The Nanny: A Single Dad Romance

by Aria Ford

  I felt sobered. They were not just making empty threats. They really had meant to end my life. I felt really scared and I reached for his hand with my aching one and held it fast.

  “It’s okay.”

  I felt him stroke my hair again and again. He kept on repeating those words and when I did fall asleep I fell asleep with understanding.

  It took three days for me to be well enough to get out of bed in the morning. But eventually I managed it. I held his arm and together we made a tour of the sitting room, starting at the crackling fire to the door at the other end of the hall. Then, as we sat side by side in front of the fireplace, me snuggling up closer, he told me.

  “When I was married for a few years, I started making serious wealth,” he explained slowly. “I bought other companies. Sometimes, during the mergers, people lost their jobs. Sometimes the people who had owned the companies were not satisfied. Sometimes companies had managers who didn’t like my ideas and so they were retrenched.”

  I saw where this was heading. “They resented you.”

  He nodded. I felt it even though my eyes were closed. My head was on his chest and even the richness of his voice filled me.

  “Yes, they did.” He nodded again, then picked up his story. “Two people at a phone company lost their jobs because of me. I wouldn’t have believed it possible but they made a gang. They were terrible at their work, apparently. But they still got the jobs, and so they should not have hated, but they did.”

  I felt my hand tighten at that statement. “They shot your wife? From jealousy?”

  I must have sounded absolutely horrified. I was.

  He gave another hollow chuckle. “I had actually offered them other things. I tried to get down to the bottom of this, but they weren’t buying.”

  “They hated you,” I said softly. I knew, now, that I had been right in what I had heard. The leader would do anything to Alex to get him.

  “Right…” I whispered. I wanted to tell him he was right, but I wasn’t sure he had understood me. All I knew was that my head was aching and I felt sick and very sleepy and I knew I was dozing again.

  “They wanted to kill me,” I whispered.

  The laugh was brief and dry. “You.” He sighed. “They wanted to destroy me first Make me destroy all I had built up.” he sighed. I heard his voice wobble. “I should have done it,” he said, and he really was crying. His face was soaked in tears and I could feel them on my one shoulder and he still rocked, crying. “If I had done as they asked, if I had destroyed everything, they would have immediately left her alone. They said so.”

  “No,” I said. I stroked the side of his face. I knew now that was not true. That was not what they had told me. The leader planned to end my life and he always had. He hated Alexander.

  “No?” He stopped sobbing.

  “Alex,” I said. This time I found the strength to turn a little so that I could face him directly. “I was there. I know they planned to kill her always. They were going to kill me. You didn’t have to give them anything. They would have killed me. They would also have destroyed you.”

  “Emma?” he said, and he had shifted so he looked directly into my eyes, long legs folded under him where he sat with his knees on the floor before me.

  “Uh?”

  “If they had killed you, they would have destroyed me anyway. Emma! How can you not know how I love you?”

  I stared. My head ached, but even on a day when I was perfectly healthy that would make no sense. He loved me? Alexander loved me? Alexander Carring?

  “You…love me?”

  He laughed again. “You silly woman!” he said, ruffling my hair in a teasing kind of manner. “how could you possibly not see that?”

  I laughed. He laughed. We kissed. We sat there all afternoon, talking to each other, reassuring each other that we were not going to disappear. That it really was okay now.

  We slept together in the big bed. Later, when I woke and the first light touched me, we made love, then we slid out of bed and sat in front of the fireplace.

  “I can’t believe you are okay,” Alex said, something he had said over and over again for the last day or so. I laughed.

  “Yes, I am okay,” I said, and kissed his cheek.

  While we sat there he explained what had happened between my captivity and his finding me. He had called a security firm that helped him find my location: a disused warehouse on the outskirts of town. They had found me. They had sat for a long while deciding how to save me.

  “I was all for the suggestion of blowing the place off the map. But then, that would have hit you and that would have been the worst thing. So we just came inside.”

