Читать книгу Project: Daddy - Patricia Knoll, Patricia Knoll - Страница 8

AND get started she had. She had taken the money he’d given her and started out to stock up the pantry. He’d headed her off before she left.

“Go into Alban. It’s fifteen miles down the highway.”

Paris, busy double-checking her shopping list, looked up in surprise. “I can go to Cliffside. It’s much closer.”

“And prices are higher. Go to Alban. There’s a supermarket there.”

She started to protest again, but he held up his hand. “While you’re gone, I’ll check your references.”

Her expression told him she wanted to argue, but she kept a lid on it. He hadn’t meant to make it sound like coercion, but if it would get her to do as he asked without having to go into detailed explanations, he would let her think what she liked.

Finally, her lips pinched together and she nodded. “All right.”

He could tell she was put out, though he wasn’t sure if it was directed at him for being so insistent, or herself for giving in so easily. He saw a small war waging in her as if she was battling to keep her thoughts to herself. He had to admire that, but he didn’t want to because it would make her too real to him, too much a person.

He’d known her less than an hour, and he didn’t intend to get to know her much better. After all, she was an employee and he’d learned the hard way that employer/employee familiarity was to be avoided at all costs. In spite of that resolution, he found himself offering the use of his truck for her trip to Alban.

“Is that it?” she asked, nodding toward the ten-year-old battle-scarred extended cab pickup truck parked in the driveway.

“Yes. You’ll need space for all the items on that list.”

The annoyance he’d seen in her eyes was replaced by amusement. “No thanks. I don’t like driving unfamiliar vehicles. I’ll take my own car.” She hesitated, then pushed her unruly hair back from her face and met his gaze. “I just brought in one suitcase. Since I’m going to be staying, I might as well bring in everything to make room for the groceries in my car.”

With that, she whirled out the door and left him to trail along in her wake battling his own irritation that she’d turned the tables on him. Still, he felt another spurt of grudging admiration at the way she’d done it.

They unloaded her car and he carried everything inside while she’d roared away in the small compact that sounded as if it badly needed a tune-up. As he placed her things in the room she’d chosen next to the children’s then went to check on Elly and Simon, Mac speculated that, given her resume, she’d probably been accustomed to a better car but she’d obviously fallen on hard times. Or hard times had fallen on her.

That made two of them. He’d had a fancy, fully-loaded sport utility vehicle that had impressed the heck out of the neighborhood, as well as a midnight-blue sports car that had been his pride, but he’d sold them both without a qualm when he’d needed money. Funny how little either of those had mattered when weighed against his good name.

Now as he stared out at the ocean, Mac, who hadn’t been curious about much of anything for more than a year now, wondered what she’d given up, and why, to be where she was now—a nanny and housekeeper to a lonely man and two abandoned kids.

Paris quietly pulled the bedroom door almost closed behind her, leaving it open just enough to provide a night light for the children and enable her to hear them if they cried out. After peeking down the long, bare hall to make sure she was alone, she allowed her shoulders to slump wearily as she headed for her own room next door.

She was grateful that Elly and Simon had been tired enough to go right to sleep. Though she didn’t know very much about children, she fully understood what it was like to have the world turn upside down and land on top of her and that’s exactly what Elly and Simon had experienced. She’d known them less than fourteen hours, but she wanted to try and make things easier for them. It broke her heart to see sturdy little Elly’s stoic acceptance of her circumstances and her protectiveness toward Simon. Elly had warmed toward Paris during the course of the day and they had made a cautious start toward being friends. When Simon had lost some of his shyness and begun to talk to Paris, Elly had interpreted his baby talk. Still, Paris wondered if the little girl would call out in the night if she was frightened. Hoping she would, and that Paris herself would waken if she was needed, she turned her thoughts to her own situation.

Sheer nerve and desperation had carried her through the day and she was bone-tired. Rubbing her knuckles across her forehead, she sank onto the side of the bed and asked herself what in the world she’d gotten into.

