Ella heard the word as clearly as if it had been a gunshot.
“Mommy!”
Hawk looked so stricken by that single word that it stopped Ella from bending down and comforting the child as instinct would have her do naturally. She didn’t need reminding that she was the interloper here. Perhaps Hawk was frightened that Billy would awake and in his confusion mistake her for his mother. No one needed to tell Ella just how disastrous that could be. Already she worried that the children were projecting their need for a mother upon her. When the time came that she had to leave them for more than just a Wednesday night class, she didn’t want to be responsible for crushing their tender feelings. One day she must leave for good, and she couldn’t afford to leave her poor, battered heart behind, either.
“Shh….” Hawk crooned, bending down and cuddling the quivering boy in his arms. “It’s me, Billy, your daddy. Everything’s fine. You’re dreaming again.”
Billy’s eyes fluttered open. Ella stepped back into the shadows and dabbed at her own eyes with the back of her hand. It grieved her to see this little boy hurting so. How many times in the orphanage had she cried out in her sleep for her mother only to have the night orderly tell her to “shut up and go back to sleep”?
The sight of Billy clinging to his father’s neck made her want to weep. Maybe Hawk didn’t know how to play with his children on their level. Maybe he vacillated between being too gruff with them one moment and too indulgent the next. But despite his failings, this man was light-years ahead of her father in the parenting department. He hadn’t run out on his children when times got tough. Or sent them away to some fancy boarding school where money assuaged more than one wealthy parent’s conscience. Hawk was here trying his best to keep his family and himself from falling apart.
Clearly he missed his beautiful wife as much as his children missed their mother. Other than in her dreams, Ella couldn’t imagine being loved so completely. She knew only that being the center of a family that adored you would have to be the most wonderful, fulfilling feeling in the world. Lauren’s life had been so tragically cut short, yet in some ways she had been a very lucky woman indeed.
Watching Hawk rock his son gently in his arms made Ella feel like a voyeur. Like someone separated from real life by a thick plate glass window. Her arms ached with emptiness as she silently backed out of the room and allowed Hawk the privacy he needed to heal two broken hearts in his own courageous way.
Six
Hawk looked tired the next morning as he dragged himself to the breakfast table. For the first few months after his wife’s death, the children had both regularly cried out in their sleep for their mother. Since Ella had moved in, Hawk had taken the fact that these disturbing episodes had tapered off as a positive sign that the children were letting go of their grief and moving on with their lives.
The incident last night with Billy had evoked in Hawk such mixed feelings that he had sat up for hours afterward trying to sort them out. He didn’t know whatever possessed him to think he could juggle all the responsibilities of mother, father and sole provider for his children and do justice to a company that employed numerous people who counted on him to continue making outrageous profits from afar.
Thank God for Ella. Hawk took comfort in watching her bustle around the kitchen with a song on her lips. Who was he kidding? It wasn’t he who was providing the stability in his children’s lives that they so desperately needed, but rather this lovely creature who had somehow found the time among all her other duties to master the expensive espresso machine Hawk had never once used since it had been out of the box.
The strong, sweet flavor of the coffee was a pleasant eye-opener after such a restless night. He appreciated Ella’s sensitivity in allowing him time alone with his son and their shared memories. The look of pity he had spied in her eyes before she had quietly excused herself last night had been almost more than Hawk could bear. He’d had his fair share of pity surrounding Lauren’s death. If the truth were known, that alone was partially responsible for his moving to Wyoming where so few people were privy to his past.
Hawk spread the morning newspaper on the kitchen table and proceeded to take solace in the financial pages. He mumbled a thank-you to Ella for preparing breakfast and immersed himself in the latest stock quotes.
Personally, she found his preoccupation with business as boring as cold oatmeal, which she was tempted to serve tomorrow morning for all the attention he paid her western omelette. Ella glanced outside and established that the day was bound to prove difficult. The wind had gusted up and was splattering raindrops against the bay window. Knowing it would be challenging keeping the children quietly occupied inside while their father attended to business, she racked her brain to come up with several suitable activities.
