Daddy Secrets

by Mia Carson

  “Well, I did, so where do you want it?” The question to ask more about why he needed the wheelchair was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it quickly.

  “The table beside you is fine, I guess. Thank you.”

  She nodded and set it down. Tucking her hair behind her ear when it fell across her face, she stood awkwardly by the door, not wanting to leave just yet. He might be abrupt and a bit of an ass, but she would be living there for a while. Working for a man she couldn’t have polite conversation with would make both their lives miserable.

  “I know you want to ask, so just ask,” he said, catching her off-guard.

  “Ask what?”

  “Why I was in a wheelchair when you arrived today?”

  She puffed out her cheeks and cringed. “I assume you’re recovering from something?”

  “Boating accident,” he said briefly. “I’m still in stages of recovery.”

  “Right, so you have therapy sessions or something? My dad was in a bad car accident a long time ago. I remember him doing exercises for his leg.”

  Stan’s face darkened and his eyes narrowed. “Therapy doesn’t always work the way you want it to. Thanks for dinner.”

  Remy clamped her lips shut. Barely five minutes, and she’d pissed him off again. Now she was really worried about Louis moving in. “You sure you don’t need anything else? I don’t mind—or I can carry it back into the kitchen and we can enjoy dinner together?”

  “I’m fine out here,” he replied, turning his back to her.

  “Sure, right. Because who doesn’t enjoy eating dinner all alone in a creepy shed,” she muttered quietly, earning a blue-eyed glare from Stan. She shot him her best charming smile. “I wouldn’t mind the company. The house is pretty quiet.”

  “Then blare some music. I don’t care what you do.”

  “I can see that,” she snapped, and he turned around to look at her, his brow raised. “I didn’t mean to say that…ah, enjoy your dinner, I guess. Alone. All alone.”

  “Whatever you’re trying to say,” he started to say as he took a step forward. His leg trembled violently and with a curse, he fell forward to his knees, hitting the floor hard. Remy rushed forward, hoisting him up under his arms. “I can do it,” he snapped, but she didn’t let go. “I said I can do it.”

  Annoyed at him for being so damn stubborn, she grabbed him harder and grunted as she pulled him back to a standing position. She maneuvered him towards his wheelchair and plopped him down in it hard. She shoved her hair angrily out of her face, glaring at him, breathing heavily from picking up his sorry ass from the floor.

  “Look, I get that you’re in pain and you hate being in that damn chair, but you hired me and that means you get all of me,” she stated. “Not just the nanny me, but all of me. If you want to be all alone in this house and watch your son be taken away because you can’t take care of him, you won’t do it with me around. Understand?” Stan’s eyes narrowed to slits, but he didn’t say a word. “If you tell me to leave, I’ll leave, but if you want me to stay, then I’m not going to play caregiver to your son so you can tinker out here and continue being a miserable wretch.”

  “I am not a miserable wretch,” he mumbled.

  “Have you looked in the mirror lately? And from the way your housekeeper quit this morning, I’d say the only person you have to blame for your entire staff leaving is you.” She glanced at the food on the tray and decided she wasn’t so willing to feed him now. She picked up the tray and walked towards the workshop door. “If you want this, you can join me inside for dinner because that’s where it’ll be.”

  “Fine,” he shot back.

  “Fine,” she repeated. When she was one step out the door, she pursed her lips and realized she was being a bit harsh. “You know, you can always talk to me about anything. I know we just met, but sometimes, talking to a stranger is easier than talking to a friend.”

  “I have nothing to talk about… nothing you could possibly understand.”

