Читать книгу At The Millionaire's Request - Teresa Southwick, Teresa Southwick - Страница 9

M .J. breathed a sigh of relief when her little old car coughed and wheezed, then shuddered off in front of Gavin’s house. When giving directions, he’d said Cliff House overlooked the Pacific Ocean on a bluff, but with everything else on her mind, it hadn’t quite registered that getting there involved a serious incline.

“The little car that could. Barely.” She patted the dashboard approvingly, then got out.

She’d agreed to meet Gavin here at five o’clock and it was getting dark. Late-afternoon clouds had rolled in off the ocean and the large gray house blended in, except for the intricate and elaborate white trim that outlined the roof, windows and second-floor deck. The expanse of lawn was neatly trimmed as were the marguerites and privets bordering it. California cypress grew thick around the perimeter, giving the estate privacy.

She looked around again and knew she was putting off going inside. “Procrastination is a crime. It only leads to sorrow. I can stop it anytime, I think I will tomorrow.” It was a rhyme she recited to her students, teasing them into taking action. It was time to take her own advice. “I hate that rhyme,” she mumbled.

Taking a deep breath, she followed the walkway to the double-door entry. As the mist rolled in, she shivered, feeling like the plucky heroine of a Gothic romance novel. The difference was, she wasn’t plucky. Desperation was her only motivation. If she had a choice, she’d get back in her little car and go as fast as she could back down the hill.

She rang the bell and, through the oval etched glass in the door, she could see lights inside and someone coming. Bracing herself, she prepared to see Gavin again. When a tall, trim, gray-haired man opened the door, she was surprised.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m—”

“Ms. Taylor. I’m Henderson, the caretaker of Cliff House. Mr. Spencer said to expect you. He had planned to be here when you arrived, but was delayed at the office. He’ll be here shortly and sends his apologies. I’ll introduce you to Sean.”

“Thank you.” It was the polite response, but M.J. wanted to tell him not to do her any favors. She dreaded this with every fiber of her being.

“My wife, Lenore, is the housekeeper. She’s watching over the boy in the family room.”

M.J. nodded as she glanced around. The entryway ceiling must be twenty feet high. Twin staircases curved up to the second floor. As she followed Henderson through the house, she had a fleeting impression of elegant furniture in serene shades of celery and hunter green. In the artwork and glassware there were splashes of red, gold and orange. Beige tile gave way to plush carpet as they moved through the house.

Just off the kitchen with black granite-covered island and countertops, they stopped in the family room. A large sea-foam green sectional filled one corner with a huge flat-screen TV across from it.

An older woman sat on the sofa. Beside her, a recliner built into the sectional was pushed back with the footrest extended. Beneath it, a boy lined up little plastic dinosaurs, then set two pterodactyls on the footrest above, poising them to swoop down on the tyrannosaurus rex and the triceratops. She knew the names because Brian had loved them and constantly begged her to read him dinosaur books.

Emotion tightened in her chest and spread into her throat.

Henderson walked farther into the room. “Lenore, Sean, this is Ms. Taylor.”

A petite, brown-eyed brunette, Lenore smiled warmly. “Welcome to Cliff House.”

The polite thing to say would be that it was nice to be here. But it wasn’t nice. At this moment she’d give anything if she hadn’t been raised to be polite. M.J. wanted to turn and run from toys that were scattered on the floor, little cars small enough for little hands. A small boy in blue jeans and long-sleeved, striped T-shirt. His white sneakers were scuffed because active boys were hard on shoes. It was all so familiar, and looking at it produced a physical ache.

“Ms. Taylor?” There was concern in Henderson’s voice.

“Yes.” She let out a long breath as she slid her hands into the pockets of her sweater and looked at them. “Lenore. Sean. Hi.”

“Sorry I’m late.” Gavin rushed into the room and Sean smiled, then instantly jumped up and raced to his father.

Brian used to do that when she got home from work. Tears burned her eyes and she held her breath, waiting for the squeal of delight when Gavin swung his son into his arms. But it never came.

Gavin took the boy’s weight on his forearm and their faces were close together. There was no question of paternity. Sean was the image of his father. “Hi, buddy. Did you have a good day?”

Sean nodded.

“You met Ms. Taylor? M.J.”

This time the boy pointed at her and nodded.

“Good. She’s going to help you talk again.” Gavin bent to set him down and the boy clung for several moments.