After clearing the table, she resorted to her faithful ironing board for story time. The children were still wearing their pajamas as she had eventually succumbed to Billy’s logic that there wasn’t any point in getting dressed if they couldn’t go outside. Picking up one of Hawk’s expensive Italian shirts and placing it on the end of the board, Ella proceeded to tell them the Indian legend of the Dream Catcher. It was a story of a brave boy plagued by nightmares that left him quivering like an aspen leaf beset by the winds of change. This particular Indian brave set forth on a journey quest to find just the right talisman to protect him in his sleep when a bow and arrow proved so useless. This he wove into a shield which he placed above his teepee door. Thenceforth only happy memories and sweet dreams were allowed through this magical weaving. Nightmares were caught like flies upon a spider’s web and denied entrance.
“Do you know where we could buy a dream catcher?” Billy asked, his eyes widening at the prospect.
“No, but I’d be glad to show you how to make your own,” she told him.
Agreeing that this was a very fine idea indeed, the children both scurried off to transfer Ella’s magic bag from her bedroom to the rec room. It was nothing more than an old gunnysack filled with art supplies and bits of cloth and yarn. She showed them how to macramé their own unique dream catchers and how to attach their own special charms to give them mystical powers. Sarah chose sea-shells she had picked up on the beach with her grandparents and a “jewel” from her treasure box that Aunt Frannie on her mother’s side had given her. Billy fashioned to his dream catcher a golden locket with a picture of his mother nestled inside. Ella picked a feather to symbolize her freedom, a dried Indian paintbrush blossom for creativity and a gaudy plastic ring from a Cracker Jack popcorn box for hope.
By noon, their dream catchers were done and hanging above their respective beds. The rain showed no sign of slackening. Hawk took a break from work only long enough to look surprised by the lunch his children served him. They greeted him with horribly affected French accents and dish towels draped over their arms.
“Welcome to Mountain View Bistro,” they told him, seating him at the dining table with a flourish.
Hawk looked at the meal they set before him askance. He was grateful when Sarah presented him with a menu. Shaky lettering written in crayon proudly announced “Pigs in Blankets” as the main entrée. This proved to be hot dogs rolled up in crescent dough. A “Relish Kabob” was an orange skewered with toothpicks brandishing carrot strips and celery bits. The pièce de résistance was a “Sparkling Soda” that consisted of grape pop with two scoops of vanilla ice cream floating atop. It reminded Hawk of the Titanic just before it sank.
Smiling brightly, he praised them for their considerable efforts. They stood beside him eagerly awaiting his every bite. There was no chance whatsoever that they would leave his side long enough for him to scrape his plate into the trash can and pretend it had all been delicious. Touched that they had gone to such trouble for him, he moaned in pleasure with every bite he took.
“Umm,” he mumbled, washing down his crispy hot dog with a slurp of purple glop. “Good. Very good.” He swallowed. “Excellent, in fact.”
Two stick
y kisses on both cheeks made his sacrifice worthwhile. Still certain that he heard Ella giggling uncontrollably in the kitchen, he vowed to get even with her later.
The children grew restless as the inclement weather continued throughout the day. Not used to being cooped up for so long without benefit of television or video games, they began whining. Ella assured them that she knew the perfect rainy day activity to tide them over until their scheduled midday nap. She set out several sheets of slick art paper on the tiled section of the rec room floor and told them to roll up their pajama sleeves. Following her lead, they discovered the joys of finger painting. Squealing in delight at the feel of cool, bright colors squishing between their fingers, they began creating an array of original artwork.
Ella enjoyed the activity very much herself, forming a benevolent sun face out of swirls of red, orange and yellow. While she would have been the first to admit that finger painting was not a particularly quiet activity, it elicited in her another idea for a children’s story.
