In A Heartbeat (HQR Superromance)

by Janice Kay Johnson

  The tour continued upstairs to Molly’s bedroom. Anna’s discomfiture hadn’t abated, and neither had her kids’. Even Jenna had been struck silent, which he had the impression wasn’t a natural state for her.

  Nate’s bedroom was just beyond Molly’s, the door standing open. He saw Anna sneak a peek, and was glad she couldn’t see much from this angle. He surely didn’t want to picture her in his bedroom. Her presence in the house unsettled him enough already, in part because he hadn’t managed to squelch images of her not only in his room, but also in his bed. However, most of his discomfiture was the result of him trying to see his home through her eyes. His guilt revved into a higher gear.

  Did she feel like the beggar maid, brought to the palace by King Cophetua? Nice thought. If he’d made a different choice, Anna would still have a husband and her own house.

  Assuming, of course, he had made a difference in the day’s outcome instead of paying more attention to texts and emails coming in on his phone than he did to his daughter.

  He and Sonja hadn’t split because of his dedication to his job—but it had played a part. Remembering what she’d said about wanting a life still stung, even though he knew damn well she wouldn’t have been happy if he’d decided he could cut back on work and brought home a lower income.

  Jenna broke the silence. “I like your bedroom.” Still in the hall, peering into Molly’s room, she sounded wistful. “Can I play with your Barbie house?”

  Nate wasn’t sure Molly ever did.

  His daughter hesitated. “It’s okay if you’re careful with my stuff.”

  “There’s no reason Jenna would be playing in here when she isn’t with you,” Anna said firmly. “Your dad said we’d have our own apartment.”

  Molly’s eyes darted to Anna. “But we can play together when I get home from school, can’t we?”

  Anna smiled. “Sure.”

  “Speaking of the apartment...” he said, sounding like an overenthusiastic tour guide.

  Jenna gave a final, lingering look into a pink-and-purple bedroom that was stocked with entirely too many toys. Many Molly had left behind when she moved out with Sonja. He doubted she’d ever touched a lot of the dolls and stuffed animals.

  Had he satisfied himself with the notion that if he bought her everything a little girl could want, she wouldn’t notice that Daddy was hardly ever around?

  Only one of many uncomfortable realizations he’d been hit with since Molly had come so close to dying.

  He wished now he didn’t have to show the Graingers where they’d be staying. The contrast was too stark.

  * * *

  THE APARTMENT WASN’T BIG, but Anna had sighed in relief when she saw it. It felt...snug. Like a cocoon, a refuge.

  Once home, she worked for hours that evening after tucking in Josh and Jenna. She moved room to room, deciding what they’d need and hastily packing it. She’d do the kids’ bedrooms tomorrow morning after getting Josh off to school. Tonight she whizzed through the kitchen first, boxing up the necessities except for what they’d use for breakfast. She tagged bright pink sticky notes onto the furniture she thought would fit into the apartment over the three-car garage on Nate’s estate. That’s all she could think to call a home that should have been in a magazine.

  The apartment could be accessed from the outside, but also had a staircase that opened in the main house by the kitchen. Servants stairs, only not as steep and narrow as she knew they’d been in eighteenth-and nineteenth-century homes. Same principle, though.

  Currently working in the dining room, she tossed two sets of place mats into a box, but left everything else in the buffet to go to storage. Or get rid of. When had she last used the set of eight crystal goblets that had been a wedding gift?

  Her bedroom didn’t take long, either. Everything that had been on the closet shelf was already packed in totes piled in the garage. She retrieved suitcases from the garage and filled the big one with her clothes and shoes. The medium-sized suitcase should handle a basic wardrobe for Josh—his sports stuff could go in the duffel—and Jenna had her own small pink rolling suitcase.

  Both of them would want some of their toys, games and books, but they wouldn’t need all. Especially books—they’d visit the library more often.

