by Mia Carson
“Here, take a napkin first,” she said, giggling as he wiped at his face.
“What’s this?” he asked, peering into the bag. His mouth fell open as he pulled out the paint set she’d picked up for him. “Is this for me?”
“Someone mentioned you might be in need of your own paints.” A horrible thought hit her, and she choked on a fry.
“Remy? You all right?” he asked, giving her a helpful whack on the back.
“Yeah…just, what did you see when you went to get the stuff from my studio?”
“Nothing, a lot of pictures,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Why?”
“No reason.” Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental note to cover up the naked painting of her and Stan. “What did you think of them?”
Louis sucked down his milkshake and smacked his lips. “Kinda dark, but I liked them.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Can you teach me some stuff?”
“Of course. Whatever you want, kid.”
She ruffled his hair, and they stared at the two largest trees closest to the house, making plans for a treehouse. She asked him to help her carry their trash inside as she hurried to her studio, draped a sheet over the naked painting, and came back with her sketchbook and charcoal. She found an old blanket in one of the linen closets, and they marched across the lawn for a lesson in drawing under the partly cloudy sky. She handed a sheet of paper and hunk of charcoal to Louis, and they whiled away the afternoon drawing the trees and the treehouses they’d talked about that quickly turned into castles towering over the house. They were having such a good time, she almost didn’t notice the woman standing on the back patio glaring at her, her arms crossed over her chest and a look of disgust on her face.
“Louis, stay behind me,” she said, putting herself immediately between the strange woman and Louis.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m sure everything’s fine. I want you to stay behind me, and when we get to the patio, duck inside, lock the door, and grab the phone, just in case. Can you do that?”
He nodded, his eyes wide and fearful, his hand shaking as he grabbed hers clumsily.
“Everything’s fine, kid. I’m only being cautious.” Keeping her body between Louis and the woman, Remy marched across the lawn to the patio. “Hi, can I help you with something?” she called out when they were close enough. Louis did exactly as she told him to, and Remy relaxed slightly when she heard the lock on the door slide down.
The woman heard it too and sneered. “Not very trusting, are you?”
“Of a stranger standing on my back patio? No, not usually.”
The woman’s sneer turned into a pissed-off snarl, and Remy took a step backwards instinctively. “This is not your home. This is the home of Stanford Wellington. You are not welcome here, you know that?”
“Beg pardon?” Remy asked, confused.
“You heard me. I know all about you gold-digger types, and him letting you back into his life after everything you did. You know he’s been through enough!”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, lady.”
“Melody O’Connell. That is my name, and you would do well to remember it.”
“Okay,” Remy said slowly. “Melody, I think you have me confused with someone else—hell, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I think you should leave.”
“You’re the one who needs to leave, you and your son!”
Remy turned to see what she pointed at and saw Louis at the back door, the cordless phone clutched in his hand. “My son? He’s not my son, he’s Stanford’s son. I’m the nanny.”
Melody’s face went completely blank, her hand falling to the side. “You’re the what?”
“The nanny. Remy Reagan, his nanny. He hired me when he found out he had a son.”
“You’re not… you’re not the mother?”
“No. His mom died. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bother him about it.”
Melody glanced at Louis again and waved, her whole demeanor changing in an instant. “Well now, that makes this a very different situation indeed.”
“Uh huh. So do you normally go around confronting the women of single men? Or only the ones whose pants you clearly want to get into?” Remy asked smartly, a grin on her face.
“I want no such thing.”
“Sure you don’t. That’s why you came over here to clearly try and chase me and my not son away,” Remy argued. “I suggest you leave before I call the cops—or better yet, I call Stan and tell him you’re harassing his son, who has enough issues to deal with already.”
“I wasn’t harassing him.”
“But from the look on your face you were about to. Just shove off, lady, and I think you should leave Stan alone.”
Melody’s perfectly shaped eyebrow arched as she tapped her pointy-toed shoe on the patio. “Oh? And why is that?”
“Because he doesn’t need a woman like you in his life.”
Melody’s narrowed eyes widened, and she cackled darkly. “I see what’s happening here. Oh, my sweet dear, you really think he would feel anything for you? You’re his nanny, and you’re not even that pretty.”
Remy bristled at the insult but kept grinning. “Ouch, burn. Get out,” she snapped.
“I’ll leave, but this won’t be the last you or Stanford sees of me. I have him right where I want him, and sooner or later, he’ll figure out which one of us is best for him.”
“Melody, who told you I was his mom?” she asked curious.
“Stanford, of course.”
Remy barked a laugh and waved at Melody. “Okay, then, that’s all I needed to know. If you’re not off this property in two minutes, I’m calling the cops. Fair warning.” She hurried inside after Louis unlocked the door to let her in. They both watched Melody throw her hair back, stick her chin up, and march towards the front of the house. Remy, with Louis right behind her, ran to the front windows to peer out and be sure she left.
“Who was that?” Louis asked once she was gone.
