beautiful green eyes.”

Melissa stared at her mother, her surprise increasing with each sentence she uttered. “You noticed his eyes were beautiful behind those thick lenses he wore? How come I didn’t? Heck, I didn’t even remember him after he told me who he was this morning…at least, not right away. I really felt stupid. But then he doesn’t look the same, so—”

This time Pam lifted just one brow, her expression sly. “So how does he look?”

Melissa felt the heat climbing her neck and, no doubt, staining her cheeks bright red.

Pam laughed. “Missy, you’re blushing! I gather he’s gotten pretty cute. Too bad there’s a Mrs. Charles Avery.”

Now Melissa felt the blood and the color draining out of her face as she recalled her horrible lie. Pam watched with alarm as her daughter went from red as a rose to white as a ghost. “Missy, you’d better tell me what’s going on. And don’t fall back on the pregnancy hormones as an excuse.”

Melissa blew out a long breath and told her mother about the lie she’d told Charles. At the conclusion of her story, after recounting the highlights of the day from her arrival to her departure, she stressed, “I would never have told him that Brad was dead if I’d known his own wife had died, Mom. It’s just that I—”

“It was wrong to tell him Brad was dead, even if his wife was still alive…but you know that. But I do understand how it happened, Melissa. Brad hasn’t exactly been good for your self-esteem, has he?”

Melissa’s chin jutted out slightly. “No, but I’m not going to blame him for the rest of my life for decisions I made of my own free will. I know I was mostly just naive and too in love to see things straight, but Brad and I are divorced now and he’s living happily—I assume—in California.”

“I just wish he was farther away. Possibly Yemen?”

“That part of my life is over, thank goodness. I’m doing just fine, and feeling better about myself everyday. I’m just sorry I didn’t have the strength of character to be honest with Charles from the beginning.”

Pam sat back against the sofa cushions, took the brownie container from Melissa and peered inside, mulling over which one to choose. “You can still be honest with him, you know.”

“What for? He might fire me, and I won’t see him again after this week anyway.”

“If he’s the nice guy you say he is, I doubt he’d fire you. He’s lived long enough to know that people make mistakes. He’ll understand. And what makes you think you won’t see him again after the job’s over? Don’t you want to see him again? Heck if it was me…”

Melissa recognized her mother’s matchmaking tone and immediately nipped that flowering idea in the bud. “Mom, even if I admitted to the truth and he forgave me, there’s no chance Charles Avery would be interested in me.”

Pam gave Melissa a disapproving scowl. “I can’t stand it when you talk like that. Brad really did do a number on you, didn’t he? Don’t you realize how beautiful and special you are, Melissa Richardson?”

“You’re my mom. You’re prejudiced. Besides, Charles could have anyone he wants, believe me. Why would he want me?”

“He wanted you in high school. Give him some time! The week has just begun and—”

Melissa gave an uncertain chuckle. “What do you mean, he wanted me in high school?”

“He had a crush on you, Missy. Didn’t you know? It was patently obvious to me and your father, I can tell you. The way he looked at you, the way he blushed and stared and—Well, we just knew. He probably thought he’d died and gone to heaven when you took him those cookies to thank him for tutoring you.”

Melissa felt her heart sink. “Oh…now I understand.”

Pam finally chose a brownie and took a nibble. “Well, at least we’re getting somewhere. What exactly do you understand, Missy?”

“Why he bristled when I offered to bake him cookies tomorrow. He was remembering that I’d promised him cookies for helping me with my math and—”

“And what?”

“And I never delivered,” Melissa admitted with a sigh. “I’d forgotten about that, but it’s all coming back to me now.”

Pam frowned. “But I remember you baking cookies.”

“Yes. And I had every intention of taking them to Charles. But Brad and some of his buddies showed up while I was baking and ate almost the whole batch. I meant to bake more, but somehow it slipped my mind. Maybe if I saw Charles at school, I’d have remembered, but he was never around.”

“He might have been around, only you didn’t notice him,” Pam suggested. “You had tunnel vision in those days, Missy, and Brad was the ‘light’ at the end of the tunnel, blinding you to everyone and everything else.”

“Great metaphor, Mom,” Melissa said drily. “But so mortifying.”

“Bake him cookies tomorrow, like you told him you would,” her mother said bracingly. “Bake him a batch for being nice now, and bake him a batch for being nice thirteen years ago.”

“I don’t know, Mom,” Melissa said hesitantly. “He might think I’m…you know…flirting with him or something.”

Pam laughed. “What’s wrong with that?”

“He might have a girlfriend.”

“He might not. If he had a girlfriend, he or one of the children would probably have mentioned her today.”

“Even so…were you listening when I told you I lied to him, Mom? That I told him Brad was dead?”

