by Cara Colter
“I can tell.” He grinned down at her, but with a strange feeling inside. He supposed simple family happiness was something he’d have to get used to again—but he didn’t think it would be very hard. Not with Jennifer as his wife.
She laughed again, and buffed him lightly on the chin. “Let’s go tell the kids.”
“I thought you’d make it harder for me than this,” he said after the next kiss, as he turned her around, heading for his house.
“You underrate yourself,” she said quietly. “There hasn’t been a day, an hour, when I haven’t wanted to turn the clock back and say yes, or run over to you. I’ve missed you so much.”
He helped her over the fence, not because she needed it, but he wouldn’t let go of her for a moment. “You could have come to me.” But right now, the past didn’t matter; she was where he needed her to be—with him, loving him. It was enough. More than enough.
“I couldn’t. I didn’t know if you loved me, Noah—not after you knew Belinda didn’t leave you,” she said quietly. “You said the words, but I didn’t feel them. Probably because I didn’t believe I was worthy of you. I thought—if you missed me enough, if you loved me enough, you’d come to me. And you did …”
He stopped, turned her in his arms and cupped her face in his hands. “Jennifer,” he whispered. “Jennifer.” The long, tender kiss showed her without words just what she meant to him. “Even if she’d been alive, I couldn’t have gone back. I’m not the boy she married anymore—and the man I’ve become is yours. I knew it even as Fred told me she was gone. I thought you knew it, too.”
She shook her head. “That night … what you said. I felt so ashamed, Noah.” Her voice quivered with shame through the happiness. “I was selfish, punishing all of us for a dream I can’t do anything to change. I didn’t feel like I deserved you all.”
He nuzzled her throat. “I’ll remind you of that every time we fight, or the kids play up,” he said, his voice filled with sudden laughter, and she wrapped herself around him, chuckling and kissing him. “But you said ‘didn’t’ deserve me. Seriously, what changed your mind?”
“Not what—who,” she murmured through kisses to his throat, making him groan with pleasures to come. “You should be very proud of your oldest son. He proposed to me on your behalf thirty minutes ago—for your sake, and for Cilla and Rowdy. He was worried about you all, and I knew that in punishing myself, I was only hurting us all. He showed me that I am their mother already, whether I deserved it or not. He also told me how much you were missing me,” she added with an impish note in her voice. “I’ll remind you of that every time we fight.”
He grinned again. “So that was Tim’s surprise just now? You were coming to me?”
“Yup. You’ve raised an amazing boy, Mr. Brannigan.”
“He’s got a lot of raising time yet, Mrs. Brannigan-to-be,” he said, just to hear the sound of it. “Jennifer Brannigan.”
“Jennifer Louisa Millicent Brannigan.” She rolled her eyes. “What a mouthful … but it’ll be worth it, to have you.”
And they stopped for another kiss, the passion leaving them breathless and aching.
The door opened before they could knock. Joyful screams came the moment the light from inside the house spilled over them. A pyjama-clad Cilla and Rowdy, tousled, bright-eyed and eager, jumped into Jennifer’s arms, squealing and asking when they could call her Mummy and when they were coming back to her place every day.
Jennifer staggered back a little under the combined weight of the kids, her eyes alight with joy. “Right now for both, if you want to,” she replied, winking at Tim, blowing a kiss in his direction. “Tim, being a big boy, might want to keep calling me Jen?” She turned to the little kids, hugging and kissing them, telling them how much she’d missed them … leaving Tim to make his own decision, in his way and time.
Noah swallowed a lump in his throat at her understanding, loving Tim just as he was without trying to change him. How did he ever get so lucky?
“I woke the kids to tell them,” Tim told Noah importantly, with a massive grin. A grin still touched with sorrow—he had some healing yet to do. But after his unselfish act tonight, Noah had no doubt his son would make it—that they’d all make it now. With Jennifer by his side, his family would be just fine … and he’d be the happiest man alive.
The first miracle at the March house had been the woman who lived inside it—and the second, that she’d needed them as much as they needed her; that she loved him as he loved her. He didn’t need to ask for a third miracle: he knew they’d love each other, be a family for life.
Jennifer smiled at him, as if knowing what he was thinking, and announced, “It’s celebration time—and I have loads of ice cream and cookies in my freezer! We’re going to have a late-night snack, just for the fun of it. Go sit at the table, and Dad and I will be there in a minute. Tim, can you get the stuff out for me?”
“Sure, Jen,” Tim grinned. “Let’s go, kids!”
Cilla and Rowdy hurrahed, and then bolted after Tim toward Jennifer’s house, leaving them alone.
A pair of warm, loving arms slipped around his waist. Noah turned in her arms, smiling down into her glowing face. “What is it?” he asked, seeing she needed to say something.
She hugged him, but bit her lip. “I adore the kids—you know that—but I’m not marrying you for them. You know that, don’t you?” Her gaze on his was a touch anxious.
He grinned. “With the way you look at me, and touch me? I know you’re marrying me for my body.” And he laughed as she swatted him.
