Something About Joe

by Kandy Shepherd

  “I haven’t got anyone else,” said Sandy.

  Allison glanced up at the clock. She’d have to try another agency. “Okay I—”

  Her cell phone rang from her briefcase. “Could you please hold again, Sandy?”

  She burrowed through the case, hunting for the cell phone amid a tangle of chocolate bar wrappers. She knew it would be Clive.

  He didn’t even wait for her to say “hello”.

  “Are you on your way?” Her boss’s tone was terse. “You know how much is riding on this meeting.”

  “Of course,” she lied, thinking of her robe and bare feet, her blond hair still dripping uncomfortably down the back of her neck. “Just getting in the car.”

  She didn’t dare admit otherwise. Clive didn’t deserve the extra worry of fearing she’d be late. He’d probably been up all night agonizing about the meeting as it was. She didn’t want to contribute to his ulcer.

  She realized she had a phone at each ear. Clive relieved her of her dilemma by hanging up, with a brusque reminder to meet him in his office before going to the boardroom.

  She put down the cell. “Damn. Damn. I mean darn.” She met her son’s inquiring little face. “You didn’t hear that, Mitchell. Mommy doesn’t use naughty words.” Mitchell chortled in delight.

  Joe Martin’s dark eyebrows arched in amusement, a smile played around his mouth. She knew she had looked ridiculous standing in her nightwear with a phone at each ear. But with the clock ticking away, and still no nearer to a child-minding solution, she was in no mood to be laughed at.

  “There’s nothing funny about it.” She pulled her robe tighter across her breasts again, hoping it hadn’t gaped open while she was on the phone. How had this morning gotten so out of control?

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Was I laughing?”

  She opened her mouth to reply but then the faint, disembodied voice of Sandy from the agency came through the other phone. “Mrs. Bradley? Mrs. Bradley? Are you there?”

  Joe Martin took the receiver from Allison’s hand. “Yes, she is,” he said. “She wants to ask you to get her another nanny.”

  Allison snatched it back. “No, I don’t.” She glared at the man who seemed to take up so much room in her tiny kitchen. Joe glared right back, no longer smiling.

  Mitchell started to whimper. Joe reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, little fella,” he murmured. Mitchell quietened immediately.

  Allison swallowed hard. It seemed she was upsetting every male in the room. She hadn’t meant to seem aggressive; she was just starting to succumb to heart-thumping panic. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Then looked at Mitchell smiling up at Joe in delight. She weighed up the balance sheet of the situation. “Sandy, I don’t have a choice. I’ll keep Joe Martin for today. But please get me a female nanny for tomorrow.”

  She slammed the receiver down so hard in its cradle it jarred her arm. Then bit hard on her lower lip. But she didn’t dare show her pain in front of Joe Martin. She needed to seem completely in command.

  Joe Martin held her gaze for a long, thoughtful moment. “You do have a choice. If you’re so concerned about me, you could stay at home and look after Mitchell yourself.”

  “Excuse me?” Did she hear right? It seemed the nanny was challenging her. Couldn’t he see how desperate she was to get to work? How could anyone think she’d put herself through this kind of torture if she didn’t have to?

  He couldn’t be expected to know the details of her personal life; why she had to work full-time in a demanding job whether she liked it or not. But what right did he, a stranger, have to question her?

  It had been like leaving part of her heart behind the first day she’d left three-month old Mitchell with a nanny to go back to work. She’d wept all the way to the office, nauseous with terror that Katie—the first and best nanny she’d had—might not look after him as well as she should.

  It had gotten easier. Mitchell had thrived, happy with his carer. Allison loved her job—welcoming its stimulation as well as the pay, though she would have preferred to work fewer hours. But always the guilt simmered away under the surface. Guilt that she wasn’t giving enough of herself to her child.

  It was only this guilt, and her habit of justifying herself to people critical of women in her situation, which made her even attempt to answer Joe Martin’s question.

  “Surely you realise I’d be at home more with Mitchell if I could? Who else would pay the bills if I didn’t work?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Mitchell’s father?”

