by Barbara Lohr
A book about historical Savannah in her lap, Harper was nodding off when she heard someone in the kitchen. She jerked awake and the book fell to the floor. The last thing she wanted was another confrontation in the library. Scooping up her reading material she slid it back onto the shelf and hot-footed it down the hallway. She found Cameron in the kitchen standing in front of the open refrigerator.
“Mr. Bennett?”
Carton of milk in hand, he slammed the refrigerator door shut and turned. “Harper, Mr. Bennett makes me feel like…like I’m your father or something. Call me Cameron, please.”
But this was a Mr. Bennett conversation and she knew it. Nothing cozy about what she had to say.
He took a swig of milk from the carton, absolutely forbidden in the Kirkpatrick household. A drop of milk rolled from one corner of his lips, and she almost swiped it away. His tongue darted out, and warmth cascaded through her body. She was having totally inappropriate thoughts. And enjoying them.
Harper curled her hands into fists, reminding herself that she was furious.
“My, oh, my, have I missed one of our dinner dates?” He wore a puzzled frown.
Dates? She stiffened. “No, but I did want talk to you, Mr. Ben—ah, Cameron.”
Tugging off his tie, he returned the milk to the refrigerator. When he pulled out one of the chairs from the round table, it squeaked against the tiles in protest. “Why don’t you have a seat?” He threw her a guarded look, like he wanted to be sitting down if he had to take a hit.
“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving.” She perched on the edge of the chair. “Although you might ask me to after this.”
“Really? This should be good. Let’s hear it.” Tipping his chair back, he laced his hands behind his head. He’d unbuttoned his shirt, revealing some promising chest hair—one of Harper’s personal weaknesses.
Delete. Delete. She didn’t want to think of her employer that way. Now she could think of nothing else. Arms. She’d study his forearms. The sleeves were rolled up, and a dusting of hair glinted gold in the light that glowed above the sink.
Best to get right to the point. “Bella and I met with the Goodwins today. In the park.”
His chair hit the floor with a thud. In a heartbeat his expression shifted from tired to tyrannical. “Are you friggin’ kidding me? The Goodwins?” A vein throbbed in his forehead.
“Bella’s grandparents.” She could hardly get the words out. Was she too young to have heart palpitations?
He was furious, a flush blazing up his cheeks, but the memory of the tears in Linda Sue Goodwin’s eyes gave Harper courage.
“Why in hell’s name would you do that?” He bit off his words like he was yanking apart cold taffy.
“They called. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Saints be praised. I do believe you didn’t think at all.” Vaulting to his feet so fast the chair tipped over, Cameron began to pace. Coins jingled in his pockets as he fingered them.
Yes, she was certain these were heart palpitations.
“I thought I was helping out, that this happened a lot. I didn’t know.” Her face must have told the rest of the story. But she would not cry.
She just. Would. Not.
Cameron ran one palm over his eyes. “They saw her as a baby, but not since then. And trust me, there’s a reason.”
Well, it better be a good reason. Lips trembling, she waited.
~.~
Cameron sucked in a tight breath. Just what he needed. The past chasing him down like a yapping hound.
Righteousness sparked from Harper’s eyes. As usual, his nanny was a walking parade of color. The wide purple and orange scarf wrapped around her head made her look like a pirate. The huge orange flower tucked in her head scarf looked Carribean.
Caribbean and hot.
She’d gone crazy with his credit cards, lugging home boxes and bags. Bella’s smile made the bills a worthwhile investment. But if he let this go on, he probably wouldn’t even recognize his daughter. Still, Bella had smiled at him at the dinner table last night and asked him if she looked pretty.
That’s the only reason preventing him from firing Harper on the spot for breaking a cardinal rule. If she headed for the hills like the others, he was burnt barbecue. He struggled to rein in his rage.
“I have never been on good terms with my former in-laws. They never approved of me.”
Approved? That was putting it mildly. They’d burned so many bridges it would make Sherman’s March to the Sea look like a marshmallow roast.
