The Nanny's Plan

by Donna Clayton

  His mouth slanted down over hers. His kiss was heart-wrenchingly tender, and Amy savored it. When his tongue skimmed lightly along her lips, she parted them, the invitation she offered as instinctive as breathing.

  Answering her unspoken call, Pierce deepened the kiss…and Amy’s head swam. She could feel the cool dampness of his hair, yet she didn’t remember lifting her hand to weave her fingers through it.

  The kiss intensified further, his arms pulling her tight, their thighs and torsos pressing together. Their tongues dancing, tasting, exploring. Amy felt that the outside world suddenly ceased to exist.

  All she heard was the sound of Pierce’s heavy breathing, and the whoosh of hot blood through her ears. All she smelled was the warm scent that was his alone. All she tasted was the faint salty tang of sea-water on their lips. All she felt was the vivid pounding of her pulse at every pressure point in her body, the wet silk of his hair tangled in her fingertips, the solid length of his powerful body pressed full against her own….

  And his lips against hers.

  She’d have been happy to spend eternity right here, in his arms.

  Her greatest wish at that moment was that this kiss would never end. This kiss that set her aflame. That caused her insides to churn with some never-before-experienced emotion. But the forever she was hoping for was short-lived, and the kiss ended. It wasn’t that their separation had been the deliberate act of either one of them, but a simultaneous and oh-so-reluctant parting.

  One look at the awe portrayed on his handsome face and she knew he was enduring the same feeling of total mystification as she. Both of them were overwhelmed to the point of mute confusion.

  Pierce swallowed, blinked. He ran his tongue along his still-moist bottom lip, and, witnessing the movement, she was flooded with a renewed sense of yearning. She had to force herself not to lean forward, returning to his warm embrace.

  Finally he rasped, “What is this, Amy?”

  He grasped, she realized, that whatever had taken control of them was something more than mere physical need. Something more than simple desire.

  Whatever this was that insisted on dominating them was complex. Insurmountable. Unexplainable. And completely discombobulating.

  Even though the haze continued to fog her brain, panic sprouted to life. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. However, she feared that no matter where she went, this…this thing would find her.

  Better to face it head-on, she decided.

  “I don’t know what this is,” she admitted, whispering the plain and honest answer to his question. Summoning some vitality into her tone, she continued, “I thought I could fight it off. I thought I could control it.” Her breath left her in a sigh. “But I was wrong.”

  “I know what you mean.” He reached up and combed his wet hair straight back from his forehead. “I felt the same. But Amy, if it’s this strong…if it’s this determined…maybe fighting it is the wrong strategy.”

  What he said startled her into taking a backward step, the motion sending the water swirling in lazy concentric circles all about her. And that small increase in distance between them helped to clear her head a little more.

  His eyes had turned all dreamy, and it made the normally analytical doctor all the more appealing to her. She got the distinct impression that he wasn’t measuring the implications of what he said before he spoke. That he was simply voicing his thoughts as they formed in his head.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking—” she shook her head adamantly “—but I want no part of it. I’ve already told you that much.”

  “But Amy—”

  She backed up another step.

  “In my line of work,” he argued, “it’s always best to explore what you don’t understand. Knowledge conquers fear. It always has. It always will.”

  Insult had her spine straightening. “I am not afraid.” But then she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth. The need to restate her opinion welled up sharply, refusing to be ignored. “Well, on second thought, maybe I am.”

  She inched away from him farther, let her hands dip into the cool waters of the bay, gulped in a deep breath. However, even though the haze swimming around in her thoughts was slowly but surely dissipating, the offense stiffening her muscles and making her jaw tight refused to budge. “But if I do fear t-this thing between us, it’s only because I’ve seen what it can do to a person.”

  Her emphasis of the nebulous entity wasn’t made consciously. But for some reason she felt the need to identify the enemy—that thing that could destroy all her hopes and dreams. Even if she was unable to label it with a name.

