Читать книгу Her Christmas Wish - Kathryn Springer - Страница 8

“Are you telling me there’s a nanny shortage?”

Ben Cavanaugh tried to keep his voice even but he knew his frustration level had risen in direct proportion to the number of days he and Olivia had been forced to manage without Mrs. Baker.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Mr. Cavanaugh,” Mrs. Wallace, the director of Tender Care Childcare, said seriously. “We placed most of our nannies months ago, when school recessed for the summer. I’m just not sure if we can help you. When did you say you needed someone?”

Yesterday. That’s when he needed someone. Ben exhaled a silent, steady breath. If he were a praying man, this probably would have been the time to appeal to God to intervene somehow. He didn’t. Instead, he reluctantly moved to Plan B.

“Can you recommend another agency?” he asked, pinning the telephone between his ear and shoulder as he searched his desk for a pen. The only one he could locate had a bright pink pom-pom where there should have been an eraser. He tested it on a piece of paper and the ink came out: pink glitter suspended in clear goo. He definitely had to have a talk with his daughter about what constituted a proper writing tool!

“If you can give me a few more days, I’m sure we can help you,” Mrs. Wallace said.

Ben hesitated. Tender Care was his first choice. Not only did it have a wonderful reputation in Chestnut Grove, it was also the agency that had given them the woman Olivia had affectionately dubbed Nanny Baker—a soft-spoken, older woman who had lived with them the past seven years. Olivia had been three months old when Nanny Baker moved in with them and over the years they’d grown extremely close. He couldn’t imagine another woman taking Nanny Baker’s place in Olivia’s life…or her heart.

But the reality was he didn’t have a few days. “Mrs. Wallace, I appreciate it, but…”

A soft but audible click broke into their conversation. Ben knew what was coming next. He had call-waiting on his phone, too. “Will you please hold for a moment, Mr. Cavanaugh?”

“No problem.” He leaned back in his chair and while he waited he studied a photo of Nanny Baker and Olivia that he’d taken during an outing in Winchester Park. Olivia had made the frame herself from craft sticks, glitter—lots of glitter—and an equally generous amount of glue. The two of them were smiling for the camera but for the first time Ben noticed that Nanny Baker looked, well, tired.

Reluctantly, he had to acknowledge the fact that with each passing year it had become more difficult for Nanny to keep up with an active child, no matter how good-natured. And Olivia was good-natured, there was no doubt about it, but her body was as busy as her mind, and her tongue had both of them beaten for speed!

When Nanny Baker had told him that her only sister in Arizona was recovering from surgery and had asked her to move in with her, he’d assumed that it would be a temporary arrangement. He’d immediately started compiling a list of temporary replacements until Nanny had gently corrected him. She’d been considering retirement for several months and was looking forward to being close to family again. Not, she’d quickly assured him, that he and Olivia weren’t like family to her, but she knew this was something she needed to do.

Which was why they were now nannyless.

“Mr. Cavanaugh?” The director was back on the line, only now there was something new in her tone, a spark of excitement that hadn’t been there before. “I was just on the telephone with Leah Paxson, one of our nannies. She was hired six months ago by a family in Richmond and she just found out the children’s father has accepted a transfer to London that is effective immediately. She is returning to Chestnut Grove this afternoon and she, well, she’s available, Mr. Cavanaugh. Isn’t that wonderful news!”

Ben couldn’t believe it. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. The thought chased through his mind that maybe God had intervened, but he shook it away. He knew better.

“Did you hear me, Mr. Cavanaugh? I can set up an interview between you and Miss Paxson tomorrow.”

“She’s well-qualified?” Desperate circumstances or not, he wasn’t going to hire just anyone to look after Olivia. He owed it to both his daughter and to the memory of his wife, Julia, to make sure that Olivia had the best of care while he was at work.

“The family asked Leah to accompany them to London,” the director said. “I know they’ve been extremely happy with her. She’s worked with our agency for five years now and I’ve never heard any negative comments about her. She’s a natural with children.”

A natural. She certainly sounded qualified. Silently, he went through his schedule for the next day and made a few adjustments.

“How does eleven o’clock tomorrow morning sound?” he asked. “I’d like her to come right to the house. My office is here and I think it would be good for her to see where she’ll be living if she accepts the position.”

“I’ll call Miss Paxson back right away, Mr. Cavanaugh. Eleven o’clock tomorrow.”

Ben hung up the phone, relief pouring through him. Mrs. Baker hadn’t wanted to go to Arizona until they’d found a replacement for her, but Ben had insisted, confident that it would be a day or two at the most until Tender Care provided another nanny. He hadn’t considered that a week after her departure, he’d still be waiting. And now it looked as if the wait might finally be over.