“But they’re her grandparents.” Harper’s hand shook as she adjusted the flower in her scarf. Artificial, he supposed, or she’d be gasping for breath.
She may have a fake flower stuck in her hair, but there was nothing artificial about Harper Kirkpatrick. She was authentic as hell and Bella needed her around. Time to go easy.
“Let’s just say they weren’t particularly kind to us. Bella only became important to them after her birth. And after my wife’s death.” Memories sliced through him like the damn carving knife hanging from Connie’s magnetic strip next to the stove.
Eyes softening, Harper sat perfectly still. He could see her mind working. She wanted more details. He hated giving them. What could she possibly know about fathering a motherless child? How could he help her understand without having her run out the door?
He yanked the chair out and sat back down. “And what are you doing with your days, Harper?”
Her lips opened and closed. Was she at a loss for words? That was unusual for Harper. “We read books. We go to the park.” Then she froze because of course the park hadn’t turned out so well.
He could see her swallow in that long delicate throat. The heat that pulsed through his body shocked him. Every time that damn Catwoman suit came to mind, it made him crazy.
“And I take her to school, of course.” She folded her hands in the lap of her purple jeans. A frown formed between her eyes that could turn from green cat’s eyes to brown suede when she got really serious. “Could you tell me more about Bella’s eating problem? What does the therapist say? I suppose I ought to know that.”
She’d changed the subject, thank God.
“We don’t know.” And here came the kicker. But Harper might as well know what she was dealing with. “There’s a chance it might be psychological. At least, that’s what the therapist says. The eating thing might be her way of controlling what she can.”
Harper’s eyes swirled with sympathy and he wanted no part of it. “That’s so sad. Could I ask, how old was she when…”
“When her mother died? Bella was only two, so we don’t really know what she remembers.”
Harper’s hands knitted together as if she were in prayer.
Sometimes this house seemed almost like a mausoleum, so closed up. Jumping up, he pulled the back door open and inhaled. The cool air set his thoughts to rights. Calm and a sense of control returned. The sound of the fountain in the garden always soothed him. Harper seemed genuinely invested in Bella, and he liked that. He didn’t need another girl’s sudden departure. The nanny position had become a damn revolving door.
“Harper, I wonder if you could do something for me.”
The fake flower bobbed. “Sure.”
“I’d like you to give me a report on Fridays. Tell me about how you spent your time during the week and what you feel you accomplished with Bella.”
Harper jerked like he’d hit her with a cattle prod, but he wasn’t backing down. There would be no more meetings with the Goodwins.
“And just what would you like in this report?”
“The facts. Your activities and accomplishments.” He’d tossed his jacket on one of the other chairs, and now he searched an inner pocket for one of his business cards. “You can just send it to my e-mail.”
Cheeks flaming, she nodded. “Fine. Is there anything else, sir?” Her eyes glinted like sparklers on the Fourth of July as she took the card.
“No, that will be
all.” Good Lord. He sounded like an officious prick. Was he becoming the type of man he avoided when he moved to Savannah?
Harper leapt to her feet with agile grace that reminded him of a bachelor party he was trying desperately to forget. “Fine. Well. Glad we had this little talk.” Her sarcasm had a Midwest directness, not the southern swirl of molasses he usually heard. He wasn’t going to take this sitting down so he stood. But before he could say a thing, she turned and was gone.
Watching her leave, he wondered just how mad she was.
Chapter 7
Saturday was Harper’s first day off. After the cozy chat with Cameron the night before, she needed it. Raging hungry when she woke up, she dashed downstairs to grab some breakfast. Connie caught her in the kitchen. The housekeeper’s face was flushed. “I don’t suppose you cook?” she asked as Harper dug around in the walk-in pantry.
“Heck, no.” Her idea of cooking was nuking a pizza in the microwave. Billy had complained about it all the time.
With a resigned set to her shoulders, Connie pulled a crockpot from the lower cabinet. “Oh, dear. I thought not.”