  “Huh. That’s a joke and a half.”

  “You’re American, right? So Mitchell’s dad is back home?”

  “No. He’s Australian and right here in Sydney.”

  Allison couldn’t suppress the bitterness in her voice. Apart from living expenses, she was saddled with her ex-husband Peter’s gambling debts. She’d had no idea of the extent of his addiction until after he’d left her—or how cleverly he’d ensured her shared liability for his debts. He’d been as cunning as he’d been dishonest. And now she was legally as well as honor-bound to pay off their creditors.

  Peter paid only minuscule child support. Although he had a good job as a financial consultant, he and his wily lawyer had made him look practically a pauper on paper for the family law court. As a result, Mitchell’s future education and welfare rested entirely with her. And she wanted him to have every opportunity. “Look, Mr. Martin—”

  “Joe,” he said.

  “Joe,” she said, uncomfortable at the intimacy using his name implied. It seemed too close, too friendly, when she wanted to keep her distance—though she never called her female nannies anything other than their first names.

  “I’m not going to justify my job to you. If I’m not at work in twenty minutes I might not have a job.”

  “I get that,” he said, spooning fresh cereal into Mitchell’s mouth. Unbelievably, Mitchell was swallowing it without complaint. Whatever she might feel about Joe Martin’s suitability, her son had taken to him immediately.

  “I guess I’ve started off on the wrong foot with you. But I agreed to employ you and I’m grateful you’re here to help me out.”

  Joe turned to face her. “It’s what I do.”

  She swallowed hard against a sudden rush of anguish. Leaving her precious child for the first time with a stranger never got any easier. “That said, if...if you do anything to harm my son, I...I’ll kill you. I swear I will.”

  She had no idea how ferociously her green eyes gleamed or how her face had tightened like a mother cat snarling in defense of her kitten.

  It was over the top. She knew it as soon as the words left her mouth.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Don’t apologize. If I had a child I would expect his mother to be as passionate as you are about his safety. I promise I will look after Mitchell.” As Joe spoke, he moved behind her child’s highchair in a protective stance. “I’m the oldest of six children and have looked after young kids for most of my life.” He then added, almost as an aside, “I’m also a schoolteacher trained in early childhood education.”

  She couldn’t mask her surprise. “You’re a schoolteacher?”

  Schoolteachers hadn’t come packaged like this in her day—six foot two hunks clad in denim and leather. She doubted there would have been any truancy problems at her school if they had.

  Joe Martin shrugged off his leather jacket and flung it over a kitchen chair. Allison caught her breath. His tanned arms were defined by hard muscle, his pecs buff under the white T-shirt. Oh my. If a teacher at her school had looked like this, the girls would have been lining up for detention. Fabricating any opportunity to be in hottie Mr. Martin’s classroom.

  He turned and caught her staring. “I don’t seem like a schoolteacher?”

  She hadn’t been thinking about his teaching qualifications at all. Too lost in admiration of his well-proportioned body with its wide shoulders and narrow hips. So different
from her thin, wiry ex.

  “Uh, I haven’t been in a classroom for quite some time,” she said. Joe’s clothes, his hair, his earring, his motorbike—who would blame her for not taking him for a schoolteacher? “You...uh...you just...I...”

  “You judge people by appearances?”

  “Of course I don’t. It’s just you—”

  He laughed aside her attempt at justifying herself, and she realized he was aware of her discomfiture. Had he caught her ogling him? Lord knows it wasn’t something she made a habit of. It had been a long time since she’d been aware of any man’s sexual appeal. Too long, maybe.

  Deftly, Joe wiped Mitchell’s mouth clean of cereal with paper towel and Allison followed the movement of his lean brown fingers. From nowhere flashed the thought of how they might feel on her body, stroking, caressing...

  Her flush deepened. Dear heaven she hoped he couldn’t read minds.

  Thankfully, he didn’t look up from his task.