  Nope, not harsh enough, she decided at his words and rolling her eyes, took the tray with her back to the house. She hoped hunger would eventually drive him inside, but she waited for nearly two hours before she gave up and walked upstairs to her new bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  Stanford Wellington was worse than a bachelor with women hanging around the house. He was stubborn, prideful, and too damn attractive for his own good. Despite her anger at him, she wasn’t blind and her hands remembered the feel of the muscle in his upper arms. His legs were weakened by the boating accident he’d mentioned. With nothing else to do, she lay in bed and researched her new boss on her phone. The article about the boating accident a year ago popped up, but the more she read, the more she wondered why he harbored so much bitterness. Was he pissed about his damn boat? Or was there more to it?

  “You’re not going to find out tonight,” she whispered to herself and turned out the lamp. “Tomorrow’s a new day. Maybe he’s more of a breakfast man anyway.”

  Chapter 5

  The night was not kind to Stan, and he woke cringing from the pain radiating up his stiff legs and struggled to take the two steps to fall into his chair. He wheeled himself into the bathroom, swallowed two pain pills, and waited impatiently for them to kick in. The pain grew steadily worse, and he cursed his damaged legs, wishing again that the accident had never happened and landed him in this mess.

  Though the boating accident had nothing to do with what faced him tomorrow.

  He hated using the damn chair but needed to get upstairs and see how much work needed to be done before Louis, his son, came to live with him. Going upstairs meant he might bump into Remy, and after their conversation last night, he doubted she would want anything to do with him. Not that he could blame her. He’d been a downright asshole to her and all she did was try to help. Help him get back to his feet, but Stan needed so much more help than simply being able to walk again on his own.

  He nearly took her up on the offer to talk to her about what bothered him so much, but this was his burden of guilt to carry. That guilt had grown to include ten years of time not spent getting to know the little boy arriving at his house tomorrow morning. A little boy who already hated his guts because he thought Stan hadn’t wanted him.

  Getting dressed was a chore, but this morning, he struggled to slip his legs into his jeans and after fighting with the denim, gave up on socks or his boots. He wasn’t leaving the house today. He tugged on a black t-shirt, ruffled his hands through his hair to fix it, and wheeled out of his bedroom. The house was quiet, but the strong, luring scent of fresh-brewed coffee drew him away from the stairs towards the kitchen.

  “Morning,” he said as he entered and spotted Remy leaning against the counter.

  She blew steam from her coffee before taking a long sip, staring at him the whole time with a glimmer of mischief in those brown depths. “Morning, Mr. Wellington.”

  Stan’s lips thinned as he moved closer to the counter. “You can go back to calling me Stan.”

  “You sure about that? I wouldn’t want to upset your sensitive nature.”

  “Sensitive nature? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that if you’re going to have a ten-year-old kid living with you, you’re going to have to grow a tougher skin, and fast,” she informed him. She reached up and pulled out a second coffee mug, filled it, and set it on the counter. “Sugar, cream?’

  “Sugar, please, and you don’t have to do that. I can manage on my own.”

  She didn’t seem to hear or didn’t care and dumped a spoonful of sugar in his coffee. “Here. Enjoy your coffee.”

  He took the mug carefully and held it between his palms. “Thanks for the coffee—and dinner last night. You’re quite the cook.”

  “I get by well enough.”

  Silence descended on the kitchen, and Stan opened his mouth several times to try and start the conversation again, but he was at a loss as to what to say. This woman—gorgeous wo
man— literally picked him up off the floor last night and was quick to put him in his place, even as she offered to help him. Remy Reagan was certainly not the nanny he expected, and after only a day, she was growing on him. She drank her coffee and poured a second cup.

  “How much coffee do you usually drink in the morning?” he asked as a way to hear her speak.

  “Is my caffeine consumption something I should have put on my resume?”

  His lips tugged up in a smirk. “No, I’m thinking I need to stock up on coffee while you’re living here with us.”

  She stared at him, dead serious before a laugh escaped her lips. “Smartass.”

  He drank half his mug and set it on the counter. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see how bad the upstairs is and make an urgent call for a housekeeper.”

  “Ah, I’m not sure you have to worry about that,” she said quickly, rushing to block him from leaving the kitchen. “Really. You should just stay down here, drink your coffee, and…you know, I’ll make breakfast or something.”