The newspaper ad had seemed like a wonderful gift when she’d first seen it; work she knew she could do in an out-of-the way place where no one knew or cared about her, but this…

Dismayed, she looked around at the stark place. A bed, a table, and a lamp were the entire furnishings, the bleakness of it almost identical to the children’s room which held only a baby playpen and a single bed. Every item looked as though it had been recently purchased at a rummage sale. Elly’s bed still had a little yellow stick-on tag with the price printed by hand. Paris wondered if Mac had run out to scavenge whatever he could as soon as he knew he had to keep the children. She admired that, even as she knew he probably only saw it as doing his duty.

The saddest thing she’d seen among the children’s belongings, though, was the lack of toys and clothes in the closet, as if their mother couldn’t be bothered to bring all they might need or want. She’d wanted to cry at the sight. Her horror at the way they’d been abandoned had been matched by her distress over their uncle’s ineptitude. Truthfully though, she couldn’t say he didn’t care about them. Mac, at least, had some sense of responsibility, certainly more than his sister had.

The sight of the imposing glass-and-cedar home had given her pause when she had first sighted it that morning, but it was so beautiful, and so perfectly positioned on the cliff overlooking the Pacific, she had decided to at least ask about the job. The closer she’d come to the door, the more she had tightened up on her courage until even the sight of the imposing man who answered it couldn’t stop her from barreling inside as if she had every right to be there.

She knew she had given Mac an erroneous impression of herself, maybe even a wrong one, letting him think she was bold and outspoken, when in truth, she was outgoing but not bossy. Usually, only nervousness made her that way. When she had left her small hometown of Hadley in the Imperial Valley, though, she had decided that she had to change. Her days of depending on others to look out for her were over. Being dependent had gained her nothing but a mountain of debts and a broken heart.

Shuddering at the memory of her flight from Hadley, and some of the things that had happened since, she stood suddenly and began unpacking her suitcase, laying the items she would need for the night on the bed and making a mental note to find boxes of some kind to use as a makeshift dresser.

She was wildly curious to know why the house was so bare. Couldn’t he afford furniture? Didn’t he want any? As yet, she didn’t know him well enough to judge whether or not he seemed content with so little, but somehow she didn’t think it mattered to him.

Paris considered the man who had hired her. Mac seemed tense, watchful. More than once that day she’d felt his attention on her and looked up to find him viewing her with a gaze that seemed to be questioning her actions and motives. Not that she blamed him. She knew her resume was far less than impressive—as were her references. However, what Mac had learned about her must have been satisfactory because he hadn’t backed down on his offer to hire her.

Although she was grateful for the job, she wondered why she’d been awarded it. She wasn’t going to ask him and risk being told it was all a terrible mistake and she’d have to go.

“Avoidance at all costs,” she murmured to herself, wincing guiltily as she acknowledged it was a character flaw she was trying to overcome. She wouldn’t be in this predicament now if she hadn’t been so intent on pretending that everything was okay with Keith, if she hadn’t avoided knowing that he was gullibly squandering his own fortune and everything she’d inherited from her parents, if she hadn’t helped him squander it until she’d finally wised up.

Shaking off those maudlin thoughts, Paris moved her tired body out of the room and into the hallway to speak to her new boss. When she got no answer to her knock on his bedroom door, she knew she’d have to search the house for him. “Shouldn’t be hard to find,” she whispered to herself, examining the picture-free walls and pristine carpet. “He can’t exactly hide behind the furniture.”

Telling herself that she wasn’t intimidated by this brooding, disturbing man, Paris walked briskly through the house until she found him before the huge plate glass of the living room windows, staring out into the night. She stopped and hung back so that her reflection wouldn’t catch his attention.