  Questions clouded his gaze. However, before he had the chance to ask a single one, the boys’ laughter captured their attention. Amy turned to see them running across the lawn back toward the bay.

  “We’ll have to talk about this later,” she told Pierce.

  “Yes,” he said. “We’ll have to talk.”

  Amy entered the house by the front door, feeling refreshed after her long walk. The temperature had cooled with the setting sun, and she’d spent quite a while choosing the words she planned say to Pierce once they had a chance to discuss what had happened earlier.

  “Amy! Amy!” The twins ran toward her as if they’d been caught up in a whirlwind. “Will you read us a bedtime story?”

  “She most certainly will not.”

  Pierce came around the corner, and she felt her pulse quicken. He looked utterly handsome in his casual T-shirt and shorts. His legs were lean and tanned, his feet bare.

  “You boys know it’s Amy’s day off,” Pierce continued. “She’s supposed to be getting a break from the likes of the three of us. I’ll read to you.”

  “But we want Amy,” Jeremiah lamented.

  The boy’s proclamation, and the expression it brought to Pierce’s face, had Amy chuckling.

  “It’s okay,” she told Pierce. “I don’t mind reading them a book.”

  “Yeah!” Benjamin and Jeremiah performed a joyous dance around her.

  Sensing that Pierce was about to object, Amy lifted her palm. “It really is okay. Honestly.”

  The couple of seconds that followed were a bit odd. He stared at her face, his eyes seeming to rove from her forehead to her chin.

  Good, she thought. He was finally noticing her makeover…or should she call it her make under?

  During her trip to the mall today, she’d purchased several new outfits, every single one of them as casual as the one she wore now. She’d selected shorts and simple cotton tops, canvas sneakers and a pair of plain, inexpensive sandals.

  And the crucial piece in this new look? A face scrubbed free of makeup. No foundation. No eyeliner or shadow or mascara. No blush. No lipstick. Nothing that might make her look appealing to Pierce.

  But he was attracted to you this afternoon, a haunting voice piped up from somewhere in the back of her brain. Attracted enough to kiss you!

  That voice had niggled at her during her walk, too. But she’d succeeded in pooh-poohing it into silence, just as she did now.

  In that playful, frolicking situation earlier in the bay, he simply hadn’t yet noticed her transformation. However, she saw how he stared at her now—a frown planted deep in his brow—and she knew without a doubt that he was good and truly aware of the change in her appearance.

  She lifted her chin, feeling as though she’d succeeded. Stripped of all the outward accoutrements that had made her feel professional—not to mention pretty—Amy realized Pierce would never find her the least bit provocative now.

  However, that thought made her smile falter, and she inadvertently dipped her head as awkwardness descended upon her like a damp wool blanket.

  Quickly, a renewed sense of purpose squared her shoulders. She didn’t want Pierce to think she was pretty. That was the whole reason behind buying the casual attire and washing every trace of makeup off her face.

  “Come on, boys,” she said. “Allons à la salle de toilette.”

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nbsp; “What’s that?” Benjamin asked, the excitement of learning something new lighting his eyes.

  “I said, ‘Let’s go to the bathroom,”’ she translated. “You two have to brush your teeth before going to bed, right?” She chuckled, wanting desperately to shake off every nuance of the perturbing discomfort that had fallen over her. “You don’t have to brush them all. Just the ones you want to keep.”

  The boys snorted.

  “You speak French?” Pierce asked her.

  Before she could answer, Jeremiah said, “She does! And Uncle Pierce, she’s been teaching us. Wanna hear us count the steps as we go up ’em?”

  “I’d love that.”

  Amy stood between the boys, the three of them clasping hands as they made their way up the stairs.

  “Un, deux, trois, quatre…”

  At this point Jeremiah stammered. Benjamin supplied “cinq” as they stepped up on the fifth riser. Then both boys went quiet.

  “I think you’re both doing a great job,” Amy announced, “for only having practiced counting in French for a week.” She turned to look down at Pierce. “Don’t you think so?”

