by Elle James
“I’m pretty open to anything,” Dix said. “No allergies.”
“Great.” Mrs. Purdy beamed. “Then I’ll see you two tomorrow. Call if you have any questions about Leigha. My children all went through fevers and upset stomachs a number of times. They all came through just fine.” She waved her hand. “Cool compress. Her next dose of Tylenol should be in four hours. Rub a little mentholated cream on her chest if she gets stuffy. Other than that, stay with her. She seemed a little sad and frightened tonight.”
Andrew almost stepped in front of Mrs. Purdy to block her from leaving. “Are you sure I’m qualified for this? Should I call a nurse, anyone with more experience?”
Mrs. Purdy patted his scarred cheek. “You have as much experience as most new parents. You’ll do fine. And I’m sure Miss Reeves will help.”
“Me?” Dix touched a hand to her chest. “I don’t know anything about sick children.”
“All you have to do is stay with her. Check her temp and keep her calm.” Mrs. Purdy glanced at her watch. “I really must go. It will take me quite a while to get home in the fog.”
Panic threatened to overwhelm Andrew. He’d had a nanny for Leigha in New York City. And Mrs. Purdy did most everything for him since he’d arrived in Cape Churn and secured her services. He was completely unqualified to deal with a sick little girl.
Mrs. Purdy didn’t stay to argue. She was through the door and gone before Andrew could order her to stay. Not that she would. Mrs. Purdy wasn’t one of the Wall Street interns he could order around. She did things when she was good and ready, on her own schedule, in her own way. And she kept his house in order.
Dix crossed to the door and twisted the lock behind Mrs. Purdy. “If you’ll tell me where I can drop my things, I’ll start my inspection of the house.”
“I’d like you to start your inspection in Leigha’s room,” Andrew said.
“Oh, no, you don’t. You just want me to take care of your kid.” Dix held up her hands. “Just because I’m female doesn’t mean I know what to do with a sick child. She’s your little girl. You fix her.”
A weak cry came from above. “Mrs. Purdy? Mr. Stratford? I don’t feel good.” Sobs followed.
Andrew’s gut knotted. So, he didn’t know how to take care of a sick little girl. He’d wing it. Leaving Dix standing in the entryway, he took the steps upward, two at a time, and entered the third doorway on the right. The room closest to the master suite.
Leigha lay in the queen-size bed, a small figure swallowed by puffy, cotton-candy-pink blankets. Her long blond hair fanned across the pillow and her face was even paler than normal. Brewer lay at her feet, his chin between his paws, his tail thumping against the comforter.
“Hey, Leigha. Mrs. Purdy had to go home.”
She stared up at him, her eyes wide. “Who’s going to take care of me?”
Andrew sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. His hands felt so big and clumsy next to her delicate features. God, he wished Mrs. Purdy hadn’t left. “I guess you’re stuck with me.”
Footsteps sounded outside the bedroom door.
Andrew shot a glance over his shoulder.
Dix peeked in and added, “And me.”
Leigha’s eyes widened. She reached for Andrew’s hand and whispered, “Who’s she?”
Andrew waved his hand behind him, urging Dix forward. “Leigha, this is Dix. Dix, this is Leigha.”
Leigha’s brows lowered. “What is she doing here?”
Andrew hated lying to the child, but he needed her to trust Dix. “Dix is my friend, and she’s come to stay with us for a little while. I’m counting on you to show her around. This place is so big, she might get lost.”
“I don’t feel like showing her around. My tummy hurts.”
“You don’t have to show me around today, sweetie.” Dix entered the room and came to stand beside Andrew. “Maybe when you get better?” She reached out her hand to the dog. “Is this your dog?”
Leigha nodded.
“What’s his name?” Dix asked.
“Brewer.”
Dix scratched behind Brewer’s ears. “Does Brewer like to listen to stories?”
Leigha frowned up at Dix. “Brewer’s a dog. He doesn’t always understand people.”
Andrew hid a grin. His daughter wasn’t going to give Dix an inch. She’d have to work for a connection.
His new bodyguard walked over to a shelf and thumbed through the colorful books. “I bet he likes it when you talk to him, doesn’t he?” Dix lifted a book off of a shelf. “Do you think he would like it if I read to him?”
The little girl closed her eyes. “He might.” She reached for Andrew’s hand and squeezed it, uncaring that it had burn scars and didn’t feel like a normal hand. She didn’t mind that he wasn’t perfect. She always seemed glad that he was just himself. His heart swelled. This little girl he hadn’t known he had until a year ago was his.
“What would he like to listen to?” Dix asked.
“He likes the book about the island and the blue dolphins.”
Andrew almost laughed out loud. From claiming Brewer was just a dog to admitting the animal would like to listen to the book Island of the Blue Dolphins, Leigha had come full circle.
Score one for Dix. Despite her claim that she didn’t know anything about children, she’d gotten Leigha to come around to her way of thinking without having to order her to do so.
Andrew nodded. “I’ll let you three get to it.” He started to rise but was stopped by the little hand holding his.