It evoked something else entirely in Hawk. He stormed into the rec room with a portable phone in one hand and a look of exasperation upon his face. Seeing the mess his children were making of themselves as well as his house, he blew up.
“I was trying to talk on the phone,” he said in a curt tone of voice, “and I could barely hear over all the noise you’re making.”
Ella’s first instinct was to apologize for getting on her boss’s nerves. Over the years she’d said plenty of “I’m sorrys.” Still, something about the stricken expressions on the children’s faces made her stand her ground. This was their home as much as it was his, after all, and it was hardly fair to expect children to behave like little adults.
“Creativity isn’t always quiet,” she told Hawk in a matter of fact manner. “Nor is it as tidy as stock reports. Fun doesn’t necessarily line up in neat, orderly little boxes on a computerized grid.” Ella shook her full head of auburn curls at him. “Is it too much to expect a man like you to appreciate that?”
Hawk pointed the phone in his hand at her. “What a man like me appreciates is a little peace and quiet in my own home while I’m trying to get some work done,” he replied stiffly.
Billy’s and Sarah’s eyes grew wide at the confrontation. They had heard their mother and father argue several times before over something called a boarding school, but never had they witnessed firsthand two grownups fighting over the concept of fun. It seemed to parallel preschool squabbles over a box of crayons.
Aware of their impressionable little eyes riveted to him, Hawk told Ella, “I’m going to put the children down for their nap. When I return, I’d like to have a word with you, Ms. McBride.”
Ella mimicked his formality by employing her best Myrna Lloyd impression. “I think that’s a splendid idea, Mr. Hawk the third. Just remember while you’re tucking your children in that you agreed not to question my methods—however unconventional they might seem.”
Although Hawk took umbrage with her tone of voice, Ella’s words did strike a chord in his memory. Of course he had agreed to her silly stipulation when he’d hired her, but he had been desperate at the time. He glared at her before marching the children to the bathroom and instructing them to wash up. They didn’t give him any grief about taking their naps. A whole day of keeping up with Ella had them completely tuckered out. They were asleep before Hawk was able to close the door of the rec room and square up with the help. He mentally corrected himself. The wreck room…
Ella had the place relatively picked up by the time he returned, making him feel all the more foolish for causing such a fuss in the first place. The tile floor was perfect for the water-based finger paints she was sponging up on her hands and knees. The sight was so unexpectedly erotic that it stopped Hawk in midstride. He knew his anger had far less to do with the state of his home than it did with the state of his libido.
After the awful, albeit adorable, lunch to which he’d been subjected, Hawk discovered, much to his dismay, that he didn’t want to go back to work. That, in itself, was a first for him. Known far and wide as a workaholic, he was the type of man who used work as a way of avoiding deep personal reflection. That the sound of his children and his nanny at play could so distract him would have come as a shock to Hawk’s business rivals and cohorts. That he actually felt jealous of the young woman he had hired to watch over his children came as a shock to him as well.
“We need to talk,” he said by way of introduction.
“About what?” Ella asked, unwittingly wiggling her trim backside in an attempt to get a dried-up splotch of paint off the tiling.
“About maintaining some semblance of order in my home,” he began stiffly.
“Like before I got here?” she asked sweetly, hoping there would be no need to further remind him of the chaotic state of affairs she had discovered that fateful day his children had wandered off unsupervised.
“Like expecting my children to be out of their pajamas by—” he checked his watch “—say, three o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Did you want me to dress them in formal attire for naptime?” Ella countered, pointing out the fact that they were in bed at the moment.
Realizing how hopeless it would be to try and keep her job if Hawk didn’t approve of her methods, Ella decided to be frank. She put her sponge down and sat up on her haunches.
“Look,” she said evenly. “I know that a logical, sequential business type such as yourself might have difficulty understanding someone like me.”
She forgot to mention uptight, Hawk thought to himself, taking offense at her stereotypical assessment of him.
“And what type might you be?” he asked darkly.