  In front of her dresser, she sank to her butt in sudden exhaustion and leaned against her bed. This was crazy. Why had she agreed to do it?

  She looked around her bedroom, both familiar and, weirdly, not. Kyle’s half of the closet was already empty, as was his dresser. During the sleepless night after her discovery that he’d cashed out the life-insurance policy, she’d grabbed garbage bags and gone through all his stuff. She’d dropped most of it at a thrift store the very next day. Part of her was grateful for the anger that had carried her through such a horrible task. She’d packed a single box of his things that she or one of the kids might someday want, including a few shirts that had evoked him so vividly she had pressed the soft fabric to her face and cried.

  Her mood was odd tonight, maybe because she was so tired Anna wondered if Kyle would even know her now. She didn’t belong in this bedroom anymore. The bed was going into storage; she’d decide later whether she wanted to replace it. Her dresser could go in the bedroom closet in the apartment. In fact, she’d take over the closet, since the kids didn’t need to hang up any of their clothes. They’d share one dresser—Josh’s, since it was taller—and the coat closet was the perfect place for his sports equipment. She hoped Molly didn’t mind hanging around the soccer field during his practices and games.

  Still feeling strange, Anna told herself it was too late for second thoughts. Tomorrow night, she’d sleep on her sofa in that small, bare apartment. She’d work for a man who made her uncomfortable in a thousand ways, starting with his too-perceptive gray eyes and obvious wealth.

  No, she reminded herself, she wouldn’t see much of him, anyway. And why get worked up about what was really only going to be an interlude?

  * * *

  NATE’S CONCENTRATION WASN’T the best Tuesday.

  He’d started the day by calling the elementary school in Seattle where Molly had spent only a few weeks to let them know he was withdrawing her. Then he’d driven her to the school she’d attended for kindergarten and first grade, explained the situation and enrolled her. Trying to put her at ease, the principal decided to fit her into Josh’s class. Nate didn’t comment, but wasn’t so sure that would help. Surrounded by his crowd of buddies, Josh might not be willing to speak to a mere girl. Nate reminded himself that she’d probably know some of the other kids in the class.

  He and the principal walked Molly to her new second-grade classroom. Absolute silence fell as they entered. Every single student stared as the principal explained quietly to the teacher, a Mrs. Tate, that she had an addition to her class. Molly seemed to become smaller and smaller, looking at her feet as she gripped his hand so tightly he suspected she was cutting off his circulation.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Tate was young and immediately friendly, beaming at Molly as she welcomed her and said, “Class, we have a new student. Some of you will remember Molly Kendrick from last year.” Then she looked around her room. “Let’s see. Where shall we put you?”

  A girl’s voice rang out. “Molly can sit with us! Put her here.”

  Molly sucked in a breath and raised her head. “Arianna?”

  He bent to murmur, “Is she a friend?”

  “She was one of my bestest friends last year.” Molly dropped his hand, and Mrs. Tate escorted her to a square of four desks put together. One was empty, at least for today.

  Grateful to see he was forgotten, Nate had returned to the office to revise the short list of people authorized to pick up his daughter. The list had remained in her file from last year. With Anna’s name added, he’d finally headed for work, arriving only two hours later than usual.

  Then, instead o
f accomplishing anything meaningful, Nate worried about whether yanking Molly out of class and dropping her into a new one several weeks into the year was the right thing to do. He had no trouble imagining what Sonja would have to say about it.

  How much change was too much for his little girl? Given that she’d probably have to switch back to the other school four weeks from now, she might have been better off if he’d continued to drive her to the school in Seattle and pick her up. Sonja would accuse him of selfishness and might even be right—but he’d be restricted to six-hour workdays instead of his usual ten or more. He couldn’t ask Anna to do all that driving, especially not in her old car. He could just imagine her response if he offered to buy her a new one. If he had to get Molly to school and pick her up when it let out, he could do some work from home while Anna kept an eye on Molly, but he couldn’t meet with anyone or extend his day for drinks or working dinners. It just wasn’t feasible.