“And were you listening when I told you to tell him the truth?” Pam countered, gesturing with the hand that held the brownie as she stressed her point. “Do it, the sooner the better. And quit overanalyzing and worrying about everything and bake him those cookies! It will ease your conscience if nothing else.”

“Okay, Mom. I get it. I appreciate the advice, now pass the brownies, please.”

“Your dinner’s warm,” Pam objected, holding the brownie container out of reach. “Stew before chocolate. That’s the rule.”

“I promise I’ll eat the stew,” Melissa bargained playfully. “But the baby wants another brownie and she wants it now! Can’t you feel her kicking?” She took her mother’s free hand and placed it on her stomach. Sure enough, the baby was using the inside of her stomach for a punching bag.

Pam laughed and handed over the brownies. “I guess it’s never too soon to start spoiling your grandchildren.”

She stood up and went to the microwave to get the warmed-up stew. “Now that we’ve got the professor taken care of, so to speak, do you want to hear some good news?”

“By all means.”

“You got another order for your toddler food from the Stork Store this morning. It’s a good thing we put up so many bottles last month. Business is picking up, Missy.”

Melissa nodded, happy her toddler-age baby food had found a local market. But her goal was to sell to the national grocery chains, and when that happened she’d have to move her manufacturing headquarters out of her mother’s extra kitchen in the basement of her house and into a separate and appropriate building, as well as hire some actual employees. So far, she and her mother, father and brothers had been handling the business.

“Things are looking up, Missy,” her mother announced as she set Melissa’s stew on the counter and waved her over. “Now come and eat.”

Melissa obeyed, but stole a glance at her mother’s beaming and optimistic expression, wondering if she was entertaining hopes that had as much to do with Charles Avery as they did with Melissa’s burgeoning business. If so, her mother needed to pull back on the reins. Melissa knew the danger of too many hopes, too much dreaming.

WHEN MELISSA ARRIVED at Charles’s house the next morning, she was on time and wearing makeup. Her hair was down and flowing around her shoulders—pregnancy had at least been good for her hair and nails—and she’d worn one of her favorite yellow maternity blouses and white slacks. Apparently she was more foolish than she’d have ever imagined, because she was allowing her mother’s encouraging words to influence her behavior in respect to Charles Avery.

But Charles barely looked at her as he bid her good morning, gave a quick rundown of his schedule for the day and left the house for Westminster College and his twice-a-week classes. He did mention, however, that he’d be home in time for her afternoon nap, so she should plan on it.

Melissa had barely mumbled a thank-you, which he didn’t appear to hear, and then he was gone. If he’d had a crush on her in high school, as her mother had suggested, there was apparently no danger or sign of the old feelings reemerging.

Crestfallen but grateful for the reality check, Melissa turned to the children and immersed herself in caring for them. She did bake the cookies, though. After all, she did owe Charles for the tutoring thirteen years ago, and he was going over and above the usual duties of an employer by insisting she have afternoon naps.

The children enjoyed helping to make, then eating some of the cookies, and it took up most of the morning. They also colored in some coloring books she’d bought at a discount store last week, did toddler aerobics to a tape with one of their favorite puppet TV personalities, and listened while she read several books. She was hoping to have the kids tired out enough by the afternoon that they’d play quietly while Charles watched them during her nap.

Charles came home just before two o’clock, just as he’d promised. He was polite, but distant, and advised her to use Mrs. Butters’s room for her nap.

“You can use the alarm clock she keeps by the bed, too,” he offered as she turned to go. “Set it for three-fifteen, not three.”

She must have looked puzzled, because he quickly explained, “In case you don’t go to sleep right away. You need at least an hour or you won’t be refreshed. Annette always said less than an hour just made her irritable when she got up, and more than an hour made her feel groggy the rest of the day.”

Melissa thought about this and agreed. “I never thought about it before, but she was right.” She tentatively smiled, but Charles was already walking away, down the hall.

Melissa mumbled, “Guess he’s not going to wish me sweet dreams,” and went directly to Mrs. Butters’s room. Despite her anxiety about Charles’s response to her cookies, and her disappointment over his suddenly distant attitude, Melissa was too tired to lie awake and worry about it. As soon as she’d set the alarm and her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.

CHARLES WAS READY to play with the kids and asked them what they wanted to do. They begged to watch a video and Charles agreed to it when he noticed that they were dragging a little and might even nap in front of the television if given half a chance. Mrs. Butters wouldn’t approve, but what the heck. Daniel’s thumb was in his mouth and Sarah was twirling her hair around her fingers, pre-sleep activities for both.