  “If it would make you happier, I could take Mitchell somewhere else for the day,” he said. “A relative’s house, maybe?”

  “I don’t have relatives in Sydney.”

  Her mother was long dead. Her father had remarried and lived in Boston. Not that he would help her. She hadn’t seen him for years, had given up trying to keep in touch when he made it obvious he wasn’t interested.

  She’d met Peter when they’d worked for the same bank in New York City. When he wanted to go home to Australia she’d gone with him, in love and excited about making a new start in a new country. She liked Sydney but all the old, special friends she could call on for help lived back in the States. She was Mitchell’s sole support. Paid babysitters and nannies like Joe were her only help.

  “Mitchell usually goes to playgroup today.”

  “So I’ll take him. Just write down the details for me.”

  Allison scribbled the time and address of the playgroup on the notepad by the phone. She glanced again at the clock. If she didn’t get a move on she’d still be at home when playgroup started.

  She pulled a big, blue folder from the shelf. “This is the Mitchell manual. All the stuff about his food and routine are in here. Doctor’s details, my contact numbers, everything you might need.”

  Joe unstrapped Mitchell from his highchair. “Then maybe you should be getting dressed,” he said in that distinctive, husky Aussie drawl. “Remember, you told your boss you were just about to leave. Time’s running out.”

  As if she needed reminding. “You look after Mitchell. I can look after myself.”

  She fled the room rather too quickly for dignity, glad to escape those blue eyes that, she felt sure, could see right through her robe.

  Joe found it hard to keep his eyes from Allison’s shapely, retreating rear end. But at least those magnificent breasts weren’t tantalizing him through that almost transparent robe. Every time she’d moved he’d expected a nipple to pop into view. He’d had to look down at her feet—but even they were pretty with delicate, pink-edged toenails.

  This woman was hot. She had just the kind of lush, curvy body that turned him on.

  Or would have, if she wasn’t a client.

  When he’d started working for Help From Above, he’d made it a strict rule to keep his hands off the women who employed him. Not that any of the others had given him the instant jolt of attraction he’d felt for Allison Bradley.

  He picked up a beaker and poured some juice for Mitchell, guiding it carefully so juice didn’t follow cereal onto the baby’s T-shirt. “Good boy,” he murmured as Mitchell drained the beaker.

  What a cute little kid he was, with his merry, nutmeg-brown eyes and the ginger hair standing straight up from his head like a miniature mohawk. He must get his coloring from his father, not his green-eyed, platinum-haired mother.

  Joe glanced over at the wedding photo displayed prominently on the dresser. Yep, except for the eye colour, the man standing next to a smiling, younger Allison was definitely an older version of Mitchell.

  Where was Daddy now? Joe’s mouth tightened in a grim line. Since he’d been nannying he’d seen more fatherless kids than he ever wanted to see. And, shocking to him, too many mothers more interested in their careers and social life than their children.

  It was a slice of a particular strata of middle-class life revealed that he didn’t particularly care for. And it made him resolve that when he eventually settled down—some day far, far in the future—he’d be damn sure to be there for his kids as a father should. Marriage and children, for Joe Martin, were lifetime commitments.

  For now, he hoped he brought something positive into the lives of those children living in a dad-free zone, and nannying gave him the flexibility and income he needed to chase his dream.

  Allison Bradley’s marital situation was none of his concern. And it had been out of order of him to say anything about her caring for Mitchell herself. He was just there to look after her kid to the best of his ability for the hours he was paid for.

  He went to lift Mitchell out of his highchair. The scent greeting his nose made him recoil. Where in heck was the change table? This part was definitely the downside of the job.

  Allison’s cell phone rang as she whirled through the kitchen to pick up her briefcase. “I’m stuck in traffic,” she fibbed to Clive. She didn’t dare admit she was still at home, even though she was finally dressed and ready to go. She hung up and turned to Joe. “Please, if the office calls, tell them I left ages ago.”

  Joe turned away from the highchair. Allison stopped, aware of his slow, thorough appraisal of her appearance. His gaze travelled up from her mid-heeled court shoes, to the trim, tight skirt of her navy suit, to her hair now brushed away from her face into a business-like pleat.