  Too late, anyway. Nate consoled himself that Molly hadn’t seemed to like her previous teacher very much. Maybe when she had to return to that school, they’d agree to shift her to another class. Or maybe that would be one too many changes.

  He groaned and scrubbed his scalp, glad he was currently alone.

  He also called Anna several times, once to be sure the moving truck had shown up, and then again to confirm she was at the house before the end of the school day. Had she remembered to contact the school to let them know which bus Josh was supposed to ride?

  “Yes,” she said, almost patiently, “I went by in person so they know our current address. I also picked up some groceries. I’ll put dinner on for you and Molly. If she’s hungry before you get home, she can eat with us and you can reheat your meal.”

  Nate opened his mouth to tell her she didn’t have to cook for him—and shut it again. Damn, it would be good to walk in the door to a home-cooked meal. To know Molly would be taken care of if he ran late here at the office, although that was unlikely to happen today. He already itched to get home. So he said only, “Thank you. Josh didn’t have practice today?”

  “No, they’re Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Games Saturday.”

  “That’s quite a schedule.”

  “He loves it.” Her voice became quieter. “He was really mad at me when we thought we’d have to move before the end of the season.”

  “When’s that?” Nate asked.

  “November. Depending on the weather, those last games are miserable.”

  They were conversing. Even though a beep told him he had a call coming in, he didn’t want to end this one.

  “Rain and snow, huh?”

  “Frozen feet and muddy kid,” she agreed. “Josh plays goalie a lot, and once the weather turns, there’s always a mud hole right in front of the goal.”

  Nate grinned. “I played youth football when I wasn’t much older than Josh. Same season. I loved mud.”

  She sighed. “So does he. I’ve learned to keep a ratty old towel in the car for him to sit on.”

  Nate laughed, but after the conversation ended, he didn’t immediately check missed calls. Instead, he pondered why Molly hadn’t played any sports. Swim lessons in the summer, essential when she’d lived on the lake, and that was it. Did any of her friends play soccer? He wondered if she’d like to try it next year. To his recollection, she’d never participated in any after-school youth activities. And that got him to wondering whether Sonja had had her first glass of white wine a lot earlier in the day than he’d realized, and had developed a problem with booze a lot longer ago than he’d realized, too. With the hours he worked, she could have hidden too much from him.

  He called the treatment center only to be politely rebuffed. The first days were always difficult. Patient information was kept confidential. The woman he spoke to wasn’t moved by his explanation that Sonja’s young daughter was scared for her.

  Nate returned a few calls before thinking, To hell with it. This day was past resuscitation. He was ready to call it, start anew tomorrow.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HAVING TURNED OFF the lights, he was letting himself out of his office when he came face-to-face with his partner, John Li. John had obviously been about to knock on his door. The two men had been friends since their freshmen year in college, when they’d been paired as roommates.

  John had a file in his hand. Looking astonished, he said, “You’re leaving?”

  With anyone else, Nate would have claimed to be meeting an investor for predinner drinks. Instead, he said, “Yeah. I told you I found a woman to be there when Molly gets home, and she did start today. But I’d like to make sure the arrangement is working. And, frankly, I’ve had so many distractions, I’m useless, anyway.”

  “I understand,” his partner said. He probably did; he was married and had two kids. His wife was an orthopedic surgeon, and somehow they juggled responsibilities with astonishing success. That didn’t mean it was easy or that there weren’t days when their arrangements for the kids failed. “This—” he lifted the folder “—can wait until morning.”

  Usually Nate wouldn’t have been able to walk away without knowing what this was, without turning and going back into his office. It was part of the drive that had taken K & L Ventures to the top of the pyramid. Right now, he said, “Thanks,” and continued on his way.

  He did remember during the drive home why he didn’t usually cut and run at five o’clock. Traffic crawled. He sometimes used the express lanes, which at this time of day required drivers to pay a toll, but he couldn’t see that it helped all that much. Funny, though, that he looked forward to getting home, something he couldn’t recall feeling in a very long time.