“A very mean woman,” Remy told him. “Don’t worry. I have a feeling she won’t be coming back.”
“We left our sketches outside. Can we go back out?’
“Yeah, we should be safe. Bring the phone with us this time.”
Remy and Louis stayed outside beneath the trees until a whistle echoed out to them. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Stan at the edge of the patio, waving his arm over his head.
“Stan’s back. Good timing. I’m starving,” she mused, closing her sketchbook.
“Are you going to tell him about that lady?”
“Yep. Why don’t you get washed up? We’ll show Stan our treehouse plans after dinner.”
Louis handed her his sketches and raced across the lawn to hug Stan. He was still talking excitedly to him about everything they’d gotten for school and the art set Remy had bought him when he suddenly stopped talking and stared at Stan, visibly horrified.
“Louis, what’s wrong, kiddo?” he asked worriedly.
“Your shirt… I’m sorry, Stan,” he muttered.
Stan glanced down at his shirt and the charcoal smudges covering it. “It’s just a shirt, bud. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you guys had a good day.”
“We did. Now go wash up,” Remy urged and gave Louis a gentle nudge towards the house.
“Are there drinks with this dinner tonight?” Stan asked as he followed Remy into the kitchen.
“You and I both could use one.” She brought out the half bottle of white wine from the fridge and emptied it into two glasses. “You should look at those sketches, by the way. He’s got some natural talent and a huge imagination.”
Stan shifted through the sketches. “These are his?”
She nodded, drinking her wine and trying to decide the best way to approach the topic of Melody’s unexpected visit. “Yep. I bought him some paints while we were out and thought I’d show him some sketching techn
iques.”
“You know, if you ever decided to stop being a nanny, you’d make a great art teacher.”
“Maybe one day. So, we…ah, had an unexpected guest this afternoon.”
“Oh? Who was that? Not my parents?” he asked quickly.
“No, not them. Your neighbor, Melody.’
Stan’s face paled and he chugged his glass of wine, avoiding her gaze. “Is that right?”
“Yeah. Care to tell me why she thought I was your son’s mother?”
He gripped the arms of his chair and shrugged, trying and failing to look innocent. “I have no idea. Is that what she said?”
“She showed up on your back patio, trying to chase me off. Stan, she told me that’s what you told her,” she stated and watched his face crumble as he hung his head. “Wow, you are something else.”
“Can I explain, please?”
“Yes, please do, because I spent a few minutes being utterly insulted by a woman who thinks she’s better for you than I am.” Remy didn’t mean for the words to come out sounding so full of hurt, but Melody’s words had stung. She tucked her hair behind her ears, ducking her head as if she could hide her feelings from Stan. He pulled them out of her whether she wanted him to see them or not.
“Remy, I want nothing to do with that woman, which is why I lied to her. I had hoped she would leave me alone, but I see I was wrong.” His hand reached up and uncrossed her arms so he could hold her hands. “I’m sorry you had to deal with her. I’ll take care of it, promise.”
Remy sniffed hard and nodded. “I was more worried about Louis.”
“She won’t bother either of you again, I swear it.”
A smile crept across her face and tears burned in her eyes before she wiped them away quickly. “Thanks I…uh, I guess I’ll go get washed up for dinner, too.”
“Remy, you know how I feel about you, right?” he asked uncertainly.
She glanced quickly down the hall to make sure Louis wasn’t in sight and brushed her lips against his. “I do.” Her hands slipped out of his and she darted upstairs before that simple touch turned into anything else and they risked Louis seeing them together.
Chapter 10
Stan took the arm Remy offered as he stepped out of the car and sank into his wheelchair. Students and parents bustled around them, and Louis played with the straps on his backpack, his eyes wide as he stared at the old brick and stone school building.
“Louis, are you okay?” he asked, tugging his son’s sleeve.
“That’s a big school, and there are so many people,” he whispered. “I don’t know about this.”
“We can wait a few more days if you want. The Headmaster said he would understand if you needed more time to adjust,” Stan reminded him. “It’s up to you, kiddo.”
Louis puffed out his cheeks and shook his head, his brown, curly hair flying. “No—no, I can do it. Mom would do it, wouldn’t she?”
Stan smiled and patted Louis’ cheek. “Yes, she would.”
“Okay, then I can too.”
“You have her picture with you?” Stan asked, and Louis pulled it out of his pocket. “Good. Keep it with you, and if you start to get nervous or scared, you pull it out and you think of her.”
“And you,” Louis added.
Stan’s heart swelled with love, and he was quick to blink a tear away from his eye. “And me.”
Louis hugged him tightly, and Stan kissed the top of his son’s head. He hoisted his backpack up higher on his back, turned, and vanished into the throng of other students walking inside. A few boys introduced themselves, and before Louis even reached the front doors, he was laughing with them.
“He’ll be fine,” Remy assured Stan, resting her hand on his shoulder.
“I hope so. I didn’t think it would be this hard to watch him go to school. Damn.”