“The worst thing is you’re partly right. I can hardly wait to get you naked,” she murmured in his ear, sending shudders of need, of desire, all the way through him. “I’m going to be a demanding wife, love.”
“The kids are waiting for ice cream and you say that to me? You’re killing me, woman,” he groaned.
“I’ll make it up to you.” Her eyes shone with promise. “Just as soon as we’re alone …”
“Dad! Jen! Ice cream! Cookies, Mummy!”
The cries from three young throats broke the frantic kiss. They leaned on each other’s foreheads, smiling, knowing this was life as it was meant to be. Then she whispered, “Race you!” and they headed for the house, toward kids and cookies and ice cream and love.
For home.
The Nanny Solution
Teresa Hill
About the Author
TERESA HILL lives within sight of the mountains in upstate South Carolina, with one husband, very understanding and supportive; one daughter, who’s taken up drumming (Earplugs really don’t work that well. Neither do sound-muffling drum pads. Don’t believe anyone who says they do.); and one son, who’s studying the completely incomprehensible subject of chemical engineering (Flow rates, Mum. It’s all about flow rates).
In search of company while she writes away her days in her office, she has so far accumulated two beautiful, spoiled dogs and three cats (the black panther/champion hunter, the giant powder puff and the tiny tiger stripe), all of whom take turns being stretched out, belly-up, on the floor beside her, begging for attention as she sits at her computer.
To the woman in my life we all call Nannie,
My grandmother, Lurene Haggard,
In honour of her eighty-fourth birthday.
Chapter One
“You look like a nun in that outfit!”
Audrey Graham sighed and turned around to face what might be her only friend left in the world, sixty-something, maybe even seventy-something, Marion Givens, her inspiration, best cheerleader, landlady and now unofficial job counselor.
“Thank you, I think,” Audrey said.
She’d wrapped herself from head to toe in the thick, concealing fabric of what she considered a neat, maybe even stylish designer warm-up suit, if there was such a thing as a truly stylish warm-up suit.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” Marion said. “Although with that face, I have to say you’re much too pretty to be a nun,
at least. But from the back …”
Audrey frowned at her own reflection in the mirror.
She’d cut her long, brown hair six weeks ago in a fit of … needing to be different, she supposed, different in every way. It was curlier than it had been, now that it wasn’t so heavy and long, and it bounced around her face constantly. There was just no taming it, but she didn’t really spend any time on it, which was what she’d been going for.
Sometimes she thought it looked cute.
Hoped it didn’t look sexy.
She hadn’t worn any make-up this morning, not really, just some lip gloss and mascara, and she looked like …
Audrey just didn’t know.
Not like her old self, that was for sure.
Younger than she would have thought she could look, although she hadn’t been going for that, either.
She’d been hoping for … invisibility or something along those lines.
“I hear nuns have very peaceful lives,” Audrey said, grabbing her purse and fishing for her keys. “Peace sounds good to me. Although at the moment, I’m scared to death. I haven’t gone on a job interview in nearly twenty years.”
She’d been nineteen and looking for a job waiting tables at a place where she was really too young to work, a place where the wait staff wore low-cut tops and little, bitty skirts and the tips were really good.
She’d gotten the job.
Now forty was fast approaching—God, how did that happen?—and she was covering up as much of her skin as possible.
‘Bout time, Audrey.
“I don’t think the interview process has changed all that much,” Marion said, trying to reassure her.
“You’re sure he really needs somebody? This is not some kind of favor you called in, some make-work kind of thing?”
“I’m sure. He’s desperate. He was practically babbling when I ran into him at the restaurant—and this is a man who does not babble. Not ever. Plus, honey, remember the most important thing—he lives in the perfect place.”
Only five blocks from Audrey’s daughter.
She hated Audrey at the present, but she was still here.
Audrey hadn’t dreamed of being able to be that close to Andie. She never could have afforded it on her own.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Audrey said, glancing at her watch. She had to go.
“Relax,” Marion told her. “Breathe. He’s not an ogre, and he’s not brusque. Not really. Just rushed. Always rushed. Don’t waste his time. Don’t chitchat. He hates it when people do that. And don’t kiss up to him. He hates that, too.”
“Does he like anything?” Audrey asked, even more nervous now.
“Peace. He told me he just needs some peace and quiet, and you can give him that.” Marion looked like she’d surprised even herself. “Maybe the nun outfit was a good idea after all.”
Audrey’s hand gripped the steering wheel like a woman facing near-certain death.
Much as she desperately wanted to see her daughter, she hated coming to this part of town. In fact, she didn’t come here. Dreaded facing the people here.
Well, she’d just have to get over that.
Because Audrey’s ex-husband wasn’t really interested in being a father anymore, even if Andie was living with him now. Andie would figure out that she really couldn’t count on her father before long, and then …
She’d have to turn back to her mother, wouldn’t she?
Audrey was counting on it.
Honestly, time and proximity were her only hope.
Andie might not forgive her, but she’d need a mother, and Audrey intended to be as close as possible when that happened.
Which meant, she needed this job.