“Please stay, Mr. Stratford.” Leigha stared up at him with glassy blue eyes, her face flushed and her body hot.
“Tell you what...” Dix handed the book to Andrew. “Let your father start the story, while I get a fresh cloth to cool your face.”
“But Brewer wants to hear you read,” Leigha said.
“And I will. After I get something to cool you down.” Dix drew an X across her chest. “Cross my heart.”
“Okay.” Leigha turned to her father.
Outmaneuvered by the woman, Andrew opened the book. “Where should I start?”
“At the beginning.” Leigha closed her eyes and lay back against the pillow.
Andrew started reading.
Dix disappeared into the room’s adjoining bathroom and returned with a damp cloth. She folded it several times and laid it across Leigha’s forehead.
Andrew couldn’t help noting how gentle Dix was with his little girl. The woman was a natural with kids. While he read, Andrew studied Dix out of the corner of his eye.
Without makeup and her hair hanging loose around her shoulders, she wasn’t a classic beauty. Her shoulders and arm muscles were well-defined and taut. She didn’t have an ounce of fat on her body. Whatever she’d done before going to work for Fontaine, she’d kept physically fit. No, she wasn’t like Tazer, a woman who could pose for a fashion magazine. Nor was she bone-thin, like so many runway models who looked like they could use a big hamburger or treatment for an eating disorder.
No, Dix was what Andrew would call a healthy, granola girl, adept at hiking up hills without breaking into a sweat. She might even be capable of scaling cliffs with her bare hands.
But at that moment she was showing a side of herself she probably didn’t know she had. A side that made Andrew look at her in a whole new way.
The tenderness with which she applied the cool cloth to Leigha’s brow and cheeks was nothing short of maternal. She moved slowly, carefully patting Leigha’s face as she smiled down at the child.
So engrossed in watching Dix’s movements, at one point, Andrew forgot to read.
“I’m not asleep yet.” Leigha opened her eyes. “Please keep reading.”
“Sorry,” Andrew said, shaking aside his obse
ssive desire to watch Dix’s every move.
Dix chuckled low in her chest.
The sound made Andrew warm all over and he wanted her to do it again. He jerked his attention back to the book and read each word, without really seeing them or absorbing the story.
As he ended the first chapter, Andrew realized two things.
Leigha had fallen asleep and Dix had chinked away a piece of the wall he’d erected around himself.
That would not do. The woman was a hired hand. A temporary one at that.
The sooner he found a replacement bodyguard, the better.
Chapter 4
Dix smiled down at the little girl with the spun-gold hair splayed out on the pillow. She remembered a picture of herself at about Leigha’s age. Her hair had been long and wavy, and she’d been full of curiosity and mischief. Her mother had never been able to keep up with her. Looking back, she was surprised she’d lived through some of her more dangerous escapades.
If her mother had known where she’d been exploring, she would have had more gray hair. To the young Dix, life had been one big adventure.
Joining the military had been a logical choice for Dix. She related better with men than with women, and she’d always liked getting dirty and shooting guns with her father. In fact, she liked fishing, hunting, yard work and anything her father had liked. Housekeeping, cooking and laundry had been her least favorite things to do growing up. She’d been happiest outdoors in the sunshine.
So why did her heart skip several beats and then tighten in her chest when she stared down at the little girl lying against the cool sheets, her body warm from fever?
Something she’d never felt before welled up inside. A fierce desire to protect this small creature so dependent on adults to keep her well and alive. Was this how parents felt about their children? While her mother had wanted to hold her back, she’d done it out of a desire to keep her safe. Her father, on the other hand, had wanted to share his love of the outdoors with her, to show her some of what she could do if she broadened her mind beyond the walls of their little house in the country.
The deep, resonant tone of Mr. Stratford’s voice filled the room, making it seem smaller, more intimate. The soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand brought them closer together. They probably looked like a family.
Dix jerked upright. She hadn’t come to Stratford’s mansion to become part of his family. She’d come to protect this family.
She glanced around, wondering where Leigha’s mother was and why she wasn’t there, taking care of her child.
Fontaine had told her she would be the bodyguard for the Stratford family. From what she could tell, that family consisted of two. Father and daughter. And the daughter called her father “Mr. Stratford.”
Why?
As her father read, Leigha’s eyes closed. Dix backed away from the bed, her hand clenching around the damp cloth. Her goal was to leave the room and perform the search of the giant house for any weaknesses in entry and exit points.
She’d almost made it to the door when a little voice said, “Please, don’t go.”
Dix turned to find Leigha staring across the room at her, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy.
“Your father will stay with you,” Dix pointed out, hating to disappoint the girl but feeling the need to escape. This sweet little family scene threatened to choke her. After all she’d been through, she doubted seriously she’d ever have children of her own or be the mother they needed.
“But I want you to stay, too,” she said, her voice trailing off, a single tear slipping from the corner of her eye. “I don’t feel good.” She raised her little hand, reaching for Dix.
Mr. Stratford stopped reading and turned to add his gaze to his daughter’s.
Her heart contracting, Dix couldn’t step through the door and leave when the little girl had asked her so sweetly to stay.