  Stan tried to wheel his chair forward, but she didn’t move. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Well, you should be. Breakfast is important, and with Louis coming here to live, you’ll need to get in the habit of having it with him. That’s very important.”

  “You said important twice,” he pointed out.

  “So? Grammar Nazi now, too?”

  “Remy, I really need to see the upstairs of my house. Please move.”

  She bit her tongue between her teeth and pressed her hands on either side of the doorframe. “Fine, but you’re going to be pissed and I’m not sure I’m in a mood to deal with you being in a pissy mood for a second day in a row.”

  She moved out of the way, and Stan studied her face through narrowed eyes. “What did you do?”

  “What you told me not to,” she said in a rush.

  He paused at the bottom of the stairs. “You did what?”

  “I did what you told me not to,” she said more slowly, stretching out each word as she wrung her hands. “I couldn’t help it. You hired me to be a nanny and I did what any good nanny would do, so deal with it and save your anger for other things I’ll do that you told me not to,” she rambled.

  Stan’s annoyance grew. Everyone he’d hired before did what he said. Except Remy. “This is going to be a regular occurrence, isn’t it?”

  She grinned widely in answer. “You might as well get used to it.”

  He muttered under his breath and moved to the electric chair lift. Hating her watching him, he locked his wheelchair in place and biting his cheek in pain, his arms trembled as he pushed his body up and out of his chair. Remy stood by his side, holding her hands out as if to catch him.

  “I told you last night and I will tell you again, I can—”

  “Yes, I know you can do it, but I’m here just in case. Get used to it.”

  He managed to get into the lift and pressed the button to move his body up the one flight of stairs. She walked along with him, and he bit back the words he wanted to tell her to make her go away so she didn’t have to see this. He chanced a look at her face and was still surprised to see her watching him with a curious glance instead of pity in her eyes. He was so used to pity from everyone it was refreshing to be around someone who didn’t treat him like an invalid. Even when she was there to help him, she didn’t make him feel inferior.

  When the chair reached the second story, he looked around for the wheelchair he kept on the second floor, but it was at the other end of the hall. Without having to ask, Remy went to grab it and pushed it to him. He mumbled his thanks and hefted his weight into it. Remy fell farther and farther behind as he wheeled down the hall and stopped outside the guest bathroom. It was spotless, and the items Stephanie purchased last week to turn the bathroom into one fit for a ten-year-old kid were all hung up and laid out. He moved quicker to reach Louis’ bedroom, and when the door swung inward, all he could do was stare. The room was completely put together, and the reality of what was about to happen tomorrow hit Stan hard. His son was moving in and this would be his room.

  “You did all of this? When?” he asked quietly.

  Remy leaned in the doorway. “Yesterday afternoon and last night. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I know the feeling. Why?”

  “I told you yesterday, I’m a package deal and you’ll have to get used to it. I’ve dealt with tougher clients than you.”

  “Hmm, I doubt it,” he whispered.

  “You’ve met your match, Mr. Wellington—and speaking of match, I have some errands to run.”

  “What do you have to do?”

  She beamed as she backed out of the room. “Something you’ll thank me for later. Do you need help getting back downstairs?”

  Stan frowned. “No, I can manage.”

  “If you’re sure,” she said. “I wanted to make sure. I’ll be back soon.”

  She bounced out the door and he heard a car honk in front of the house. Wheeling towards the window, he watched her slip into a bright convertible with another woman driving. They laughed together before the woman turned her car around on the drive and left through the front gate. Stan breathed out heavily through his nose, wondering what the weird tug in his gut was. Remy was the first person in a long time he felt normal around, but he couldn’t worry about his own issues. He needed to figure out how he could connect with his son. He wasn’t good with kids. None of his friends had kids, and there were no nieces or nephews to hang around with. He was starting from scratch.