When his father straightened, Sean looked up at him, dark eyes wide and questioning. He was a beautiful little boy and would grow into a handsome man, just like his father. She wondered if he’d also inherited Gavin’s intensity, determination and charm. All of that would help him be successful in the weeks of therapy ahead.

Gavin ran his hand over the boy’s dark hair. “Daddy needs to talk to M.J., son. You stay with Lenore.” When Sean pointed to his dinosaurs, Gavin said, “That’s right. Have fun with your toys.”

The boy shook his head, then pointed to Gavin and his dinosaurs.

“I can’t play right now, buddy. Later.” He looked at her. “We can talk in my office.”

She didn’t miss the flash of disappointment on the child’s face before Gavin put his hand at the small of her back and urged her from the room. She accompanied him down a hall and into an office that was as elegant as it was masculine. The walls were oak-paneled, with a matching desk dominating the center of the hunter-green carpet. One wall was entirely windows with French doors looking out on the ocean.

Two leather wing chairs were in front of the desk and he indicated she should sit.

Gavin took off his suit coat and draped it across the high back of the desk chair. He sat across from her, loosened his red tie and rolled up the long sleeves of his white dress shirt to just below the elbows. As if that wasn’t masculine enough, she noticed that his jaw was dark with five o’clock shadow. It gave him a dangerous look that set off a fluttering sensation in her stomach. Again her survival instincts were telling her to run, but this time for a different reason.

“So,” Gavin said, folding his hands on the desk. “Thanks for coming. Can I ask what changed your mind?”

She wanted to tell him he was free to ask, but she didn’t have to answer. Except, given her firm, outspoken objection to his offer, it was a fair question. That didn’t mean he was entitled to the whole truth. “Let’s just call it a moment of weakness.”

He studied her for several seconds, then shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. The point is you’re here. And I’m grateful.”

Don’t be, she wanted to say. “Sean’s injury was to the left side of his brain,” she said, getting straight to the point. They had no reason to do small talk.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“That’s where language function is controlled.”

Gavin nodded and his expression was grim. “He used to be a chatterbox.”

“With TBI, or traumatic brain injury,” she added, although probably he’d heard the term more than he wanted, “the jolt to the head disrupts brain function and it isn’t just language that’s affected.”

“The doctor told me.”

“Did he also make you aware that reading, social skills such as impulse control, gauging consequences for a behavior and acting out because of frustration can also be affected by the injury?”

He nodded. “Medically, Sean’s come as far as he can.”

“Do you have a prognosis?”

“The neurologist feels that with cognitive and physical therapy, Sean has a good chance to regain brain function lost due to the trauma.”

“Good. I’ll need to do a series of tests on Sean to see where he is, then work up a treatment plan.”

“Okay.”

She knew a therapist was the driving force in treatment. But, like a general, she needed to martial all the forces at her disposal. She needed to know who she could count on. “Gavin, clearly you’re dedicated to Sean’s care. What about Sean’s mother? Will she—”

“She won’t be involved,” he snapped. M.J. almost shivered at the ice-cold tone of his voice. “You should know that TBI kids typically progress faster when both parents become involved in the process.”

“Sean’s mother doesn’t have any contact with him.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it.” His gaze narrowed.

True. If she still had her son, nothing and no one could keep her from him.

“You’re right,” she agreed. “I don’t see. But I can make a guess that she’s the woman who worked you into that cynical attitude of yours and is responsible for you keeping your guard up.”

“You’d be correct.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “All you need to know is that Sean is better off without her.”

M.J. couldn’t help being curious. He’d never married Sean’s mother and he was raising the boy by himself. He believed money could buy everything and everyone. It didn’t require ugly details to see that the woman had really done a number on him. Sympathy started to stir inside M.J. and she shut it down. He was a client, her employer. As one parent to another, she sympathized with what he was going through, but she didn’t want to feel anything for him as a man.

“What about grandparents?” she asked.

Gavin shook his head. “My father passed away about two years ago.”

M.J. waited for more, but he didn’t say anything about extended family on his mother’s side. When curiosity stirred again, she ignored it. “Who takes care of him when you’re at work?”

“Henderson and Lenore. They’ve been with me since before Sean was born.”

“So they’re like family?”

“Yes. They’re devoted to my son.”

“Good.” She met his gaze. “But you’re the most important person in his world.”

“And I’ll do whatever it takes. You can count on me.”

She nodded. “Does Sean speak at all?”