Once they were settled in the family room, Charles went to his study to put away his briefcase and quickly go over a few papers turned in by students that morning. He was enjoying the quietness of the house and not regretting in the least his decision to demand that Melissa nap every afternoon.

As he reached his desk, he noticed two baskets covered with clear wrapping paper and tied at the top with gold ribbon.

“What the—?”

Upon inspection, he saw that the baskets were filled to the brim with cookies…the cookies Melissa had promised to bake him for his kindness in allowing her to nap, obviously. But why two baskets? He shook his head, pleased but wishing he wasn’t pleased. He had been impatient with and alarmed by his preoccupation with Missy’s presence in the house yesterday, by his vivid recalling of his high-school crush, by his distraction and attraction. There, he’d admitted it. He was still powerfully attracted to her.

The baskets had little notes attached to them. He was ashamed of his eagerness as he opened the first, which read, For the naps. Melissa. And then the second, which read, For saving my GPA in high school. Sorry I’m a little late with this batch. Missy.

Charles was pleased and, yes, touched. She did remember after all and was trying to make amends for being thoughtless thirteen years ago. He was smiling down at the second note, feeling his insides melt like soft butter in the sun, when the doorbell sounded its Westminster chime and he heard quick, childish footsteps—probably Christopher’s—heading for the door.

Charles put away the note and left the study. As he walked down the hall toward the front of the house, he could hear his sister Lily’s voice and the clamor of her three children. So much for a quiet house! He always welcomed Lily’s visits, but this one was ill-timed. He didn’t want Melissa’s nap disturbed.

“Charles! How’s it going, bro?”

Lily’s red hair hadn’t softened to auburn as Charles’s had. And she wore it in outrageous styles, such as her present “do,” which framed her face in rakish angles like an exploding haystack. Her husband, Josh, called the style “Meg-Ryan-on-speed.” But like Meg, Lily’s impish face and outgoing personality allowed her to carry off hairdos and clothes that other women didn’t dare try.

“It’s goin’ good, sis,” Charles assured her in a lowered voice. His twin nephews, Matt and Mark, who were the same age as Daniel, and his niece, Amanda, who was Sarah’s age, buzzed around him like bees around a hive. “But why don’t we herd the kids into the family room and close the door? My nanny’s taking a nap.”

Lily looked incredulous. “Your nanny’s taking a nap? So, who’s watching the kids?”

“Well, I am. But it’s just for an—”

“I told you, Charles, to let me take care of the kids this week. You were worried it would be too much for me, but I told you I could handle it. But, no, you had to hire temporary help and now she’s taking advantage of your kindness and generosity. How are you going to get your lecture ready?”

“Lily, please lower your voice,” Charles implored. “You’re going to wake her.” By now Sarah and Daniel had emerged from the family room and all six children were laughing and talking and running around the living room.

Lily shook her head. “Really, Charles, I don’t understand this. Why does she need a nap? Is she elderly?”

“No. She’s pregnant.”

“Well, pregnancy does tire you out, but—”

“Especially in your last month,” Charles pointed out. “She’s nearly full-term, Lily. She really needs the rest or she’s exhausted by dinnertime.” He waved his hands over his head, trying to get the children’s attention. “Want to watch a video in the family room, kids?”

“But what about your work?”

“I can still get it done. One hour every afternoon is not going to slow me down significantly.”

“Every afternoon?” Lily shook her head again, obviously not ready to let the subject drop. “Doesn’t she go home after dinner? She has all evening to recuperate. I don’t mean to sound heartless, Charles, but you hired her to watch the kids. Lots of pregnant women work, but if she’s too pregnant to do the job, then—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I heard the kids and thought maybe something was going on that required the assistance of your…er…nanny.”

Charles turned to see Melissa standing just outside the living room, in the hall. Her hair was mussed and her eyes looked drowsily sexy. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from sleep or embarrassment, he couldn’t know. Had she heard what Lily had been saying? He hoped not!

“Melissa, sorry we woke you,” Charles said with an apologetic smile, determined to carry on as if she hadn’t heard them. “My sister, Lily, came over with the kids.”

While Sarah grabbed Melissa’s leg and her attention momentarily, Lily leaned over and whispered to Charles, “Why didn’t you tell me it was her. Now I understand, big bro.”

MELISSA HAD BEEN jolted out of a deep sleep and she still felt a little disoriented. But not too disoriented to have heard Lily arguing with Charles as she walked down the hall toward the living room. Apparently Charles’s little sister thought Melissa was not up to the job of being nanny to her niece and nephews. What troubled Melissa most was the depressing possibility that Lily might be right.

“Did you two know each other in high school?” Charles asked uncomfortably.