“Creative and abstract, of course.”
Hawk thought he must have fallen into one of those women magazine quizzes that always categorized stable men like himself as an unsuitable mate.
“Take a minute to look at this,” Ella told him, holding up a sheet of artwork that was already beginning to curl at the edges. “Really look at it.”
Hawk came closer to get a better look. He had no idea what it was supposed to be. Ella handed it to him.
“I think it shows amazing promise for a four-year-old. It’s a pair of flying dragons,” she explained, turning it right side up for him. The creatures were resplendent against a purple and blue sky.
Hawk smiled. “I know just the place for this.”
Ella hoped he didn’t mean the garbage can. “On the refrigerator?” she prompted.
“No. Over my computer.”
“Over the screen, I hope you mean,” she ventured under her breath.
Hawk squatted down beside her on the hard tile floor. “Is that so?” he asked. Picking up the soapy sponge, he offered his help.
Ella couldn’t help admiring his marvelous forearms as Hawk demonstrated what effect muscles had upon a stained floor. The effect they had on Ella’s senses was equally devastating.
“And what, pray tell, did you mean by that last mumbled comment?”
Having made a lifelong practice of traipsing merrily along where angels dared to tread, Ella considered her options in answering that particular inquiry. All she had to lose by being honest was the best job she had ever stumbled into.
“I’m sure you’re a terrific CEO and all,” she told her boss, turning eyes the color of spring meadows upon him. “It’s just that sometimes I think you forget that your children aren’t your employees.”
“Are you forgetting that you are?” Hawk asked pointedly.
He asked the question only to remind himself that Ella’s status should preclude the kind of wanton thoughts he was entertaining about her. He hadn’t meant it to stiffen her spine against him.
She drew herself up. The low, deep tone of his voice and the intimacy of their proximity set her pulse skittering down the path of costly mistakes.
“Not for a minute,” Ella told him with a smile born of unflinching candor. “All I’m trying to say is that I think you’re do
ing a terrific job for a single father.”
Hawk’s eyes softened at the compliment. It wasn’t at all what he expected. Nonetheless, he braced himself for the rest of her commentary.
“It’s just that I think you could use a little help loosening the old corporate tie so to speak.”
Hawk tugged at the open collar of his navy polo shirt. “Is that so?” he asked drolly.
Ella nodded her head, regretting at this point, ever venturing into such personal territory.
“And what if that proves dangerous, Ms. McBride?”
Ella wrinkled her head in confusion. “Dangerous?”
Hawk reached over to dip his index finger into an open container of paint and proceeded to transfer a drop to the tip of Ella’s pert nose. The bright spot of red made her look like a clown. A very sexy clown.
“Like letting a tiger out of a cage,” he told her by way of explanation. His voice was a predatory growl.
“Or opening Pandora’s box?” she offered by way of extending the comparison.
Ella’s green eyes widened in comprehension as she smeared a line of yellow paint across the bridge of Hawk’s nose. A matching stripe of red made him look like a fearsome warrior.
Indeed his blood was running hot and fast as if he were in fact preparing for combat. He just didn’t want Ella to be a casualty in the battle of the sexes. In the war he was waging inside himself.
Catching her by the wrist as she drew her arm away, he told her solemnly, “Playing with me could get rough. You might want to think about running away while I’m still inclined to let you.”
The memory of his kisses was enough to keep her rooted to the spot. “I’m a big girl,” she assured him in a throaty whisper.
She ran her free hand up the length of Hawk’s arm, smearing it with paint. The feel of that cool pigment on his skin stirred in him manly urges too long suppressed. The desire mirrored in Ella’s eyes was all the permission he needed.
Hawk reached for the top button of her paint-spackled white cotton shirt. The button pulled free, and he dabbed a spot of yellow at the base of her creamy throat. Ella’s pulse throbbed beneath the signature he left on her skin.
Wyoming Cinderella (Silhouette Desire) Page 7