Mac stood with his head thrust forward, causing his midnight-black hair to fall over his forehead. His hands were thrust into the back pockets of his jeans. Though he was physically fit and his arms were roped with muscles, he was too skinny. His clothes hung on a frame that seemed to carry twenty pounds less than it should. She doubted that he had thinned down on purpose. He had told her he was a carpenter and she knew he needed strength and stamina for such a job. Another quick examination of the living room had her wondering if he was more than a carpenter. He may have built this place himself, and she had a hunch he’d also had a hand in designing it. Something about the design of the house, the high ceilings and view of the ocean made her picture him bending over a draftsman’s table, carefully laying out the plans.

His face was thin and gaunt, as well, his dark eyes shadowed, hiding secrets. He stood with one shoulder turned slightly toward the window in a way that made her think of someone shouldering a burden, taking on yet another heavy load. She had never considered herself to be particularly astute at reading people. If she had, she certainly would have tried to keep Keith from giving their money to fast-talking charlatans. She could read Mac Weston, though, and what she saw told her he had been through rough times and they still weren’t behind him.

Against her will, she felt herself drawn to him as she was to his niece and nephew. She had no idea what his story was, but it struck a chord in her and made her more curious about him. Paris reminded herself that she needed to remember that this was just a job, one she would hold until she got back on her feet and decided what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

She must have moved or made a sound, because Mac’s head came up and the brooding look in his eyes gave way to caution as if he feared he’d revealed something of himself. He had, but she pretended as if she hadn’t seen it. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “The kids…”

“Are asleep,” she said, forcing briskness into her voice and striding into the room. Strangely, she felt her exhaustion fall away and vitality take its place as she joined him. “I left their door open so I could hear them. Will they sleep all night?”

“They’ve only been here two nights, and they haven’t slept much either night.” Mac ran his hand over his face. Paris knew he hadn’t either.

“I came to find out when you want breakfast.” She hadn’t been a housekeeper for very long, but she knew that was the kind of question she was supposed to ask. After all, her housekeeper used to ask her that question.

“Feed them whenever they get hungry,” he answered, his dark eyes regarding her in some confusion.

“No, I mean you, what time do you want your breakfast?”

“I can take care of myself,” he said gruffly, as if it didn’t matter. “That’s not why I hired you. You’re here to take care of Elly and Simon.”

Paris took exception to his dismissive tone. “And this house and everything connected with it, right? Including meals.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll get my own food.”

Even though she hadn’t intended to, Paris glanced at the way his jeans hung on his frame. Against her will, her lips tilted into a smile as if to say he hadn’t been doing such a good job of feeding himself. “You hired me to cook and that’s what I intend to—”

“No,” he said, scowling at her. “I don’t need you fussing over me.”

Her eyes widened. “Fussing? I’m trying to do my job.”

“Which is to take care of Elly and Simon, not me.”

Paris could only stare. What kind of man was this who couldn’t accept anything from someone he’d hired to help him? A stubborn and proud one, she concluded.

“Wait a minute, Mr. Weston…”

Wincing, he held up his hand. “Mac, please,” he said.

“Mac, then.” She took a breath. “Although I admit I don’t have much experience as a housekeeper…”

“Much?” he asked, his black brows rising skeptically.

“All right. Very little actual hands-on experience as a housekeeper,” she said, exasperated. “But I’ve been around many of them and their job is to cook and care for the whole family, not just the children.”

“Think of yourself as a pioneer in the housekeeping field, then Mrs. Barbour,” he suggested.

“Paris.” This time she was the one to do the correcting and was surprised to discover it felt good.

“You don’t have to worry about me. Just take care of the kids so I can get to work and hang onto the job that provides for all of us.”

Paris didn’t much like the way he said that, as if what she did with the kids wasn’t important as long as they were cared for. Maybe she had given him too much credit when considering how generous he was to take in Elly and Simon. It didn’t sound as though he had any intention of being involved with them at all.

To test the waters, she asked, “And what time will you be coming home in the evenings? I’m sure you’ll want to spend some quality time with the children when you do.”