She took the turn onto Maple Street, gripped the steering wheel so hard she was surprised it didn’t snap in two as she passed the entrance to her old neighborhood, then heard nothing but her own heart pounding in her ears.
Breathe, she reminded herself.
You’re not that woman anymore, Audrey.
Not that wounded.
Not that angry.
Not that self-destructive.
The pounding eased just a bit.
Nineteen years of careful, predictable, perfectly acceptable behavior, building a good life, what she thought was a reasonably good marriage and a mostly happy family, and she’d thrown it all away in a fit of outrage and bewilderment last fall after her husband walked out on them.
It was as if the nineteen years counted for nothing, and all that she was was the woman she’d become in those raw, painful days and nights. While her husband walking away from her and Andie seemed perfectly acceptable.
Audrey closed her eyes again, breathing.
You’re not that woman anymore.
At the end of the block, she turned into the older, more traditional neighborhood of Highland Park. She’d known a bit of what to expect from living nearby for so long. But as she got closer, she realized that Simon Collier lived in the really fancy, older section of the neighborhood, in which the homes were practically estates.
Wow.
Impressive.
She was surprised he hadn’t put up a wall with a gate at the entrance, as some of his neighbors had.
The house was a huge, imposing structure of weathered gray stone soaring three stories high, the grounds extensive, if a bit … unkept-looking here and there.
She drove up the long, winding driveway and parked outside the two-story, four-car garage, got out of her car and looked at her watch.
Right on time.
In fact, she was all of two minutes early.
Cutting it too close for comfort, actually, but she’d nearly panicked trying to get out the door at Marion’s, and it had slowed her down.
Precisely at 7:00 a.m., the first bay of the garage opened, and standing there beside a sleek, black Lexus convertible stood a man in an elegant, crisp, dark suit, white shirt, blue tie, shoes polished until they shined.
Simon Collier, she presumed.
It was a little scary how he appeared out of the darkness of the garage with the precision of a magician just as the big hand on her watch ticked onto 7:00 a.m.
Still, neat trick.
It helped her to smile just a bit, despite feeling as if she wanted to throw up. As she walked forward, she decided her best bet was pretending he was a very important client of her ex-husband’s, coming to dinner at their home, and it was up to her to make sure he felt comfortable and had a good time.
She stuck out a perfectly manicured hand—her one beauty-vice left—and said, “Mr. Collier? I’m Audrey Graham. Nice to meet you.”
He took her hand and looked as if he approved, most likely of her promptness and that she’d made no attempt to chitchat, if Marion knew him as well as she claimed to.
Audrey was still just trying to breathe normally.
Her eyes finally adjusted from the brightness of the morning sunshine to the shadows of the garage, and she realized he was a breathtaking man.
He was beautifully dressed, the suit obviously cut to hug a perfectly proportioned body, handsomely groomed, his hand strong and sure as it gripped hers for a moment, then withdrew. He had jet-black hair, still thick and full, perfectly tamed, dark eyes with little lines at the corners and a polite smile. He managed to look elegant, pampered even, and yet most thoroughly a man.
Younger than she’d expected, too. The more her eyes became accustomed to the light, the better and younger he looked.
She’d never expected this, given the neighborhood where he lived, the way Marion talked about him with something akin to awe and getting the definite impression that the man was worth a lot of money.
Sixty and balding with a potbelly would have been just fine with her.
Great, even.
But not this.
“Ms. Graham. You’re right on time. Good. I’m sorry, but I have very little time this morning, which is almost always the case. We should get right to this.”
“Of course,” she
agreed.
“I have four problems in my life right now, Audrey. May I call you Audrey?”
“Please,” she said.
“Good. Please call me Simon. As I was saying, four problems. I don’t like problems. I make it my business to solve problems, and right now I have four. Four is very bad.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing how else to reply to his crisp stating of facts.
“Don’t be. I’m counting on you to solve three of those four problems for me. You understand this is a live-in position?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. My first problem is the yard. Marion tells me you used to have the prettiest yard in the Mill Creek.”
“I …” What did one say to that? She settled for, “People seemed to like it.”
“She gave me the address. I drove by yesterday to take a look. It was very nice. Not too fussy, not too … regimented. Big, lush, greening up already, even this time of year. You could do something like that, here?”
“Of course. But you should know, I don’t have any formal training in landscaping—”
“I don’t care,” he said, extending a hand in the direction of the front yard, and Audrey took off in that direction with him following her. “I’ve hired three landscape architects so far. I haven’t liked any plan they’ve shown me, and they’ve wasted a great deal of my time. You planned and planted the yard at your former home? And maintained it yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I want something like that. Something … normal looking. Not regimented. Not odd. Normal and green. Now, I want us to work together like this. I don’t want to be bothered with details. I want you to handle problems on their own as they come up. Give me a plan to look at, a budget to approve, and then do whatever it takes to make it happen. Understood?”
“Yes,” she said, trying not to sound scared out of her mind at the fact that three landscape architects hadn’t been able to please him and yet he expected her to do so, without any of the formal training they had.