She sighed. “I’m only going to wet the cloth again and make it cooler. I’ll be right back.” Dix changed direction and headed into the bathroom. There she turned on the cold water and dipped the cloth beneath. While she soaked and squeezed the excess out, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
I can’t do this.
Fighting in the MMA had given her an outlet for her anger and sorrow. Without it, she had no way to channel the energy or to push aside the pain.
This father and daughter pair already had her gut tied into a very twisted knot and she hadn’t been there for even a day.
Dix’s parents had died in a helicopter crash while touring the Grand Canyon. She’d been deep in Army Ranger training on the field training exercise when it had happened. The training officers hadn’t told her until she’d completed the most challenging portion of the exercise.
No one had been there when she’d graduated, nor had she had the opportunity to celebrate because she’d gotten right onto a plane and flown to her home state of Texas to attend her mother and father’s funeral.
Going home had been the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. The house hadn’t been the same without her mother and father in it. She’d listed it with a Realtor, packed a few photo albums, her great-grandmother’s antique candy dish and given the rest of the furnishings and clothing to a local charity.
She hadn’t had much time to manage it all before she’d had to report back to her new unit only to ship out within two weeks to the war zone.
All of those memories were still raw, even though it had been years.
Dix glanced down at the cloth she’d squeezed so much it barely retained any water. She dampened it and started over. A minute later she returned to Leigha’s bedroom and draped the cloth over the girl’s forehead.
“You came back,” she whispered and reached for Dix’s hand. She pulled her closer until Dix was forced to sit on the side of the bed.
The little fingers in hers were too warm. She wondered how long it would take for the fever to break. If it didn’t, they might be making an emergency trip to the hospital before the night was over.
Mr. Stratford glanced up, his gaze connecting with Dix’s.
A sharp stab of awareness coursed through Dix’s veins. She averted her gaze and stared down at the little hand resting in hers.
Stratford started another chapter of the book, his voice droning on until Leigha finally slept.
Dix slipped her hand free of Leigha’s and stood.
“You can go. I’ll take it from here,” Mr. Stratford said.
With a nod, Dix left the room. Once in the hallway, she dragged in several deep breaths before she started down the stairs and took her time going through each room on the ground floor, checking windows and doors to ensure they were all secured.
All the while, she thought of the little girl and her father in the room upstairs. Other than a housekeeper and a dog, they seemed incredibly alone in the huge old mansion. How sad. Even if the mansion was a family inheritance, she would have converted it into the hotel it seemed more suited for or she’d have sold it. The McGregors had the right idea converting their big old house into a bed-and-breakfast. At least it was full of people, not dark and lonely.
All of the doors and windows on the first floor were secured. In the kitchen, she found a door leading into the basement. She flipped the light switch. A yellowed bulb gave an eerie glow that barely lit the stairs halfway down. Hollywood had given basements a bad reputation. Everyone knew a lone female going into the basement by herself was a bad idea. It never ended well.
Dix snorted. Having trained in snake-infested swamps as well as having significant experience in hand-to-hand combat and mixed martial arts, she didn’t consider a basement a threat. But she wasn’t stupid. Dix grabbed a butcher knife from a drawer and descended the stairs. At the bottom, she found another switch. When she flipped it, bulbs lit at different locations. Some appe
ared burned out.
The space below the mansion was almost as extensive as the first floor, broken up by thick posts, crates, old furniture, a room set up as a wine cellar and stacks of cardboard boxes. A veritable maze. Scattered around the outer walls were tiny windows and one exit leading to a trapdoor that probably opened out into a garden. She pushed against the door. It held firm, no matter how hard she tried to open it. In the morning she’d check it from the outside. She suspected it had a padlock holding it in place. The small windows were locked and, other than a creepy feeling, the basement appeared secure.
As she started for the stairs, something moved in the shadows with a scuffling sound. As big as the house was, it might have a mouse or rat problem.
A shiver slipped down Dix’s spine and her hand tightened around the handle of the butcher knife. She inched forward, her ears straining to pick up the sound again. If she could pinpoint the direction, she might actually find the culprit.
There it was again. Only this time it sounded more like a footstep. Dix ducked behind a stack of boxes and waited. Whoever it was shouldn’t be sneaking around the basement. If it was Mr. Stratford, he would have announced his presence, wouldn’t he?
Or was he like her, wondering who would be sneaking around a basement so late at night? Dix opened her mouth to say something, announcing her presence. She didn’t want to startle the man. He could be carrying a gun and react by shooting first, asking questions later. Before she said anything, she shut her mouth and remained silent. The footsteps faded away into silence.
Dix waited several minutes before moving again. Why hadn’t Stratford said something? If he’d come down to the wine cellar, he would have passed her stack of boxes. But no one had walked past her hiding place.
Shrugging the tension from her shoulders, she stepped out from behind the boxes, calling herself every kind of fool. She knew better than to let a creepy old mansion scare her. It was just a building. She’d performed sweeps of many buildings in her Army career. The difference being she’d carried an M4A1 rifle, worn protective gear and had a trained team backing her.