His head drew back. Was that panic she saw flash in his eyes? Puzzled, she blinked at him.

“I’ll be home when I get home. This is the busy season in the construction industry and we work as many hours as we can before the winter rains hit. In fact, I often work weekends.”

Dismayed, Paris couldn’t think of a thing to say. She understood he had to work, but he sounded as if he wanted to do all he could to avoid coming home to Elly and Simon. At this point, she was tempted to back away, to accept what he said and meekly agree to it. She’d done that so often with Keith who’d had so many good-natured stories and excuses for his actions that she’d become mired in his logic. This was different, though. In her discussions with Keith, she’d had only herself to consider. Now she had to think about two children and what was best for them. Being stuck all day with the housekeeper/nanny, no matter how devoted, wasn’t best for them. For their sake, she went on instead of backing off as she might have done before.

“So you’re saying that we should just expect you when we see you?”

“That about covers it. I’m trusting you to take care of everything they need.” His eyes narrowed. “I thought I’d made that clear this morning.”

“I understand what my duties are, I just don’t understand what you think yours are if not to be a caring, loving presence for them.”

Annoyance swept over his face. She didn’t need any kind of interpreter to tell her that she’d gone too far, but she couldn’t back down even if she got fired as the culmination of her first day of work.

He stepped forward and leaned in to look into her eyes. Toughness and irritation seemed to vibrate from him like light waves. “If I get fired, I’ll be a constant presence for them since I’ll be hanging around the house all day, but I’d rather not get fired, if it’s all the same to you.”

Paris’s lips thinned as she met his gaze. Because she couldn’t trust herself to speak, she nodded once, quickly and he answered with a nod of his own as if they’d sealed a bargain.

Mac started to step away, then checked himself as if he had more to say. Her eyes holding his, Paris waited for what else would come. He opened his mouth, then paused. His gaze drifted from hers, then dropped lower, touching on her cheek, then her lips. She felt a tingling there which seemed to sweep down her throat and chest to strike with a thud in the center of her stomach. Jerking in a huge breath, she stepped back.

He blinked as if a fingersnap had roused him, and he, too, stepped back. Mac cleared his throat, stuck his hands, palm out into the back pockets of his jeans, then pulled them out again. “I called your references.”

“And?” Paris couldn’t help the caution in her voice.

“They checked out, even though that girl you had listed, Carolyn, said she hadn’t seen you in five years.”

Paris’s hands drifted up to play with the collar of her blouse. “Has it been that long?”

“And the man—your family doctor? Well, he could barely stop laughing long enough for me to ask the questions, but he did confirm the excellent state of your health.”

“Laughing?”

“Apparently, he thought the idea of you being a housekeeper and nanny was pretty funny.”

“Well,” Paris said primly. “Dr. Gaddis is…easily amused.”

“Mm-hm.”

He obviously didn’t believe that stretching of the truth, so she dropped it and said, “The important thing is that they could vouch for my character, right? So my two-week trial is on?”

“Looks like.” Mac tilted his head and gave her a speculative look as if once again, there was more he wanted to say. Instead, he turned abruptly and started from the room. “I’m going to bed. Wake me if you need help with the kids in the night.”

Paris stared at his disappearing back. “Well, I’ll be darned,” she murmured. In one breath he’d virtually turned the kids and their complete care over to her, and in the next, he’d subtly reminded her that he was watching her closely.

It wasn’t fair, she thought grumpily, as she switched off the living room light and made her way to her own room. She wanted to slot him into a neat pigeonhole in her mind, but he wouldn’t fit.

Her father had been a robust, yet simple man whose life had revolved around planting and harvesting, watching the weather and gauging how many cubic feet of water he would need for irrigating his celery crop. Her husband Keith had been sweet and shy, eager to please absolutely everyone around him.

This man had more facets than a fistful of diamonds. She frowned at that poor analogy. There was nothing precious or jewel-like about him, though he certainly seemed to have the hardness of a diamond. Bemused, she prepared for bed.