  He explained how there were explosives in the cellar at his home. It had been a collection he saw and bought purely for interest, not because he actually wanted them. He and his helper, someone called Klaas, had set them against one wall and blown it in. Then they had come in and saved my life.

  “Emma,” he said again, stroking my hair. “Emma, I can’t lose you.”

  We dozed again with each other held in a firm grasp. We had made our choice.

  Epilogue

  We were married in a private ceremony. Alex had wanted it in some exotic place or other, but I wanted it where my friends could be there. So we had it just outside town. The kids had attended. Of everyone there, they were the only ones who seemed as if they had known all along.

  “You might have thought they planned it,” we chuckled that night as we lay in bed together.

  He laughed. “I know. They kept telling me they always knew. I don’t know how.”

  I smiled. “Well, they’re very smart kids, you know,” I paused, kissing him on the side of his face, “and they get some of that from you.”

  “Some of it?” He roared with laughter. “All of it, probably.”

  He kissed me and we were silent a while.

  I snuggled in closer to him, thoughts alive with the memory of our lovemaking from the previous night: how passionate and tender it had been, how loving.

  “Emma,” he whispered, breathing into my hair. “I want you. We could…”

  I giggled.

  He grew quiet and I waited for him to say something. I had such excitement building in me.

  “Emma?”

  “Mm?”

  “What were you going to say?”

  I smiled, then. I couldn’t help it. I was so, so elated. “Well,” I paused, unsure of how to begin. I had no idea, but I decided to say it straight. “Well, I’m going to have a baby.”

  Deathly hush. Then,

  “Emma?”

  “Uh huh?”

  “You’re really sure?” he said hesitantly. “How do you know? I mean…”

  I laughed, then. “How do I know? Alex, don’t be daft.”

  He ruffled my hair, breathing his warm breath into the roots of it as he chuckled again.

  “I don’t believe it!” he said, and his face was split with happiness. “Emma. Really?” he laughed. “Okay, okay! I surrender. Anyone who didn’t was certainly going to have something happen to them.”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed. “Emma,” he sighed, “you are so wonderful.”

  I smiled. “What will we call her?”

  “If she’s a girl? Emma.”

  I paused. That hadn’t been the name I was thinking of. I had another idea. A better idea. “I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. I wasn’t sure what he’d think of my idea, but I’d ask him anyway. “I was thinking instead…”

  “Ada.”

  We said it together. His eyes filled with tears and so did mine. I nodded. “Exactly.”

  And so that was what we did. We had Ada. We lived together and we loved and laughed. And later, we started a charity. A shelter for the unemployed, where they could go and find counseling and aid to find them placement in jobs. A place for those who had been disenfranchised by big companies and retrenchments and unfortunate happenings. So no one would have to join gangs and becom
e violent and full of hate. We called it Project Ada.

  Now, we have wonderful days. Every day has its own quiet happiness. We sit together in the evenings and we laugh and Cammi surprises us with her innate flair for acting and Jack with his astute mind. Ada is talking now and she, too, makes us smile. My life is full and happy and full of love.

  Because there are no limits on the human heart except those we choose to put there. And when we choose to take them off, that is when the magic really happens.

  PREVIEW OF ARIA FORDS BOOKS

  CHAPTER ONE

  Brooklyn

  “Parker! Can you get the phone?”

  I yelled it over the dull whine of the electric mixer as I made a valiant attempt to mix batter for fruitcake. My daughter, luckily, has the great hearing of a six-year-old and heard my request over the din.

  “Coming, Mommy!” she called.

  I distantly heard her clatter down half a flight of steps and the skitter of her feet on the hallway tiles. Three seconds later I was bending down and taking my phone in flour-covered hands. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Brooklyn,” a drawling voice declared over the phone. “Happy holidays!”

  “Hi, Aunt Sheena,” I said, recognizing the voice without needing to see the number. “How’re you?”

  “Excellent, dear. I’m sorry, but I have bad news.”