  “I do.”

  Something was stewing in Pierce’s gaze, something Amy wasn’t able to name, but whatever it was it made her mighty uncomfortable. She looked from one of the boys to the other.

  “Let’s go! A story awaits.” And the three of them hurried up the remaining steps. To Pierce she called, “Au revoir.”

  The silken summer night was lit by the warm glow of the strategically placed deck lights. While Amy had been upstairs reading to Benjamin and Jeremiah, Pierce had poured tall glasses of lemonade and had put some cheese and crackers on a plate. Amy filled his thoughts.

  She was a marvel. She’d completely changed her look from professional chic to fresh and youthful and more-appealing-than-ever. She could laugh at herself, and had done so when she’d tensed up and sank like a rock during their swimming lesson. She spoke French. Surely there were thousands of other things about her…things he didn’t know. Things he wanted to know.

  He’d carried the refreshments out to the deck so they could talk there against the backdrop of the tranquil bay and the lushly blooming foliage. Amy stepped outside, and he turned his head from where he sat waiting.

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  He smiled. “You found me.”

  Something stirred the air. He felt the slight tremor, as if the atmosphere surrounding him was liquid and she’d disturbed its stillness by coming near. He perceived from the tentativeness in her dark eyes that she felt it, too.

  She didn’t want to have anything to do with this. She’d been clear about that on two different occasions now. But that didn’t stop the attraction from existing.

  He had wanted to ignore it, as well. He’d already decided to do so, for some very solid reasons. However, disregarding whatever it was between himself and Amy seemed an impossibility after the amazing kiss they had shared today, so the scientist in him had been urged to explore. To discover.

  Science was concrete. If the unknown was thoroughly investigated, it could be dealt with. Solved. But for some reason Amy found that idea distressing.

  And now, he thought as he looked at her, she intended to tell him why.

  “Come,” he coaxed her. “Sit. Let’s talk.” He took the glasses of lemonade from the tray and offered one to her.

  “Thank you.” She took a sip, then looked off toward the horizon. “It sure was hot today.”

  In more ways than one, he wanted to respond. But he held his tongue.

  “Would you rather go inside?” he asked. “We could sit at the kitchen table. Or in the den.”

  She shook her head. “The air seems to have cooled a little now that the sun has gone down.” She sat, and now that the small talk seemed to have petered out, she looked quite discomfited.

  “Look, Amy,” he said, “we know what we want to discuss. We’re both adults. There’s no need to feel uncomfortable about this, or feel the need to ease into it. Let’s just lay it out on the table. We’re feeling…something. Something for one another. And we both agree that it seems to be more than mere physical attraction. It’s…it’s—” bewilderment forced a sigh from his lips “—something else.”

  Frustration over his inability to classify this mystery had the rest of his thought fading. Refusing to be daunted, he continued, “I suggested this afternoon that we do a little exploring, and you refused. This thing scares you. And you were about to tell me why when the boys interrupted our conversation.”

  She studied the icy yellow liquid in her glass, but he could see her delicate brows rising as he spoke. Finally, she lifted her chin and gazed into his face.

  “Well, there certainly won’t be any beating around the bush here, will there?” She grinned, and it was so rueful and sweet that he couldn’t help but return it.

  “I don’t see why there should be.”

  Her head bobbed. “I agree with you. Like you said, we’re adults.”

  She went quiet. Then she took another sip from her glass, moisture making her bottom lip glisten enticingly. Like a two-by-four between the eyes, an errant thought hit him—how might that tart lemonade change the sweetness of those lips he’d tasted earlier today?

  Pierce blinked and shoved the notion from his head.

  Her sigh was heavy, as if she were about to embark on a long, arduous trip.

  “I do want to tell you why,” she began haltingly. “Why this…thing frightens me.” She paused, licked her lips.

  He couldn’t help but notice how her tongue had tripped over those last four words. This subject really was difficult for her.