  It would be good to smell dinner cooking when he walked in the door, he told himself. And he wanted to hear how Molly’s day had gone. But Nate didn’t make a practice of lying to himself. And the truth was he liked knowing his house wasn’t empty, that somebody might anticipate his arrival.

  He didn’t kid himself that Anna would be glad to see him beyond the fact that, with him home, she could retreat to the apartment. Still, if he was lucky they might have another real conversation, the kind not barbed with hostility.

  Though he shouldn’t count on that.

  * * *

  ANNA WASN’T USED to having to take more than two or three steps from refrigerator to sink or anywhere else in her kitchen. This one was vast and so elegant and well equipped that a professional chef would be delighted. The pantry was as large as the entire kitchen in the house she’d just sold. Anna didn’t even know how to use all of the small appliances she found, and wasn’t 100 percent sure what some of them did.

  Fortunately, the kids were happily occupied playing Xbox games. Josh had wanted either a Nintendo or Xbox gaming system for a long time and always came home hyper after having a chance to play with one at a friend’s house. He’d been gleeful when he spotted it in the family room.

  Anna had heard snatches of some initial squabbling. Molly liked something called “Just Dance Kids.” Jenna had wanted that one, too. Josh said no way, creating a tempest. Left to themselves, they’d settled on “Lego Marvel Super Hero.” Anna had made herself unpopular by checking the rating. When she explored the pile of games, she didn’t see one that wasn’t rated Everyone, which allowed her to relax and return to the kitchen. Apparently, Nate didn’t have a secret addiction to “Call of Duty” or “Assassin’s Creed.”

  Smiling as she heard a hoot from Molly and a groan from Josh, she stirred the spaghetti sauce and lifted the lid of the large pan to see if the water was boiling yet. Yep. She’d already decided to cook enough to satisfy a man’s appetite on top of what she and the kids would eat. Just as she was dumping the pasta into the pot, she heard the front door open.

  Imposingly handsome in black slacks and a white shirt, a red tie hanging loose around his neck and his suit coat draped over his arm, Nate came in. He looked immediatel
y toward the family room. And no wonder, with all the racket coming from it. Smiling, he disappeared in there but didn’t stay long. Oh, heavens, that smile was lethal.

  Shaking his head and still smiling, he walked toward her, laying his suit coat and tie over a sofa back and dropping the briefcase on the cushion. “They seem to be happy.”

  “We didn’t have an Xbox, so Josh thinks he’s gone to heaven,” she said, feeling a pang because a gaming system was not in Josh’s foreseeable future. Having access to one for a month might end with him feeling entitled and thus more resentful.

  Nate grimaced. “Molly hasn’t touched it since Sonja and I split up. If I were a good father, I’d have played with her, but do you know what her favorite one is?”

  Anna had to laugh. “Let’s see. Would it be ‘Just Dance Kids’?”

  Humor in his gray eyes, he said, “Dear God, yes. I felt like an idiot when I danced in high school. I was an athlete, but friends told me that on the dance floor I looked like I was having a seizure.”

  She laughed again even though it was impossible to imagine this man graceless. She was immediately ashamed of herself. Kyle had only died three months ago, and Nate Kendrick had played a role in the tragedy. She’d agreed to work for him because she was desperate, and for Molly’s sake. Becoming friends and confidants wasn’t happening. She was appalled to have felt a startled moment of physical awareness. Given his tall, lean body, the saunter that spoke of complete confidence and features that might be too rough to be called handsome, he had to turn women’s heads wherever he went.

  I can’t be one of them, she thought desperately.

  She was glad to have an excuse to present him with her back as she turned on a burner. “I hope you like broccoli.” Absurdly, the stove had six burners on a glass stove top that looked like polished black marble. Along with double ovens, the built-in microwave was big enough to cook a turkey.