Seven years ago, he’d told Mrs. Wallace exactly what qualifications were necessary for the woman who would be Olivia’s nanny. Nanny Baker had fulfilled every one—quiet, sedate and grandmotherly. Ben could only assume that Leah Paxson would be just like her.

Leah Paxson was a firm believer in the adage, “When God closes a door, He opens a window.” She reminded herself of that several times while pacing the length of her tiny studio apartment, praying about the interview that Mrs. Wallace had set up for her the following morning with Mr. Ben Cavanaugh. She was still a bit shell-shocked from the rapid change in her employment situation and although the family she’d been living with had practically begged her to go to England with them, Leah knew she had ties to the States that couldn’t stretch that far.

She knew that God would direct her path, but she was still amazed at how quickly He’d answered! When she’d called Mrs. Wallace to explain what had happened, the director said she actually had a man on the other line who needed a nanny for his daughter. When she’d called back to set up the interview, all she’d told Leah was that Mr. Cavanaugh was a widower whose wife had died when his daughter was an infant. It would be a live-in position, of course, because he owned his own business and he was gone quite a bit. And the little girl—Olivia Cavanaugh—was seven.

Seven. Leah had felt a familiar but painful twist inside. Seven years ago, at the age of seventeen, Leah had given up her baby girl for adoption. After graduating from high school, she’d applied at Tender Care Childcare to be a nanny and discovered that caring for other people’s children actually helped ease the ache in her heart, instead of magnifying it. With every smile or hug she gave, she secretly prayed that her own child was receiving one, too, from loving parents.

“You’ll let me know, won’t You, God, if You want me to take this position?” Leah asked, pausing in front of the window that overlooked the street. In the five years she’d worked for Tender Care, she’d always lived with the families who employed her but she still paid rent on the studio, needing the security of knowing she had a place of her own if necessary.

Flopping down on the futon that doubled as her bed, she closed her eyes, not accustomed to the silence. The family she’d just left had had three preschool aged children, which meant her evenings were filled with activity until the last one fell asleep. Usually by this time at night, she was tired, damp from being splashed with warm sudsy bath water and nursing a sore throat from having read Dr. Seuss at least five times. She didn’t mind—it meant her arms were never empty, either.

Reaching out, Leah grabbed a pillow and hugged it against her middle. Her arms might not be empty now, but she could still feel an empty space in her heart. Maybe Olivia Cavanaugh would fill it, she thought drowsily as she fell asleep.

Ben glanced at his watch. It was only quarter to eleven. He breathed a sigh of relief. For a split second, he was afraid that the young woman, who was practically skipping up the sidewalk to his front door, was Leah Paxson. When he’d heard the slam of a car door, curiosity had drawn him to the window just in time to see a petite, slender woman slide from the driver’s side of a VW New Beetle. A VW New Beetle the shade of a ripe honeydew melon. Its owner was just as unique. She was wearing a white lace shirt, khaki field pants that ended just below the knee…and something on her feet that looked suspiciously like combat boots. He couldn’t quite make out her features until the breeze lifted her glossy brown hair and pushed it away from her face, revealing her profile. He frowned. There was something familiar about her.

He checked his planner again but there were no appointments until late afternoon. Maybe she was looking for Jonah. Jonah Fraser worked for him, and although he didn’t seek female attention, it seemed to find him anyway. It gave Ben something to hassle him about.

The doorbell rang and Ben went to answer it, hoping that whatever business the young woman had with Jonah could be resolved in less than ten minutes. Before the new nanny arrived.

“Mr. Cavanaugh?”

Ben nodded. It was all he could manage. She was at least a foot shorter than he was and the eyes looking up into his were a warm, glowing topaz.

She put out her hand. “I’m Leah Paxson.”

He said the first words that came into his head, something he never did. “You can’t be!”

She grinned. “The last time I looked in the mirror, I was.”

“But…” Words failed him. Again. This wasn’t part of his plan. She wasn’t part of his plan. Desperate times might call for desperate measures, but that didn’t mean he had to hire a college student who looked like she was auditioning for a part on a teen TV show. Hadn’t he told Mrs. Wallace what he wanted? Sedate? Quiet? Dignified? And didn’t those qualifications translate into someone elderly?

“I’m sorry, Miss Paxson. Please come in.” So I can fire you.

He pivoted sharply and heard her fall into step behind him. By the time they reached his office at the end of the hall, his frustration level had tripled. He was already behind on two jobs because of Nanny Baker’s unexpected departure and now he was going to have to spend more time interviewing nannies. Even though Jonah had picked up the slack the past few days, Ben didn’t like the feeling that he was neglecting his clients. And Tiffany, one of the teenagers in Reverend Fraser’s youth group, hadn’t minded watching Olivia in the evenings but she’d been hinting recently that the girls’ basketball season would be starting soon.

