His New Nanny

by Carla Cassidy

  She cast him a sympathetic smile. “It just doesn’t work that way, Sawyer. I can’t take her temperature and tell you she’s getting better. I can’t look into her eyes and know when she might be ready to speak. The only thing I can tell you is that she seems to trust me, that we’re getting closer and closer with each day that passes.”

  “I’m glad.” A burst of warmth swept through him that had nothing to do with sexual desire. He wanted his daughter to have somebody she trusted, somebody she could depend on, someone who hadn’t been around when her mother had been murdered.

  They were quiet for the remainder of the drive. Minutes later he turned off the road and into a driveway that led to their first stop.

  Cajun Country was housed in a low, tin-roofed building in the middle of nowhere. The parking area was filled with cars as Sawyer turned in. His stomach clenched as he thought of what lay ahead.

  Even through the closed car windows the sound of raucous music was audible. It sounded traditionally Cajun, with pumping accordions, rousing fiddles and the clang of triangles keeping time. It would be a wild crowd, high on booze, the music and life itself. It could also be a dangerous crowd, with volatile emotions that might transform from gaiety to rage in the blink of an eye.

  “This is a mistake,” he said as his gaze returned to Amanda. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

  “Nonsense,” she replied crisply. “In fact, I suggest you let me talk. It’s possible people will be more open talking to me than they are talking to you.” She opened her car door. “We’re here, Sawyer, let’s see what we can find out.”

  Reluctantly he got out of the car, and together they walked toward the entrance. The air smelled of boiled crawfish and strong beer, and the sounds of laughter mingled with the music.

  As they walked through the door into the dim, smoky interior, he took Amanda’s elbow, wanting to claim her as his own to any other men as they entered.

  The small dance floor was packed with people. Sawyer held on to Amanda as he angled them through the crowd toward two empty stools at the bar. As they walked he was aware of several male gazes lingering on Amanda, and he tightened his grip on her elbow.

  They slid onto the stools and the bartender looked at them expectantly. Sawyer ordered them each a beer, then whirled around on his stool to peruse the crowd. He didn’t see anyone he recognized, but that didn’t mean some of the people here didn’t recognize him.

  How many of the men in this place had known Erica? Had they all danced with her, shared drinks with her? As a husband he didn’t care anymore who she might have been with. As a murder suspect he definitely cared.

  Was there an answer here? Did somebody here know who Erica might have been sleeping with at the time of her death? And had that person killed her?

  AMANDA LOOKED AROUND with interest. This place was as alien to her as a monastery in Tibet might have been. The music was foreign, but made it almost impossible for feet to stay still. The dancers looked uninhibited, heads thrown back, feet stomping and hips gyrating.

  She sipped the icy beer and shot Sawyer a surreptitious glance. He looked hot, clad in a pair of jeans and a navy T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and taut, lean stomach.

  She stared back at the dance floor and wondered what it might be like to be held in his strong arms, what it would be like to taste those lips of his that curved so easily into a smile, then pressed so tightly together when he was upset.

  Lillian’s words came rushing back to her. He had just lost his wife. He was a man on the rebound, a lonely man, and Amanda would be nothing more than an easy convenience.

  For a moment as they’d walked through the door and his hand had been so warm on her elbow, it would have been easy for her to imagine that they were on a date. But this wasn’t a date. They were here for a purpose.

  With this thought in mind she twirled back around to face the bar and motioned for the bartender. She offered him her most flirtatious smile. “I was wondering if maybe you knew a friend of mine, Erica Bennett?”

  The smile on his broad face instantly fell away and his dark brows pulled together in a frown. “I knew her. She’s dead.” His gaze flicked to Sawyer, who got up from the stool and ambled off to stand nearby. Amanda knew he was distancing himself in hopes the bartender would be more forthcoming with information.

  “I know, but she loved coming in here,” Amanda said to the bartender. “She told me once that this was one of her favorite places on earth.”

  The bartender’s smile returned and he nodded. “That Erica, she was some kind of crazy. Whenever she came in, the music seemed louder and the fun more intense.”

  “I’m trying to find out what happened to her, who might have wanted to harm her,” Amanda said.

  His gaze flickered to Sawyer, then back to her. “You don’t believe he did it? Men have killed their wives for far less in this part of the country.”

  “Somebody else killed her,” Amanda said with assurance. “Can you tell me if she was seeing anyone? If there was a particular man she came in with or spent time with when she was here?”

  “She stopped coming in a couple of months before she was killed. I figured maybe she’d left crazy behind and had decided to settle down.”

  Amanda tried to hide her disappointment at this news. If Erica hadn’t been coming here on the nights she left her daughter and her husband, then where had she gone and with whom? Somebody somewhere had to have seen Erica with her lover.

  “So you never saw her with any particular man while she was here?” she asked one last time.

  He grabbed a wet cloth and wiped down the area in front of her. “Look, I don’t want no trouble. I serve drinks and get a paycheck.”

  “But you also have eyes and you must have seen something,” she pressed. “And we’re not looking for trouble, either. We’re just looking for some answers. Please.”

