Single with Children

by Arlene James

  Two

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” he was saying. “I won’t call the owner of the diner if you’ll come to work for me. You see, we need a nanny.”

  Laura pulled her gaze in and tamped down her excitement. He was entirely too good to look at, and if she had learned anything, it was to be leery of good-looking men. And yet… She shook her head. “I don’t have any experience or training in that area.”

  He looked at her, momentarily taking his eyes off the road. “No? Well, maybe that’s a good thing. You sure seem to have a way with them, and maybe that’s more important.”

  She sucked in her bottom lip, wavering. Something good could happen once in a while, couldn’t it? Her luck didn’t have to be all bad. What did she have to lose, anyway? She tried to think. “I, um, don’t have a car.”

  “Oh? Well, that doesn’t matter, really. It’s, um, a live-in position. Room, meals, salary.” He shot her a grin. “And I think we can do better by you than that pancake house back there.”

  Laura caught her breath. Room, meals, and a salary? He went on talking.

  “Breakfast is the sticking point. Trained nannies don’t like to cook. However, our cook doesn’t like to live in. She’s married, you see, and by the time she can feed her husband and get him off to work, straighten her house and get out to ours, it’s time to fix lunch. And since I’m about as useful in a kitchen as a coat hanger, the nanny has to fix breakfast. Think you can handle that?”

  Laura had to smile. As if making breakfast were a problem. She’d once thought that she’d gladly do without just to escape kitchen duty at the group home where she spent the majority of her childhood. Once again, however, the home had proved its value, home being the operative word. It would be nice to have a home again. She frowned. If she did this thing, she mustn’t let herself fall into the trap of considering Adam Fortune’s home to be her home. Still…Room, meals, and a salary—it was just too good to pass up. She took a deep breath. “You have to understand, it would only be temporary.”

  His brow wrinkled at that. “How temporary?”

  “Well…” She thought quickly, looking for a fair way to protect herself. It was February. March, April, May, June… School would be out, summer would come, traveling would be easy… School. Yes, that could work. She winced inwardly at how easily the lie came to her. “The thing is, I promised, um, Sister Agnes that I would finish my college degree. I had help the first year, sort of a scholarship, but the rest is up to me, so I’ve been working and saving my money, and now I almost have enough to go back to school.”

  He nodded. “Okay. Can’t argue with that. So what you’re saying is that you’d be leaving us in the fall.”

  “Well, maybe sooner. It—it all depends.”

  He sent her a quizzical look, and for a moment she thought he’d demand a firm date of departure, but he only inclined his head, shifted in his seat and said, “About your salary, shall we say…”

  He named a dollar amount that made her mouth drop open. When she recovered, she very nearly told him that it was too much, but then she thought about how far she could go on such an amount, how well she could hide. She could save almost every penny of it, since she wouldn’t have to pay rent or buy groceries. She closed her eyes and silently gave thanks. Perhaps God had not abandoned her after all. Perhaps she had finally atoned for the past, and the long nightmare was over. Her eyes popped open. No, that was dangerous thinking. She dared not let down her guard, especially now. She was responsible for the care and safety of three precious children now, and she would protect them, as God was her witness, with her very life.

  Adam supposed that he should be pleased with himself. He hadn’t had to cancel his appointment or call on his sister or his aunt. Granted, all he had accomplished with his meeting was to cross another prospect off his list. Auto lube was definitely not his thing. The problem was that he was no closer to finding his thing than before. He would have to draft a letter for his secretary to type informing the franchise people that he wasn’t interested in lubing cars. He shook his head. He had an office. He had a secretary. He just didn’t have anything to do. Well, at least he’d solved the problem of the nanny—hopefully. He was feeling a little less sure of that decision now.

  It had seemed so right at the time, but what did he know about Laura Beaumont, really, besides the fact that she was beautiful? He supposed that was part of it. What had a woman like her been doing living week to week in a seedy motel on a poorly traveled road and slinging hash in a pancake house? She might be just what she seemed, a rootless young woman without family or friends, trying to make her way in the world alone, saving up tuition for college, but it seemed preposterous that she wasn’t attached to someone by now. She wasn’t the sort men passed by without a second look. It just didn’t add up. She didn’t add up.