  “Oh?” I asked, feeling crestfallen. I scraped a strand of auburn hair out of my eye and looked around my crowded kitchen, wondering if one more piece of bad news could fit. I was doing my best—three days before Christmas—to prepare for everything. It just all seemed to go wrong somehow.

  “Nothing serious dear…just that I might have to say no for dinner.”

  “Oh?” I frowned. I wasn’t sure if this was bad news or not. My mother’s eldest sister, a dignified and strangely quirky lady in her late sixties, Auntie Sheena would at once have been an asset and a liability at dinner. “You’re okay, though, Auntie?” I asked.

  “Oh, fine, dear. Great. I just can’t get down there. My car’s in for repairs. Would you believe it? The fan belt or something…I don’t even listen to these things when mechanics tell me. I just let them get on with it.” She giggled apologetically.

  “That’s too bad,” I said, cradling the phone against my shoulder as I lifted the bowl to scrape batter into the two cake tins. Parker was standing in the middle of the floor, making questioning eyebrows at me.

  “Auntie Sheena,” I lip-synched to her. She nodded.

  “Sorry, dear?” Auntie Sheena asked me.

  “Oh! Nothing. Just making cake…” I trailed off as I did a balancing act with the two full tins, carrying them to the oven. It had been preheating for the last half hour, and if I left it much longer I might as well get Santa to pay my electricity account.

  “Oh!” Aunt Sheena sounded contrite. “Well, I’m so sorry, dear, that I can’t make it.”

  “No, it’s okay…” I said, setting the trays down carefully and then bending to open the oven with my left hand while I took the phone in my right before it slid off my shoulder. “You didn’t exactly decide to get engine issues.”

  She giggled. “No. It’s the last thing I’d decide. Well, you sound busy. So I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Oh. Thanks, Auntie,” I said, wincing as the oven door almost did its spring-closed-on-your-arm trick. “Have a nice day.”

  “You too, Brooklyn. Bye-bye.”

  “Bye!” I called.

  I put down the phone, slid the cakes into the oven, shut the door and turned to Parker with a grin on my face.

  “She’s not coming,” I explained. “It’ll be just us, then.”

  “Oh.” Parker, my six-year-old daughter, took that somewhat undecided. She gave me a little frown. “Just you and me, right?”

  “Yup, that’s right.”

  “And Daddy?”

  I dropped the spoon into the sink, letting the vehemence of the gesture diffuse some of my stress. I sighed. “Daddy’s away, sunshine.”

  “Oh.” She put her thumb in her mouth, looked up at me with those heavenly blue eyes. I wanted to cry.

  Daddy—also known as Richard Price—was my ex-husband. I sometimes wished he had been as nice on the inside as he’d been on the outside, but if looks were deceptive then he was the master of deception. Stunning on the outside, remorseless and emotionally dead on the inside. His daughter had all the good looks, fortunately, and none of the character.

  “Daddy sent his love, sweetheart,” I said. Not exactly, but the thought was there. At least it was worth saying so.

  “Oh!” she brightened. The thumb came out of her mouth and she grinned. “Yay!”

  I leaned on the sink. Looked out of the window. Heard her scamper into the hallway saying something about Bluey, her doll, and let myself cry.

  Richard, you bastard, I wanted to swear. You could at least send your kid a card.

  He hadn’t, though. He hadn’t said a word. Last thing I heard he was in Hawaii. I think he only phoned to show off.

  He doesn’t feel things the way you do—the way anyone else does. He only cares about getting attention on himself.

  My therapist had told me that and I finally was starting to believe her and walk away, slowly, from the crimped-up place of blame I’d hidden in for the last almost eight years or so.

  “Mommy!” Parker yelled, running in. “Why’s there smoke coming out of the oven.”

  I gasped. Turned around, my train of thought coming to a spectacular halt. Parker was right.

  “Oh…” I held back the swearing. There was a child in the room. I bent down and together we stared into the oven. The wax wrap was smoldering. As we watched, flames kindled.

  “Wow, Mommy!” Parker said, eyes like pie plates. “That’s cool.”