  He gave the bar in front of her a final swipe. “The only person I ever saw Erica go off with was the sheriff. Twice he came in and she left with him.”

  Amanda’s heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. “The sheriff? You mean Sheriff Lucas Jamison?”

  “That’s right. A couple of times they left out of here together. I figured maybe her husband had gotten the law to bring her home.”

  Amanda glanced over to where Sawyer stood, his beer in his hand. Lucas Jamison? He was not only the sheriff of Conja Creek, but also one of the Brotherhood, a close friend of Sawyer’s.

  Had Lucas betrayed his friend? It was frightening to think that the man who might arrest Sawyer might be the real guilty party.

  Don’t jump to conclusions, she warned herself. As the bartender moved to the opposite end of the bar to wait on somebody else, Sawyer returned to her side.

  He leaned close to her, his mouth next to her ear. “Did you learn anything?”

  She didn’t want to tell him here and now. She had no idea how he might react to the news that his wife had been seen leaving this place a couple of times in the company of the sheriff.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she suggested, and slid off the stool.

  Once again he grabbed her elbow, steering her through the crowd and toward the door. She was acutely conscious of the warmth of his touch, the nearness of his body to hers as they headed for the exit. Despite the ripe seafood odor to the air she could smell Sawyer, his clean, masculine scent that had become so familiar to her.

  As they walked out into the balmy night air, Amanda tried to figure out how to tell Sawyer what she’d learned.

  When they were in the car he turned to look at her. “Did you get any useful information?”

  “The bartender said that a couple of months before her death Erica stopped coming in,” she replied.

  Sawyer stared through the car window toward the bar. “If she wasn’t coming here on the nights she left the house, then where was she going?”

  “Are there other bars or clubs she might have gone to?”

  “There are a coup
le, but when I talked to George he told me this was Erica’s place, that she didn’t like any of the other bars.”

  “You want to try the others? See if we find out anything else?” She didn’t want to tell him about Lucas until they were back at the house.

  He sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead, as if his weariness was too great to bear. “Let’s just go home. This was probably a stupid idea.”

  He started the engine and pulled out of the lot and onto the narrow road that would take them back to his house. They didn’t speak, the silence in the car growing to stifling proportions.

  How would he react when she told him what she knew? Certainly on the face of it, knowing Erica’s character, it was possible she’d been having an affair with Lucas. Sawyer knew about his wife’s infidelities, but how could he know that one of his best friends might have been the one to betray him?

  “How about some coffee?” he asked the minute they walked into the silent house. “I’m not ready to call it a night yet.”

  “I have something else to tell you, something the bartender told me,” she said with a touch of reluctance.

  His dark green eyes held her gaze intently. “It must be something I’m not going to like, since you waited until now to tell me.”

  There was no way to find words to make it better, no way to soften what she had to say. “The bartender told me that a couple of times Lucas Jamison came in and Erica left with him.”

  She’d never thought it possible for his eyes to grow darker, but they did. Other than that his features gave nothing away of what he was feeling inside.

  “Erica would have found it amusing to sleep with one of my friends,” he finally said.

  “But why would Lucas kill her? Is he married?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Divorced.”

  “Then he couldn’t have been worried about her telling his wife.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe he was afraid people would find out that he was having an affair. Maybe he was afraid that would undermine his authority as sheriff.”

  “Lucas has a younger sister, Jenny, who is wild as a gator in heat. I can’t imagine him worrying about what other people might think. I’ve changed my mind about the coffee. Go to bed, Amanda. I appreciate what you did tonight, but it’s late and I’m sure you’re tired.”

  She wasn’t tired, but she had a feeling he wanted to be alone, to process what he’d just heard. “Then I’ll just say good-night.”

  She left him there, standing in the foyer alone, as she suspected he’d been for a very long time. Once she was in her room, she paced the floor. She was too restless to go to bed and was surprised to realize she missed Melanie.

  Each night before Melanie fell asleep, Amanda sat on the edge of her bed and talked. Although Melanie never uttered a word, there was communication happening between the two of them. Melanie communicated with her smiles, with a touch.

  Most nights Amanda remained on the edge of the bed for long minutes after Melanie had fallen asleep. The motherless child who had seen something so traumatic that it had stolen her speech had somehow crawled into Amanda’s heart.

  She tried not to think of the other child, the one she’d lost, the one who had nearly destroyed her. With a deep sigh she moved to the window and stared outside into the dark of the night.

  Sawyer was there, at the end of the dock, silhouetted against the dark swamp by the light from the back of the house. His shoulders were slumped and he looked like a man who had awakened in the middle of the night to find his life had vanished and he was alone.

  She knew what that felt like. She knew the pain of realizing that nothing was as it should be, that everything you’d thought you had was stripped away by circumstances out of your control.

  Without giving herself time to think, without wondering whether she was doing the right or the wrong thing, she left the room and headed for the stairs.

  Once she was downstairs, she walked out the French doors that led outside and followed the path to the dock. He must have heard her approach. “I thought you were going to bed,” he said without turning around.