  He opened his front door with more than a little trepidation, uncertain what he was going to find. The place was silent, almost ominously so, given that his children were in residence. Had she gagged and bound them? Locked them in closets? Tied them to their beds? He hung up his coat, the hair standing on the back of his neck as he silently surveyed the area. He stepped across the hall and into the living room.

  “Wendy? Rob? Ryan? I’m home.”

  Nothing. He stepped back into the hall and moved swiftly toward the bedrooms. He turned the knob on Wendy’s door and thrust it open, stepping aside, as he’d been taught to do in the army. The room was empty—and neat. The bed was made, the clothing was put away, the toys were stashed out of sight. What was going on here?

  He crossed the hall to the boys’ room. The place was neat as a pin, and Robbie was lying on his bed, looking at a book. A book! Adam walked over and slipped his hands in his slacks pockets, noting that an egg timer from the kitchen was ticking away on the dresser.

  “What’re you doing, Rob?”

  The boy dropped the book. “I’m it,” he announced.

  It. “Uh-huh. How come?”

  He looked not in the least repentant as he confessed, “’Cause I spitted on Ryan.”

  Nothing surprising in that. Adam sat down on the edge of the bed. “You shouldn’t spit, Robbie. It’s not nice.”

  “I know. Laura told me.”

  Adam glanced at the timer on the dresser. “Is this your punishment for spitting on Ryan?”

  Robbie nodded. “I got to lay on the bed and read this book till it dings, then I’m it.”

  It again. Adam nodded as if he actually understood what the boy was saying and stood, unbuttoning his collar and stripping off his tie. Obviously he was talking to the wrong person, if he wanted to know just what was going on here. “Where’s Miss Laura?” he asked nonchalantly.

  Robbie shrugged. “I dunno.”

  “You don’t know?”

  He shook his head, all innocent eyes. Adam frowned. “Where are the other kids?”

  “She hided them.”

  “Hided? Hid them?” Oh, God!

  Robbie nodded, smiling when the timer dinged. He tossed the book aside, threw his chubby legs over the edge of the bed and scooted over to drop down onto the floor. “I’m it!” he called, running out of the room. “Look out! I coming!”

  It. They were playing hide-and-seek. Glory be. He hung his head, silently laughing at himself. In the distance he heard a sudden burst of laughter, followed by squeals and cries of dispute. He walked down the hall, back the way he’d come, past the bath and Wendy’s room on the right, the storage closets and the foyer on the left, then on past the living room and, finally, the formal dining room. The hall turned right, coming to an end at the expansive den. It was his favorite room, big and warm, with brick walls and a rock fireplace, comfortable, slightly worn furniture, a TV, bookcases, framed photos on the walls. This room had been a gift from Kate. Diana had assured him that his grandmother had been insistent on decorating it herself when they first built the house. Dear Kate. How he missed her! More, even, than his very proper, very patient, very aloof wife. The
house had been nearly a year old, this room included, before he first saw it, but he’d never walked into this room without feeling his grandmother’s hand. Had he ever adequately thanked her for it? He couldn’t remember.

  He caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head in time to see Laura crawl out from behind the big green suede couch, all three kids hanging on to her. They were giggling and wiggling and having a ball. Laura flipped her hair out of the way, then, with a dramatic groan, collapsed on her belly.

  “I give! You win!”

  Wendy, whose fine hair had pulled free of her pigtails to fall into her face, laid her head next to Laura’s and sprawled on the floor close at her side. The twins began clapping their hands and chanting as they piled all over Laura Beaumont. “We win! We win! We win!”

  Suddenly Laura surged up into a sitting position, tossing her hair back and steadying wiggling boys with her hands. “All right, all right! Do your worst!”

  To Adam’s intense amazement, his children began attacking Laura Beaumont with smacking kisses all over her lovely face, shoulders and arms, giggling as she made disdainful sounds. “Uck! Pooh! Yuck! Ick! Phooey! Oh, it’s awful! Torture! Torture!” Ryan wrapped his arms around Laura’s neck and gave her a larynx-crushing hug. She gagged appropriately, and the other two promptly followed suit. She collapsed back against the side of the couch, overcome by the sheer weight of their affection. Adam could not remember ever receiving more than a quick, dry peck from any of his children. He didn’t know who he envied more, Laura or the kids.