  It was awkward for him, too. But as he figured it, this conversation was necessary.

  “You have to understand.” Again she stared down into her glass. “Lebo is a very, very small town. It doesn’t have much to offer in the way of cultural experiences. I’ve wanted to leave—wanted to see what the rest of the world was like—ever since I can remember.”

  Her tone took on a mellifluous, far-off quality, and Pierce’s eyes latched onto her profile.

  “My mother died when I was young,” she continued. “In a freak accident. She climbed a ladder to change a light bulb in one of the rooms of our motel. She slipped and fell. Struck her head on the edge of a bathtub.”

  He studied her face, saw that she seemed to detach herself from the story as she told it.

  “My father had taken me to the store to pick up supplies.” Another sigh issued from deep inside her. “A man stopped in to rent a room for the night. No one was manning the front desk, so he went searching for someone to help him. Unfortunately for him, he found my mother’s body.”

  Sympathy made his heart pinch. However, he also found it curious that she recounted the tale with so little emotion.

  “The sheriff contacted your brother-in-law,” Amy went on. “Reverend Winthrop found Dad at the hardware store. That’s where Dad was told his wife had died. At Stover’s Lumber and Hardware.”

  Pierce hadn’t realized that John had been living in Lebo, Kansas, during the time that Amy’s mother had passed away. He hadn’t known that his brother-in-law had been the one who broke the tragic news to Amy’s father. Of course, this had to have been years before John and Cynthia had married.

  For the first time, Pierce sensed Amy’s sadness. He couldn’t say why, but he got the distinct impression her sorrow was completely on her father’s behalf, for losing his spouse, and not for herself for having lost her mother.

  Suddenly Amy’s dark eyes were full on him. “I was too young to remember any of this. Too young, even, to retain any memories of my mother. Oh, I’ve heard stories of her from Dad. I have lots of pictures. But it’s really hard to miss someone you’ve never really known. To connect with someone you can’t remember. You know what I mean?”

  She wasn’t looking for an answer to her question, he knew. It was added on as a means of urging him to attempt to relate to he
r feelings, to her experience. And, surprisingly, he could.

  His father might not have died during Pierce’s youth, as Amy’s mother had during hers, but the man hadn’t been around much. So Pierce did understand just how hard it was to connect with someone you’d never really known.

  He couldn’t help but ask, “Is that how…” The rest of his question died away when he realized he didn’t know Amy’s father’s name. “What’s your dad’s name? Although I’m sure John has mentioned him and I should remember.”

  “Eli,” she provided. “Eli Edwards.”

  “Is that how Eli and John came to be such close friends?” he asked.

  “That’s what Dad says,” Amy told him. “Dad never talks about Mom’s death without mentioning how Reverend Winthrop stayed with him for hours every day, helping him through his grief.” She shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t remember. But Dad has always been grateful to the reverend for what he did back then. I do have memories of Reverend Winthrop. I remember when he went away and then returned to Lebo with his young wife. Your sister. Of course, that was when I was older. In fact, my father and I went to the Winthrops’ home once for Christmas dinner. It was hard to get away from the motel, though. A business like that has to be open all the time, holidays included, if you want to maintain your reputation for being reliable.”

  Pierce nodded. Several seconds ticked by and it seemed as if she was deep in thought. Then another question compelled him to speak. “Amy, how does this fit in with what we wanted to talk about? How does losing your mother—”

  “Let me finish,” she said, her voice whisper soft. “I’ll put it all together for you.”

  He pressed his lips together in an unspoken oath of silence.

  “I—I love my mother.” She stammered over the words. “I guess what I love is the memory of her that my father has tried to offer me. But I truly love my dad. I’m dedicated to him. He worked so very hard to keep me with him.

  “I attended school with a girl whose mother died. Her father shipped her off to live with her grandmother. But not my dad. He wanted us to be together. He did everything in his power to see that things went that way, too.”