“Not much,” he said ruefully. “A word here and there, but not complete sentences.” Worry etched lines in his handsome face. “He was perfect before the accident.”

“He’s a beautiful child,” she said softly. Something stirred inside her and again she shut it down.

Gavin met her gaze, his own stark with a father’s pain. “I want him back the way he was.”

M.J. nodded her understanding. Any parent in his position would feel the same. Now wasn’t the time to tell him Sean’s accident had changed him forever. No one could go through what he had and be the same as he was. The question was how much brain function could be regained.

To accomplish the best case scenario, M.J. needed to establish a bond with the child. How was she going to do that when every instinct urged her to shut down? To disengage from him? Once, she would have hugged Sean when introduced. Touched him. Shaken his little hand. Now she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

She hoped Gavin hadn’t made a mistake hiring her and that she hadn’t made a colossal error in judgment by accepting the job.

She stood and slipped her hands into the pockets of her sweater. “I’ll do my best to help Sean.”

That was also the truth. Although it wasn’t much, she’d give everything she had left. But that didn’t include her heart. Not for the child. Or his father.

It had been four weeks since M.J. had first come to Cliff House. Gavin had cut short a meeting at work so that he could be here before she left today. Standing in the shadows just outside the room, he could observe, but the two didn’t notice him.

He was frustrated as he watched her on the family room floor playing with Sean. They were doing a dinosaur puzzle and hadn’t noticed him yet. First she had the boy trace the space where the piece fit, then run his finger around the piece itself before fitting the irregular cardboard into the right place.

“Good job.” She smiled at the boy.

What the heck did this have to do with helping Sean to speak again?

“Now,” she said. “Brush your finger over the next space like I showed you. Do the same with the piece that goes there, then put it where it belongs.”

Concentration furrowed Sean’s forehead as he complied with the first directive. Then he blinked at M.J., confusion in his eyes.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Trace the space.” When he nodded, she smiled. “Good. Now what?”

The boy thought for a few moments, then put the puzzle piece in place.

“Way to go, kiddo. High five.” She held up her hand and Sean slapped it.

The boy grinned at her before rolling around on the floor.

“I think we need to get rid of the wiggles,” she said, standing.

She shook her hands using a wrist motion and Sean imitated. He copied when she stretched her neck then moved her head from side to side before bending to touch her toes. That gave Gavin a good view of her fanny, which was covered by the usual black pants. Since she’d been coming, he’d dropped by the therapy sessions a couple of times for a few minutes and this was the first he’d noticed that she had some pretty nice curves going on. Then she smiled at Sean and the expression transformed her.

She was prettier than Gavin realized. That didn’t make him happy.

When he moved to the center of the doorway, Sean immediately saw him and grinned, then raced across the room, but there was no shouted greeting. Gavin’s chest tightened. He longed to hear his son say, “Daddy.”

Gavin brushed his hand over his son’s hair as the boy caught his leg. When he looked at M.J., he saw that her smile had disappeared and found he missed it.

“Hey, buddy. How are you?” When the child pointed to the puzzle, then M.J., Gavin said, “I see. You’ve been playing with M.J.”

“He likes puzzles,” she said. “He’s good at them.”

“Of course he is. He’s a Spencer.” But being good at puzzles wasn’t the progress Gavin expected. He met her gaze. “I’d like to speak to you. Do you have a couple minutes?”

“Of course.”

After Sean was settled in the kitchen with Lenore, Gavin looked across his desk at M.J. She sat stiffly, her hands linked in her lap.

He was still remembering her smile and irritated because he did. “I’ll get right to the point. As far as I can see, there’s no change in my son’s condition.”

“I agree.”

That surprised him. He was accustomed to spin and excuses when the desired result wasn’t achieved. M.J. stared back at him without apology.

“I thought there would be noticeable progress. Can you explain why there isn’t?”

“Yes.” Her chin lifted slightly. “Because Sean is a little boy, not a business project. He’ll go at his own speed, not the timetable you mandate.”

“Based on your glowing references, I just thought—” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“You thought I could snap my fingers, wiggle my nose and he’d be cured?”

“Something like that,” he admitted.

“This isn’t about a cure. It’s about regaining the function that was lost.” Her tone was patient, soft, soothing. “It’s going to take a lot of work. And that will take time.”