  “No, it’s hot,” I said succinctly. “Our cake will burn!”

  I reached for a towel, covered my hands and hauled out the first cake, then the second. We both coughed as acrid smoke poured out of the oven. I couldn’t help it—as I fanned away the smoke I looked at my daughter’s enchanted expression and burst out laughing.

  She caught my ebullience and started giggling. Soon we were both huddled in the center of the kitchen floor, our arms round each other, howling with mirth.

  One thing is sure—we couldn’t have done that if Richard was around. I shuddered to think of the recriminations, the shouting, the cruelty, that would have poured out of him had he been here now.

  As it was, Parker thought it was brilliant.

  “Mommy! Can we do it again?”

  I laughed. “No, sweetie. If it catches fire again, we might not get the cakes out.” As it was, they were ringed with a sort of crisp collar of cinders that would have been funny if I hadn’t been worried about how to lift them out again when they cooked up.

  Brooklyn, don’t be silly—just turn them upside down. They’ll fall out.

  I sighed and opened the oven door again, then slid them into the same places again.

  “Right,” I said, turning to Parker. “Now we have to finish the tree.”

  “Tree!” she effused. “Let’s go! I want to put the angel up…”

  “You can’t, honey,” I said, chuckling as I followed her up to the attic to fetch down the baubles and tinsel and other things. “You can’t reach.”

  “I can climb the ladder,” she retorted, those pale blue eyes glinting with ambition. I grinned.

  “Maybe next year.”

  “I want to climb it now!” she insisted. “I’m a big girl, Mommy. I’m a meter tall!”

  I bit back my laugh. “Yes, you’re a big girl, sweetheart. Can you carry this for me?” I asked, passing her a bag of glittery green tinsel.

  “Yes, Mommy!” she nodded. She took it in both arms, running down stairs.

  I sighed and found the other things, walking quickly down to the sitting-room behind her. While she pranced in with her armloads of tinsel to throw at the branches, I paused and glanced sideways in the mirror, scrapin
g curls of hair off my damp brow.

  The reflection showed me a woman of thirty-four: medium height, with a cloud of auburn wavy hair, brown eyes, and a worried frown. I wasn’t bad looking, I told myself with that constant surprise. My eyes were almonds, my lips full, and I had high cheekbones and a heart-shaped face.

  I don’t know why Richard made me feel so worthless and ugly. But even now I kind of expected to look monstrous until I checked in with myself. I shook my head. I had been divorced for two years. I really should move on from those patterns of pain that had become such a habit with me.

  “Mommy…” a voice came from the sitting room.

  “Yes, darling?” I gasped, dumping the armload of decorations on the chair and looking around.

  “Why’s there water coming through the roof?”

  I stared. Her little finger pointed up triumphantly, like an Israelite spotting manna dropping from Heaven. Except this wasn’t manna from Heaven, this was water. Rainwater. A lot of it.

  “Oh…” For the second time that morning I bit back a string of rude words. The roof had its issues—the landlord warned me the rain sometimes came in if the gutters were blocked. I guess I should have checked them. But I forgot. Now the roof was doing its tricks and threatening the furnishings. I swore quietly in the hallway and reached for my phone.

  “What can we do?” Parker asked carefully.

  “Well, all we can do,” I retorted, punching letters into my phone to look up a contact. I was frowning as I did it, because the only thing we could, in fact, do, was the last thing I wanted. Call Riley Robson.

  As I found the number and pressed the button, I found myself thinking back to the only time I had actually met Riley. He had parked his van in front of my driveway and I had asked him to move it.

  He had looked at me, I remembered, with those dark brown eyes. “Why?” he’d asked, giving me an insolent grin.

  “Because it’s parked illegally,” I had replied.

  He’d laughed. “Well, you’re not gonna call the police now, are you?”

  I had felt as if he’d slapped me. How could he be so self-assured? “I might,” I’d threatened. “If you don’t get it out of my way in the next five minutes.”