  She realized she was being thoroughly checked out in a sexual, man-woman way—and not being found at all wanting. She was surprised and, despite herself, flattered. She willed herself not to blush.

  “So,” he drawled, “a boss lady.”

  “You judge by appearances, too?” she couldn’t resist retorting.

  “Doesn’t everyone?” he replied. “Your appearance says executive—and you work somewhere where they’d rather you were a man.”

  Her eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

  “I just guessed the second bit.” Then he shrugged. “The agency told me you were a bigwig at a bank.”

  Allison smiled. “Bigwig” or not—and she was really more of a not-so-bigwig—this would be the last big deal she’d ever have the opportunity to work on if she didn’t get to the office pronto. They’d never take her seriously again.

  Her heart twisted painfully as it did every morning she had to say good-bye to Mitchell. She turned to where he sat in his highchair. The first thing Joe Martin needed to do was change that cereal-encrusted T-shirt. She wrinkled her nose as she got within kissing distance of her son. No, the second thing.

  “I know,” said Joe Martin. “I need to ask you where—”

  “Diaper changing station. His bedroom. First on the right at the top of the stairs,” she replied. “Sorry I haven’t got time to do it myself.”

  In spite of her tension, she found herself suppressing a giggle. This was one of the advantages of having a nanny—someone to share diaper-changing duties.

  Allison ruffled Mitchell’s hair and kissed one smooth cheek and then the other. “Be a good boy for Joe.” She risked a big cuddle; the cereal must surely be dried by now. “Goodbye, my precious.”

  “Bye bye, momma,” her son replied, waving his plump little hand. “See ya.”

  Allison looked over her son’s head and up at Joe, struggling to be the boss lady but knowing only the imploring mother was showing in her eyes. “Please, look after him,” she said, unable to prevent the slight break in her voice.

  “I will,” he replied. “I promise you.” She relaxed at the depth of understanding in his voice.

  His obvious sincerity went a long way to reassuring her about Mitchell’s
safety. But that didn’t stop her from vowing as she ran out of the door, wiping the cereal from her jacket, that she would somehow find another nanny today and sack Joe Martin the second she got home this evening.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Allison was appalled to realise it was nearly lunchtime and she still hadn’t had a chance to phone any childcare agencies to arrange Joe Martin’s replacement. The early morning meeting had gone on and on and on. Eventually it broke for lunch and she made a feeble excuse to the others and dashed into her office.

  First she wanted to check Joe had taken Mitchell to the playgroup. She called the church hall where the group of mothers and nannies and their charges met for playgroup twice a week. She’d forged links with them while she’d been on maternity leave and had tried to keep up the friendships for Mitchell’s sake.

  Her neighbor Diane answered. “Allison, where did you find Joe? We were all petrified when he first walked in. We thought we were being raided by a biker gang. But he put us all at ease at once.” Uncharacteristically, Diane giggled. “Joe is wonderful, isn’t he? And what a hunk.”

  “Is he? Wonderful, I mean,” said Allison, taken aback by her conservative neighbor’s reaction. Diane was married to a balding, bespectacled attorney and judged a man’s desirability by his bank balance not his biceps.

  Diane giggled again. “I can’t really call Joe a nanny, can I? He’s much too macho for that. You know, I think I’ve seen him somewhere before. How long have you had him?”

  Allison kept her voice low out of habit. She was expected to shuck her role as mother the second she walked through the revolving door into the bank’s plush offices, and become a one hundred percent corporate being, utterly devoted to her job—just like her male colleagues with stay-at-home wives.

  “It’s his first day. Lia left me yesterday without any notice. Just packed her bags and walked out to live with her boyfriend.”

  “You haven’t had a good nanny since Katie left to go backpacking.”

  “It seems that way doesn’t it? But Katie was exceptional. She’s a hard act to follow. Lia was okay until she met that deadbeat boyfriend.”