Gavin had noticed the way she was with Sean today. She’d been playful, firm, determined and lively. There was a sweetness about her that seemed to come from within. It appeared genuine and unforced, a natural extension of herself—very real. And that smile. She was pretty when she smiled, and he wanted to think of her only as plain.

“How long?” He heard the edge to his voice and suspected it was fear. He was afraid his boy would never be okay. If only this were a disease and ten days of antibiotics the course of treatment. He wanted his son back now. At the very least, he wanted guarantees and a time frame.

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t make a guess based on experience? When my father was dying of cancer, the doctors gave me an estimate and it turned out to be almost to the day,” he snapped.

“That’s an entirely different situation. Medical doctors have studies and data and tests that help them make an educated guess. In situations like this, there can’t be a specific timetable. Every child is different. Every injury is different.”

“Can you give me a ballpark estimate?”

“No.” She met his gaze. “But I can tell you that it might go faster if you get involved in the therapy.”

“You mean, doing puzzles?”

“That was brain exercise and therapy for hand-eye coordination,” she said.

“It looked like playing to me.”

“If therapy techniques weren’t disguised as fun, how cooperative do you think Sean would be?”

“Obviously, I don’t know anything about speech language therapy. How much help could I be?”

“I can show you what to do. I distinctly remember that you promised to do whatever it takes to help your son. I believe you said I could count on you.” The tender tone was gone, replaced by toughness.

And she was right; he had promised. She met him toe-to-toe and wouldn’t blink. Part of him respected her for that. On the other hand, he didn’t as a rule notice when an employee’s smile made her pretty. That thought was followed by irrational anger, which didn’t bode well for tact.

“You’re the expert, Ms. Taylor. It’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

Any earlier traces of warmth and patience disappeared. “Is this third degree really about Sean?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Are you implying that I’m dragging out a child’s therapy for financial gain?”

“Are you?”

“That would be unethical.” Her mouth tightened and anger flashed in her eyes, making them a darker shade of blue.

You’re beautiful when you’re angry. The thought jumped into his mind before he could stop it. In that moment, she was striking. Something inside him responded, stirred to life, and he regretted it instantly.

Again his temper took over. “This wouldn’t be the first time someone held a child’s life hostage.”

“What does that mean?” she demanded.

It meant he’d been stupid once. A woman had used his child to get to him and he wouldn’t let it happen a second time. M.J. seemed warm and real and sincere. But what if he was wrong again?

When he didn’t answer, she stood. “Gavin, you’ve made it clear that you believe everyone has a price. But I’m not everyone and you don’t know me.”

He was getting to know her, and he wasn’t sure yet if that was a problem. “What’s your point?”

“Just this—you were the one who badgered me into taking this job. If you don’t trust me, I’ll gladly walk out that door. You’re paying me for my skill, but you have no idea what it’s costing me. That little boy is—”

The bleak expression was back in her eyes. “What, M.J.?”

She swallowed several times, then caught her top lip between her teeth. Finally she said, “Sean is the same age Brian would have been.”

That took the heat out of his temper. “I didn’t know.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. And I don’t know you. I don’t know why you’re cynical and determined to mistrust everything I do. I did warn you that I’m not the way I was, that my abilities are impaired, but you insisted. I promised you that I would do the best I could under the circumstances. But if you’ve changed your mind, say the word and it would be my pleasure to resign.”

Gavin studied her. He could almost see the anger drain out of her, replaced by weariness. Dark circles bruised the soft skin beneath her eyes and it had nothing to do with getting popped while breaking up a high school scuffle. But it might have a lot to do with the hard knocks in her life.

On top of that, she taught full-time and worked with Sean three evenings a week. He’d just seen for himself that the therapy demanded a high level of energy and attention. It wouldn’t violate his rules to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” he said.

She met his gaze. “If you do, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Then she walked out. After she said goodbye to Sean, Gavin followed her and opened the front door, but she walked out without looking back. She got in the car and turned the key in the ignition several times before the engine caught.

He watched the red taillights of her old car until they disappeared in the fog. He’d never thought he was the type to form an opinion about a person based on appearance, but now he wasn’t so sure. He’d thought M. J. Taylor pale and plain, but a few minutes ago he’d seen flash and fire in her. There was more to her than he’d first thought and he suspected there was far more than the little she’d revealed.

He realized he was staring into the swirling mist and closed the door. If only he could close off his thoughts as easily. He hadn’t spent this much mental energy on a woman in a long time.

And that time had been a disaster.