“Everyone knew who Melissa Richardson was,” Lily answered, trying to look and sound friendly, but only managing a strained facsimile. “But I wouldn’t say we actually knew each other. Boy…I haven’t seen you since high school. You haven’t changed a bit…well, except for—” She gestured vaguely toward Melissa’s pregnant belly.

“I haven’t seen you, either,” Melissa offered, trying for the same friendly tone and sounding just as strained as Lily. “Although I don’t suppose we saw much of each other while we were in high school, anyway. It was a big school, and aren’t you three years younger than me?”

“Nope. I was just two years behind you. I was a sophomore when you were a senior…and the head cheerleader and Homecoming Queen.”

By the way she was looking her over, Melissa could swear Lily was surprised she wasn’t holding pom-poms and wearing a tiara. “Well, that was a long time ago.”

“And now you’re pregnant,” Lily finished, too brightly. “Your first?”

“Yes.” Please don’t ask about Brad. Please, please, please…

“And how’s Brad? What is he, a bank president or something by now? Or the world’s greatest shoe salesman? That guy could win over anyone with his charm.” Warming to the subject, she smiled and continued. “I remember once, he—”

“Lily, could I talk to you in the kitchen for a moment?” Charles interrupted.

Lily was clearly confused, but agreed. “Sure. Okay. But should we leave Melissa with all these rambunctious kids?”

Melissa felt her defenses rising. “I think I can manage them for a couple of minutes by myself,” she said stiffly.

“Oh, okay.” Lily looked distressed, as if realizing for a fact that Melissa had heard her talking with Charles, adamantly pointing out that a nearly nine-months-pregnant woman who needed a nap every afternoon wasn’t a fit nanny. Melissa hated to admit it, but Lily was right. She might as well face the truth. She’d offer her resignation as soon as Lily left and she and Charles had a moment alone.

“LILY, MY GOD, what have you done? I think she heard you.”

“I know she heard me, Charles. I’m sorry. I didn’t know your nanny was Melissa Richardson or I would have kept my trap shut.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Charles asked her, flustered and defensive. “I hope I would have shown the same consideration for any pregnant woman who came to my house to watch my kids.”

“I still think she’s too pregnant for the job, and you probably think the same thing, Charles. Admit it! But because it’s the girl you regularly swooned over for at least your entire senior year, I don’t blame you for making allowances.”

“For your information, little sister, Melissa is one helluva nanny. If she wasn’t pregnant and didn’t have to bring it down a notch, she’d be stiff competition for Mary Poppins. The kids love her. I—”

“Love her?” Lily teased, obviously beginning to enjoy her brother’s discomfort.

“I respect and admire her, particularly given the fact that she’s about to have a baby and is doing it all by herself.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “She’s divorced? Ol’ Brad flew the coop?”

“No, Lily. She’s a widow.”

This fact finally shut Lily up. Her brows furrowed, her eyes filled with sympathy. “Oh, Charles. I’m really sorry. I’ll bet she actually needs this job, huh? What a dumbbell I am!”

“Forget it,” Charles said, his displeasure dissipating at the obvious remorse Lily felt. “But I want you to understand that I’m not keeping Melissa on as nanny because I pity her, or any such nonsense. She’s here because she’s doing a great job. I was the one who made her promise to take a daily nap. I made it a requirement. It’ll get her through the afternoon and safely home without me worrying about her falling asleep at the wheel.”

“Okay, I believe you,” Lily conceded, holding up both hands. “She’s a great nanny! But I still think you’re smitten, Charles. She’s still just as pretty as she was in high school.” She leaned forward and whispered, “And now she’s available.”

MELISSA SOMEHOW MANAGED to get through Lily’s short visit, then the rest of the long day, even though she was more tired than usual because of her interrupted nap. She was also depressed because she was going to tell Charles to request another nanny from the agency. To make matters worse, the children were especially engaging and wonderful to be around that afternoon. She’d only known them two days, and she was already going to miss them.

She made sure she didn’t show how tired she was and fixed dinner and cleared up afterward with all the appearance of cheerfulness and energy. But it took everything in her to fake it convincingly…especially with Charles watching her so closely. She couldn’t read his expression, though. She had no idea what he was thinking. Maybe he’d be relieved when she told him she was quitting. Maybe he’d be glad to see her go.

“Can I talk to you before I go home, Charles?” Melissa requested as she sponged off the counter in the kitchen. He was just going past the door with Daniel under his arm like a football. He’d given all three children baths after dinner and was headed for the bedroom to read them a bedtime story.

“Sure. I wanted to talk to you, anyway.” He tickled Daniel under the arm. “Did you say good-night to Melissa, Daniel?”

Daniel giggled uncontrollably, as his father continued to tickle him. “What’s the matter, Daniel? Cat got your tongue? Why can’t you say good-night to Melissa? Huh? Huh?”