Remy’s warm laughter only made the love in his chest grow even more, and he wished he didn’t have to go into the office again today. Having alone time with Remy without the worry of Louis being in the house was another part of today he looked forward to. From the way her eyes darkened and her hand remained on his shoulder, she had the same idea, but they would have to wait.
“You have enough to keep you busy so you won’t get bored?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine. I’m going to walk for a bit and call myself a cab. Take the car.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, there’s a café not too far from here,” she said. “And possibly an art gallery right next to it that opens in an hour,” she added, grinning.
“I’ll see if I can’t get off work early,” he whispered and kissed her hand.
“Until then.”
She helped him back into the car while the driver folded his chair and slipped it into the trunk. He hated leaving her there when all he wanted was to spend the whole day showing her all the ways they could bring that painting to life, but duty called. His dad would be at the office to put together a new budget for the coming year. He stared at the side mirror until they turned a corner and Remy disappeared from view.
“She seems quite the woman,” David, one of the many drivers for his company, commented.
“She certainly is,” Stan agreed. “She doesn’t even know it.”
“Well, it’s nice to see you smiling again, sir,” David said. “I think most at the company would agree.”
“I’ve only been back a few days.”
“Yes, well, people notice.”
Stan chuckled and wished he could say he’d worked through all his issues since having Remy in his life, but sadly, that wasn’t the case. Her presence certainly helped, but even she hadn’t been able to draw out what still bothered him. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her and have her deal with his burden. For now, he would keep working through it the way he always had: pushing his feelings down deep and hoping that one day, they would simply go away on their own. The days with Louis were getting better and better, and the pain in his legs was tolerable enough that he hadn’t taken his pain pills the last few days. He was able to take a few steps more than usual, giving him hope that when the time came for Remy to be ready, he would actually be able to love her the way he wanted, the way she should be loved for the first time.
He wasn’t shying away from his emotions and knew he was falling for her. Doubts rose in his mind that he might be the only one, but he’d glanced in her studio last night before heading to bed and the paintings he saw beneath the sheets gave him the only answer he needed. Besides the one of them making love in the garden as the rain fell against their bodies, there were several more. One of him and Louis sitting side by side as they worked on a ship model. The one beside that was another of Remy and Stan, their hands clasped as their heads rested against each other in a tender moment. The scenes weren’t what brought a smile to Stan’s face, though. It was the sudden appearance of subtle color in each painting.
David pulled the car up to the front of the Wellington Gunsmith Co building and parked. “I’ll get your chair for you, sir.”
Stan nodded, already planning on sneaking out of the office today as soon as he could. He knew his dad would bug him again about bringing Louis over to meet the family, but Stan wasn’t going to drag his son through that mess until he said he was ready for it. For now, he and Louis were making things work. They still had their moments, but given time, Stan had faith in his relationship with his son.
Remy left the art gallery inspired to work on the wire piece she’d started in her parents’ shed but had lost inspiration to finish. Now, ideas swarmed in her mind. She headed to the studio to get to work. She reworked the wires, snapping a few pieces here and there while twisting the other ones into a completely new shape she hadn’t considered before. Being with Stan had certainly opened another side of her creativity she’d not seen in herself. At some point, she would have to thank him for it.
She took a break around noon to grab some more water and give her aching hands a rest. As she drank from her
glass of water, glancing out the window at the flowerbeds to see if they needed weeding, the phone rang. Stan had mentioned before not to answer it if she didn’t recognize the number, and after a quick look, let it go to the machine.
The woman’s voice that came through the answering machine, however, stopped her cold.
“Mr. Wellington, I have told you time and again the only thing I want is for you to suffer. I know you send flowers once a month to my son’s grave and to the other’s hospital bed, but flowers will not bring either son back!”
Remy stepped closer to the machine to listen, as if afraid the woman would jump out and strangle her instead of Stan.
“You caused that accident, and my family’s pain is on your head. I will keep calling to remind you of that. I hope you do not have a pleasant day.”
The woman hung up, but her words lingered in the air. Remy hit the play button and listened again, and each time, another piece of the puzzle that was Stan’s guilt and pain fell snugly into place. When Remy let the message play through for the fourth time, she deleted it afterwards, not wanting Stan to hear it when he came home from work. She hurried to her room, dug out the therapist card, and hoping Stan wouldn’t hate her too much for taking the initiative, called the only other number she could think of for help in this situation.
“Wellington residence.” A woman answered the phone on the other end.
“Hi, is this Mrs. Wellington?” Remy asked, peeking out the front curtain, watching for Stan returning home.
“This is she. Who might this be?”
“I’m not sure if Stan told you about me, but I’m Remy Reagan, his nanny?” She bit her tongue hard, praying Stan hadn’t kept too much from his family, but his mom let out an excited yelp and Remy heard her clapping on the other end of the line.
“He has! I’ve wanted to meet this miracle nanny who is changing his life.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, my dear. You have no idea how much he’s changed in the past month with you around. Now, what can I do for you? Are you calling to set up a family dinner?”