Now, was that an insult or what? Finding some cinnamon chex, Harper grabbed a handful and began to munch. “What do you need? My mother always says if you can read, you can cook. I can read.” But Maureen Kirkpatrick didn’t give up her stove easily, which was why Harper and McKenna never got in any practice time on that court.
Relief flooded the housekeeper’s face. “Oh, thank you so much. I will write everything out. Make it very simple. Mr. Bennett usually has sandwiches on Sunday but he’s invited, well, her for dinner.”
“Who?” Harper’s chewing slowed.
“Miss Carrington.”
Oh. Well. Harper had to munch on that a minute. She’d finally get to meet the woman who dressed little girls in linen. Should be interesting. “No problem. I can totally rock this dinner. Martha Stewart, here I come.” She could add the meal to her “list of accomplishments” next Friday.
Relief eased the tension from Connie’s face. It was way too early in the day for this nice woman to have her panties in a knot. “Today, I’ll cook this pork roast for Sunday dinner. It’ll be in the refrigerator overnight in the crockpot. Just heat it up tomorrow. I’ll leave detailed instructions.” She grabbed a pad of paper from a drawer and began to write. “You can roast some brussel sprouts in the oven. Do you know how to bake potatoes?”
That was definitely an insult. “Of course. Ten minutes in the microwave.”
Yanking open one of the enormous refrigerator doors, the housekeeper pointed. “Vegetables in the left hand bin. Use the brown-skinned potatoes.”
Harper’s chest swelled. This had redemption written all over it. Except for the disastrous meeting with the Goodwins, she was totally owning this job. “No problem, Connie. Don’t worry about a thing.”
While Connie finished preparing the meat, Harper stowed the cereal away and poured a cup of coffee. Time to get dressed.
The sound of canned laughter floated into the kitchen from the TV room where Bella was watching cartoons. The little girl’s giggles made Harper smile. Bella didn’t laugh enough, in her book. Coffee in hand, she trotted up the stairs.
Showering in the clawfoot tub was a trip. She had to step indecently high to even get into the thing. Thank goodness for the wide shower head that must have been added later. After shampooing her hair, she climbed out and dried off with one of the plush pink towels. She ran jelled fingers through the damp strands and let her hair fall to her shoulders in loose curls. No styling today. Then she pulled on a lime green knit shirt with pink stripes and pink jeans. You never know who you might see driving around town.
Like it mattered. Harper had a numb spot in her chest where her heart used to be. When would she be over Billy? Sometimes she’d hear a song, like “Unchained Melody” and oh, yeah, she was back longing for the boy. Billy was a key thread in the fabric of her college years. They’d had so much fun together. The fact that he preferred the fast life in California left her feeling confused, like she’d never really known him.
After she brought up the color in her cheeks with some blush, she emptied the contents of her leather sack into her bright pink peony purse. A little lip gloss and she was ready to go. Before she left, she poked her head in the TV room. “See you later, Bella.”
The little girl’s eyes grew round.
Too late, Harper remembered the history in this house. How many nannies had said the same, never to return? “I’ll be back this afternoon.”
Lips set like she was thinking sure, I’ve heard that before, Bella blinked and went back to the screen.
Harper grabbed the car keys from the hook. “If I don’t run into you later today, Connie, have a nice day off. I’ll see you Monday.”
The housekeeper threw her a good-natured wave. They were getting along great. Harper’s green flip-flops threw up a fine spray as she made her way through the dewy garden. The climate-controlled garage felt cool, a faint nip of gas and oil lingering in the air. Beyond the SUV were Cameron’s Jaguar, a Bentley and his prized Porsche. The man liked his boy toys.
But he was a man, not a boy.
She dropped the car keys. Picking them up, she turned them over in her hands. Was this an ah-hah moment? She slid into the front seat. Her curiosity about Cameron almost embarrassed her. Just on principle, she’d resisted Googling him. After all, what was happening here? Maybe Cameron had the “Not Available” appeal.
That must be it. He was safe.