Paris woke up when a small hand pinched her nostrils shut. Gasping, she jerked into wakefulness and reached out to grab Elly’s wrist and pull it away.

“You ’wake?” the little girl whispered, putting her face up close to Paris’s.

“I am now,” Paris admitted, struggling upward. She reached out to snap on the light.

In the sudden brightness, she and Elly blinked at each other. The little girl’s fiery curls tumbled about her face, her eyes were full of tears and her bottom lip trembled. She clutched a tattered stuffed rabbit to her chest and was holding one of its ears to her cheek.

“Simon wants to sleep with you,” she announced. “He’s scared and he wants to get in your bed. He wants me to be in your bed, too.”

“He does?” Trying hard to focus and clear sleep-fog from her brain, Paris looked around the room. It was empty except for her and Elly. “Where is he?”

Elly turned. “He’s goned,” she said, alarm rising in her voice as she scooted off the bed and hurried from the room.

Paris threw back the covers, grabbed for her robe and rushed after the little girl. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and fumbled for the belt as she shuffled into the hallway. Elly was already in her own room, frantically searching the playpen for her little brother when Paris joined her.

“He’s not here,” Elly wailed. “Somebody’s got him.”

“No, no, we’ll find him,” Paris assured her, sweeping Elly into her arms. The little girl immediately curled her arms around Paris’s neck in a stranglehold. A soft cry behind them told her where the little boy was. Paris turned and hurried back to the hallway, where she found Simon sleepily fumbling at the knob of Mac’s bedroom door. He couldn’t quite reach it, and his groggy efforts were heartrending to see.

Paris rushed to him. “It’s okay, Simon. Come with me,” she whispered, staggering slightly as Elly’s weight around her neck pitched her forward. She stumbled against the door just as it was swept open by Mac. Paris barreled into him.

“Oomph,” he grunted, taking the impact of her head against his chest muscles.

Paris bounced back, her ears ringing. Were his pectoral muscles made of iron, she wondered, as she struggled to keep her grip on Elly. Mac’s arm shot out automatically to hold the two females upright. His free hand slapped the hall light on and they all squinted in its brightness.

“Oomph,” Simon repeated softly, wrapping himself around Mac’s legs, then said “oomph” again as if the sound of it pleased him and his fright was forgotten. Calm now, he looked up to see what everyone else was going to do.

“What’s going on?” Mac asked, his voice low and knotted with sleep.

“The children woke, and…” Paris began, pushing away from the disturbing strength of his arms and clutching Elly to her like a shield. She wished she had a free hand to smooth her tumbled hair and make sure her knee-length robe covered her decently, then wondered why she cared. No one else did.

“We wanna sleep with you,” Elly said, bringing Paris back to the reason for these midnight wanderings. “Me and Simon.”

Paris blinked at her. “I thought you wanted to sleep with me.”

“Yeah.” Elly’s tangled curls bounced as she nodded vigorously. “We do. Don’t we, Simon? Elly and Simon want to sleep with you.”

“Seep,” Simon confirmed, and popped his thumb into his mouth.

“You can’t have it both ways, Elly. You can either sleep with your Uncle Mac, or with Paris,” she pointed out, automatically picking up on Elly’s habit of speaking of herself in the third person.

“Unka Mac and Pris,” Elly said, nodding as if the adults had finally understood and it was all settled. She lifted herself in Paris’s arms and tried to peer past the shoulders that were blocking the doorway. “Let’s go.”

The four of them in the same bed? Paris’s eyes widened then shot from the bed to its owner, who was treating them to his familiar scowl. He didn’t seem to like the idea any better than she did. Bolstered, she said, “No, Elly, we can’t do that—”

“Why not?” Mac interrupted.

Alarmed, Paris met his gaze. “Why, we just can’t, that’s all. It would…it would set a bad precedent,” she finished lamely.

“It would mean we’d all get some sleep,” he responded.