  “I thought maybe you needed to talk,” she replied.

  He did face her then, his features stark in the pale light. “I’ve just been wondering what I should have done differently. If I’d divorced Erica a year ago maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe she’d be off living the high life in Baton Rouge or New Orleans instead of dead.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for what’s happened. It was beyond your control. Sometimes life does that, it throws things at you that you just have to get through.”

  He tilted his head, his gaze not wavering from hers. “Is that why you’re here? Did life throw things at you?”

  She hesitated a moment, then nodded. “But that’s a story for another time.” A story she might never share with him.

  He turned around once again. “I can’t remember being afraid of much of anything in my life but right now the future scares the hell out of me.”

  There was nothing she could say, no platitudes that wouldn’t just be empty words. Instead of speaking, she stepped closer to him, wanting to bring comfort but unsure how to do it. Tentatively she moved to stand beside him and placed her hand on his arm.

  He looked at her and his eyes gleamed almost silver. “You’re a giver, aren’t you, Amanda? I’ll bet you’re easy to take advantage of.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “I like to think of myself as being smart enough not to allow people to take advantage of me,” she replied.

  Turning to face her once again, he stepped so close to her she could smell the scent of beer on his breath and feel the heat of his body.

  “You make a man want to take advantage of you.” He reached out and touched a strand of her hair, then curled his fingers into it. The sultry night air seemed to press so tightly around them she couldn’t draw a breath.

  He released her hair and instead took her mouth with his. His lips were hard and demanding against hers, and she gave back to him with a hunger she hadn’t known she’d possessed until he’d touched her.

  The kiss ended as abruptly as it had begun. He ripped his mouth from hers and stepped back, his eyes holding the dark wildness of a predator. “Go inside, Amanda.” Rough and commanding, his voice sliced through her. “Go inside before we both do something we’re sure to regret.”

  She didn’t think of doing anything other than what he asked. With her heart racing and her lips still burning with the imprint of his, she turned and ran toward the house.

  Chapter Six

  Amanda was still in her room the next morning when she heard the familiar sound of footsteps running up the stairs. A moment later, Melanie burst through the door.

  “Ah, you’re home! I missed you,” Amanda exclaimed.

  Melanie grinned and walked over to the dry-erase board Amanda had hung on the wall. I missed you, too, she wrote with the marker.

  “Did you have fun last night?” Amanda asked.

  Melanie nodded, then walked over to Amanda and leaned into her. Amanda had worried that it was going to take time to break through Melanie’s defenses, but she’d never met a child more ready to accept love. She seemed starved for it, and as Amanda gathered her into her arms, she realized there was a part of her that had been starved, as well.

  “What are we going to do today?” she said. “Should we have a picnic? We could take lunch down to the dock and eat there.” She wanted Melanie to recognize that the dock wasn’t just a place of tragedy, but could be a place of fun once again.

  Melanie tensed slightly, then slowly nodded her assent. “Good,” Amanda said. “We’ll see if Helen might make us something special for our picnic. And now it’s probably time for breakfast.” Even though it was Sunday, Helen would be in the kitchen. Sawyer had told Amanda that since Erica’s death Helen had refused to take a day off, insisting that her place was here taking care of Melanie and Sawyer.

  As she and Melanie made their way down
the stairs to the dining room, Amanda steeled herself for seeing Sawyer. She had tossed and turned all night with the memory of that kiss and the knowledge that she hadn’t wanted it to stop.

  Thank God he’d had sense enough to halt things. For the moment his mouth had captured hers, all her sense had fled from her head.

  When she and Amanda entered the dining room, Sawyer was already in his seat at the table sipping a cup of coffee. “Good morning,” he said to Amanda, and she was grateful to see nothing of the darkness that had been in his eyes the night before.

  “Good morning,” she replied, and slid into her chair. “Melanie, I do believe I smell some of Helen’s scrumptious cinnamon rolls.”

  “Indeed you do,” Sawyer replied with a smile for his daughter. “Helen knows how much you like her cinnamon rolls.”

  Melanie nodded and rubbed her stomach.

  “And we’re going to have a picnic this afternoon down by the dock,” Amanda said.

  Sawyer’s smile faltered a bit as he gazed at Melanie. “And that’s okay with you?” As she had before, she hesitated a moment, then nodded her assent.

  “The dock is such a pretty place,” Amanda said, giving Sawyer a meaningful glance. “We can eat our lunch and smell the flowers and watch the fish flop and flash in the water.”

  “That sounds so nice I might just have to join you,” Sawyer said.

  Breakfast was pleasant with Sawyer and Amanda keeping up a running conversation about what they might see during their picnic. “I think we might see a raccoon eating a banana,” Sawyer said, grinning at Melanie’s resulting giggle.

  “Or maybe a muskrat playing the fiddle,” Amanda added.

  The lightness of the conversation was welcome. Amanda had feared that things might be awkward this morning between Sawyer and herself, but there was nothing like laughter to banish awkwardness.

  The humorous side of Sawyer was one she hadn’t seen much of, but as he teased his daughter, Amanda found herself charmed by that side of him.