“Sit down.” He hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so gruff but Leah Paxson didn’t seem to notice. She was looking around his office with lively interest. In fact, she almost hummed with energy. It reminded him a little of Olivia. Silently, he groaned. Great, his potential nanny reminded him of a seven-year-old!

“You’re a carpenter, aren’t you, Mr. Cavanaugh?” she asked.

He nodded, not wanting to be drawn into pleasant small talk. Brutal honesty was necessary. “Miss Paxson, I have to tell you that I was expecting someone older…much older. Mrs. Baker is in her sixties and she’s brought a lot of stability to Olivia’s—my daughter’s—life. When I spoke with Mrs. Wallace on the phone yesterday, she didn’t mention you were so young.”

“I’m twenty-four,” Leah said, giving him her full attention now. “I look younger because of my height, I suppose.”

Twenty-four. Positively ancient, Ben thought wryly. He moved some papers on his desk and suddenly saw a bright pink sheet of paper that he hadn’t noticed before, with Olivia’s handwriting on it. The title read “Questions for the Nanny.”

When had the little sprite put this on his desk?

He quickly scanned the list and an odd feeling began to sweep through him.

Are you frendly?

Do you read books?

Are you alergick to animals?

When you go to the park, do the swings make you sick?

Can you make macaroni and cheese not from a box?

Do you have rolerblads or can you borrow some?

Are you craby in the morning before you drink cofee?

As Ben read through the questions, he was struck by the enormity of their meaning. When he’d hired Nanny Baker, he’d deliberately chosen a woman who would be a surrogate grandmother, not a mother. To have hired someone close to Julia’s age would have felt like a betrayal. But now he knew he’d missed something. Something important. Nanny Baker had been almost sixty when she moved in with them and already beginning to suffer from arthritis. She took Olivia to the park but sat on the bench and watched her while she played. And from the time Olivia could talk, she’d begged for a pet, but Nanny Baker was allergic to animals. Olivia had had to be content with a goldfish named Pearl. And he was pretty sure Nanny Baker had never discovered a passion for in-line skating!

He could feel Leah’s gaze on him. “Ah, it seems my daughter decided to take part in the interview process.”

Leah smiled and settled comfortably into the chair. “I’m ready.”

There was no point. What he needed to do was tell Leah Paxson—politely—that he couldn’t hire her, call Mrs. Wallace and ask her—politely—what in the world she’d been thinking, and start back at square one. His gaze drifted to the photo of Olivia and Nanny Baker again, then back to the young woman who sat across from him. She was too young. Too unconventional. Too…pretty. He ruthlessly squashed that wayward thought. But there was something about her…

“Why do I get the feeling, Miss Paxson, that if I tear up this piece of paper, somehow it’s going to piece itself together again and you’ll be back here tomorrow?”

“Mmm.” Leah seemed to consider the notion and he caught a glimpse of a dimple in her left cheek as a slow smile drew up the corners of her lips and warmed her eyes. “Let me guess. You want someone firm, respectable and no-nonsense. Isn’t that right, Mr. Banks?”

She’d seen Mary Poppins, too. And not just once, if she’d caught on that fast. It happened to be one of Olivia’s favorite movies and he had half the lines memorized. And, thanks to a case of the chicken pox when Olivia was two, the lyrics of every song.

“Exactly so.” His imitation of a British accent was so terrible he could tell Leah Paxson was trying not to laugh. He gave in with a sigh and looked down at Olivia’s list. “Are you friendly?”

“I am friendly. But very strict,” Leah said promptly.

“Really?” Somehow, he found that difficult to believe. Maybe it was the boots. “Read books?”

Leah nodded. “And play games…all sorts.”

Ben felt his lips twitch. “Allergic to animals?”

“Not a bit.”

“When you go to the park, do the swings make you sick?”

“The swings, no.” Leah leaned forward. “But I hate the slide. I’m afraid of heights. Do you think that’s going to count against me?”

“I think that evens it out. Can you, and I quote, ‘make macaroni and cheese not from a box?’”

“Blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back.”

Suddenly, he had a visual of Leah Paxson’s face as she moved around the kitchen, with only her pert nose and softly curved mouth showing underneath a blindfold. His office felt warm and he cleared his throat. “Do you have Rollerblades or can you borrow some?”

“I’m willing to give it a try. But not without elbow and knee pads and a federally approved helmet.”

Now he did smile.

“Crabby in the morning before you drink coffee?”

“I only drink herbal tea,” Leah said, “unless someone happens to offer me a cappuccino with whipped cream and sprinkles. And I’m never crabby.”

Somehow, Ben knew that the words he was about to say were going to change his peaceful, quiet home. Maybe forever. “Would you agree to a trial period, Miss Paxson?”