Paris swept a stunned look over his face and across his chest. Oh yeah? She barely kept herself from voicing her skepticism aloud. “No, it would be best if I took the children into my bed, and we slept there.”

Simon grunted to be picked up. Mac glanced down, looking momentarily baffled, then realized what the boy wanted and bent to lift him into his arms. Simon didn’t curl trustingly against Mac the way Elly was doing with Paris, but he did reach out and begin twining his fingers through Mac’s chest hairs, plucking at them happily.

“Ouch,” Mac said, starting to pull the baby’s hand away. Realizing that hurt worse because of Simon’s grip, he winced and gingerly peeled the little fingers off instead. He looked from one child to the other. “How about it, kids, do you want to sleep with Paris?”

“No,” Elly said firmly. “Pris and Mac and Elly and Simon.”

Mac yawned. “Makes sense to me. Come on. There’s room for all of us.”

He stepped into the room and Paris could see his bed. His room was the only one she hadn’t entered that day and she didn’t look at it now. Her gaze sought out the bed and stuck there.

Indeed, there was room enough for all of them. It was king-sized with fluffy pillows and a puffy burgundy-colored comforter that had been thrown back in his haste to scramble from bed and see who was at his door.

Room or not, she still didn’t want to do this. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I’ve been up almost every night. This is my opportunity to sleep and I’m going to take it. The kids wouldn’t sleep with me in here, so I slept on the floor in their room. My back aches from it and I’m by dam…darned going to sleep all night in my own bed if there’s any way at all that I can do that. Now drop your objections, don’t fear for your chastity, Paris, and get into bed.”

Paris opened her mouth to object, but she caught sight of Elly’s worried face. The little girl looked as if she thought this was going to escalate into a real argument. Guiltily, Paris realized she was only making this harder. Finally, she answered meekly, “All right. I’ll just go turn off the light in my room.” She deposited Elly in the middle of the bed, where Mac had also placed Simon, then went back to her room to switch off the light and make sure that her robe was belted snugly and tucked up around her chin as high as possible.

What on earth was she thinking? She couldn’t sleep in the same bed with a man she’d only met that day! It was crazy. Unimaginable. Wrong.

She hadn’t slept with any man since Keith’s death, or any man other than Keith, for that matter. Her hands flew up to her hot cheeks. She didn’t want to be that close to Mac, to be that vulnerable. These thoughts ran through her head, convincing her she should reverse her decision and try once again to talk Mac out of this, but when she heard Elly’s distressed whimper calling her name, she knew she had to do it.

Wondering how this whole situation had managed to go sideways on her, she went back down the hall to his room, reluctance dragging at her feet. When she reached it, she saw that both children were snuggled in the center of the bed and Elly was looking expectantly at her.

“Come on, Pris. Get in.”

Mac stood beside the bed, his arms folded across his chest and his dark gaze on her. If she’d thought him capable of smiling, she would have been suspicious of the twitch of his lips. His dark eyes traveled from her disheveled hair to her knees, which developed some kind of nervous tic that insisted they knock together beneath the hem of her robe. Mentally, Paris forced a little starch into them.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “Get in and let’s all settle down.”

Paris didn’t answer, but lifted her chin and gave him a direct look which managed to note and be thankful for the fact that he wore a pair of sweatpants. She intended to keep her robe on. Let him think what he would.

With a nod, she swept the covers back and lay down, though she couldn’t relax. He gave her stiff-as-a-board posture a sardonic look as he turned off the bedside lamp. The bed dipped and resettled, then all was quiet.

Paris felt some of the stiffness going out of her spine as Elly scooted in close. She put her arm around the little girl, then reached over to give Simon a reassuring pat. Instead of soft baby skin or a diapered bottom, she encountered the hair-dusted back of Mac’s hand which he’d placed over the baby.

Her fingers sprang away and she heard him sigh in annoyance. “Relax, Paris. You’re safe here.”

Oddly enough, she believed him.