And much older. At least, she was pretty sure about that.
He must be at least in his mid-thirties.
She could dream about Cameron Bennett because he was totally out of reach. Settling back in the soft leather, she started the vehicle. McKenna thought she should start dating again.
“Look for Dad or one of our brothers when you check out guys,” McKenna had advised her. “Billy may have been missing a sensitivity chip.”
“Now you tell me?”
“You were happy with him. Billy could be a lot of fun. And he had that bad-boy ponytail. But maybe he didn’t have husband qualities.” McKenna’s eyes had grown sad. “Next time, be choosy and careful.”
“Next time won’t be anytime soon.”
“I know what you mean, but we can always hope.” McKenna had her own problems finding Mr. Right.
Out on the street, Harper gave the SUV a good rev and punched on the sound system. How great was it to drive a vehicle that started on the first try? During the week, she’d downloaded some of her music and as she turned out onto Victory Drive, she blasted it. Is it ever too early in the morning to listen to Adele? But the sad, angry songs always made her think of Billy, so she changed to the radio and tuned in country music.
Stopping at a Starbucks for a chai latte picked up her spirits. The day was heating up fast, and Harper almost wished she’d worn shorts. Still, it was only February. She was just nutso because she’d made it through the first week of her new job. But would she make any progress at all with this position? Bella Bennett was one angry kid.
With nothing to do, she buzzed her old neighborhood. Left hand draped over the steering wheel, she laughed, picturing Cameron’s face when he opened the e-mail with her “list of accomplishments” for the past week. She’d worked on it until about two a.m.
Coming to her old street, she slowed down. One week in another neighborhood and she looked at the ramshackle houses with new eyes. Most of these houses needed some serious work. Structures leaned and paint peeled. Harvey, one of her former neighbors, was hoofing it toward the coffee shop on the corner.
“Hey, Harvey!” She waved to him from the window.
How she enjoyed his look of amazement as she glided past. After a quizzical smile, Harvey continued on to Cuppa Joe, shirt tails flapping.
When she reached the two-flat she’d lived in with Billy, she slowed to a crawl. The windows of the second-floor apartment yawned empty. Still too soon for Charlie to ha
ve it rented out. The blue and yellow batik window curtains she’d created by hand were stowed in Cameron’s attic. The green philodendrons and maiden hair ferns that had once crowded the apartment windows had all died after Billy left. She’d been so darned sad that she hardly got out of bed for about three weeks. Those dead plants had been nothing but a hurtful reminder and she’d cried carting them out to the trash.
She stepped on the gas and took a right at the corner. Feeling a magnetic pull to the place where she’d been so happy—and so sad—she circled the block. On her third pass, she pulled up short. Dressed in a black T-shirt and cutoffs, Adam stood barefoot in the center of the street, one flat hand held up like a police cop.
Smiling, she pulled over.
“Nice set of wheels.” Adam eyed the SUV with approval as she jumped out.
“Not mine.” She gave him a good hug.
“No kidding?” Taking her elbow, he maneuvered her toward the green frame house where he rented the first floor. He snagged the morning paper from the lawn before following her up the steps. “Had coffee yet?”
“I have had my breakfast and my coffee.” The apartment smelled familiar and friendly. She followed him back into the kitchen.
“So how’d it go this week?” Opening The Savannah Gazette on the table, he motioned for her to sit down.
“Pretty darn good.” Dropping her purse on the floor, she slid onto one of the stools. Even Connie would approve of the neatness of Adam’s kitchen. His serious collection of spices hung in a rack next to a stove. If she opened a drawer, she’d find the coffee containers in alpha order.
“So what are you doing over here?” Adam gave her a skeptical look. “Guess you didn’t get fired yet if you’re driving the guy’s car.”
“Maybe I missed the old neighborhood.”
“Maybe you missed the old boyfriend.” He poured the cup of coffee she hadn’t asked for. “Harper, Billy is not the prize in the crackerjack box, got it? Let him go. He was an idiot.”