  “Damn, Lara,” he whispered to the room. “Why couldn’t you have told me?”

  His annoyance at Remy taking care of the room and bathroom for Louis faded. Maybe he didn’t need to hire any more staff yet. Too many people in the house might overwhelm Louis. Stan knew it would drive him insane after a while.

  After a few more moments, he returned to the main floor to busy himself with confirming the kitchen was well stocked before going out to the workshop to keep his mind occupied for the rest of the day. The doorbell rang halfway to the kitchen, and he grunted, turning himself around and calling out that he would be right there. When he opened the front door, though, he wished he had simply ignored it and kept on going.

  “Stan! You look good today,” a curly, red-headed woman said cheerfully.

  “Melody, what are you doing here?” Stan asked, not even trying to smile or be polite.

  “Coming to check in on you, of course. I brought you some dinner for later—enough for two,” she said, holding up the casserole dish with a wink.

  “I have plenty of food, you know.”

  “I heard your cook quit weeks ago and your housekeeper yesterday. I was worried about you trying to take care of yourself alone in this great big house.”

  “I’m not an invalid, Melody. I’m recovering from injuries.” He waited for her to take the hint that he was annoyed and leave on her own, but she simply walked past him and into the house. Glaring at her back, he closed the door and followed her into the kitchen, keeping a close eye on her the entire time she placed the casserole in the fridge. “Thank you very much. I’ll be sure to let you know how it is when I get around to eating it.”

  She tapped her nails loudly on the counter, the sound harsh against his ears. “How hard are you going to make a woman work for a dinner invitation?”

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked quickly, startled by the sudden change of subject.

  “You heard me, so don’t sit there and play coy,” she purred, sauntering closer to him. “You hide up here in this house all alone. That’s not the life for a man such yourself, brimming with so much…life.” Her eyes widened on the words as she leaned on the arms of his chair. He backed away quickly and she stumbled, catching herself before she fell into his lap. “Don’t be shy with me. We’ve known each other for years, after all.”

  “Melody, I’m not sure what you think I’m telling you without actually saying anything,” he argued, backing up more, “but I am not
looking for a relationship right now. With anyone.”

  Pouting, she cocked her hip to the side and placed her hands on her hips. “Or maybe you just haven’t found the right woman. I’ll take care of you, make sure you don’t have to worry about anything.”

  Stan stiffened and ground his teeth. “I am far from a child who needs to be taken care of, Melody. I am a grown man recovering from a very serious injury. I thank you for the meal and appreciate you stopping by, but I think it’s best if you leave. I have quite a long list of items to take care of before tomorrow morning.”

  Melody’s face stiffened, and her smile twisted into a look of disgust. “Yes, I’ve heard a few rumors going around town about that.”

  “What rumors?” Stan snapped. “What have you heard?’

  “Just that some woman was here a few weeks ago with a little boy in tow. Who is he, Stan?”

  “What business of it of yours?”

  “I, for one, am your closest neighbor, and I thought we were friends,” she simpered.

  “Friends don’t act the way you are right now in my kitchen. I asked you once and I will ask you again: please leave my house.”

  Melody crossed her arms over her chest and flipped her hair back over her shoulder with a jerk of her head. “I’ll leave if you tell me who the boy is.”

  Stan wanted more than anything for Remy to return and chase Melody out of the house. Maybe she would even think Remy was his girlfriend. A horrible idea popped into his head, but if Remy found out what he’d done, she would hate him. He would just have to make sure she didn’t find out.

  “It turns out one of my girlfriends from college moved back into town and brought a surprise with her. A son,” he said. “Our son.”

  Melody’s face was priceless. Her jaw dropped open and she gasped before she slapped a hand to her chest and sputtered, searching for words. “What…you—are you sure it’s even yours?”

  “Yes, we’re sure. The DNA test proves it. She brought him here to finally meet me and we’re going to try and start our family together, see how it goes.”