  He knew the instant Laura realized he was in the room. Her smile faded, and she stiffened, communicating silently that the fun was over. The giggles died away. Little arms loosened. Small feet found purchase on the thick, sand-colored rug. Four pairs of eyes looked upon him with all the welcome of condemned prisoners awaiting the hangman.

  “Hi,” Laura said, getting to her feet amid small bodies. She smoothed a hand over her hair, sweater and jeans. “We were playing.”

  Adam allowed himself a tiny smile. “I noticed that.”

  She seemed uncertain. Afraid, perhaps? He looked closely then, and saw it in all their faces—the fear of his disapproval. He made himself relax, picked up the newspaper from a table and dropped down onto his favorite chair. “How was your day?”

  “Fine.” Laura sat on the couch. Wendy climbed up to sit next to her, her head leaning against Laura’s arm, while each of the twins picked a leg and wrapped himself around it. “Wendy’s kindergarten teacher called to ask why she wasn’t in school this afternoon. I didn’t know what to tell her.”

  School. How could he have forgotten that? Adam forced a smile. “I’ll, um, call and explain tomorrow.”

  Laura nodded and folded her hands.

  He opened the newspaper and tried to read, but he couldn’t seem to find a single word on the whole page. His mind was reeling. Already they loved her. He didn’t know anything about this woman, but already his children loved her. And school. What was he going to do about that? Could she even drive? He put down the newspaper. “Do you drive?”

  She seemed momentarily stunned. “Yes.”

  He nodded. “It’s just that I prefer that Wendy be driven in to school rather than ride the bus. It’s so dangerous to wait out in this cold.”

  Laura nodded, her brow creased. “That’s fine, except…”

  He waved away the obvious concern, remembering that she had no car. “Oh, that’s no problem. You can take the station wagon. I prefer the truck, anyway.”

  She almost visibly relaxed. “Well, that’s settled, then.”

  He smiled and opened the newspaper again, but his mind just wasn’t on local news. “When’s dinner?”

  “Any time now, I imagine. Beverly—uh, that is, Cook—said about six.”

  Beverly, was it? Even the cook was on a first-name basis with the new nanny. He couldn’t remember that ever happening before. “Fine,” he said from behind his paper, uncertain why this was so difficult. He needed to draw her out, get to know her. He was getting nowhere fast this way, and yet he couldn’t seem to put that paper down. What would he say? What could he ask her without making her feel that he was interrogating her? To his relief, she took the matter out of his hands momentarily.

  “Well,” she said, getting to her feet, “time to wash up. We can’t go to the dinner table with dirty hands and faces, now can we?”

  Adam hummed noncommittally behind his paper as they exited the room. He heard one of the boys whine something about not getting soap in his eyes, and heard Laura’s low assurance that it wouldn’t happen. Adam shook his head and put the paper aside. What was wrong with him? The woman was wonderful, just as he’d instinctively known she would be. He had nothing to fear, nothing at all, and yet…

  “Dinner in ten minutes, Mr. Adam.”

  He looked up at the quiet, efficient middle-aged woman who had been cooking his meals for the past eighteen months. “Thank you…Beverly.”

  Her eyebrows flew up, and she paused in the act of drying her hands on her apron, and then she smiled, tentatively at first, and then with a blinding show of white dentures. “I’ll be leaving a little early this evening, sir, if that’s all right. My husband, he wants to see a movie, and Laura, she said she’d put the plates and flatware in the dishwasher for me. I’ll wash up everything else before I go…if I may.”

  Adam nodded. “Certainly. Ah, tell me, what do you think of our Miss Laura?”

  Beverly the Cook beamed. “Oh, she’s a treasure, that one! Took things right in hand, and do you know, I think she actually likes children? Why is it, do you suppose, that so many nannies don’t like children? You’d think they’d do something else, wouldn’t you?”

  A very astute observation. Adam smiled. “Enjoy your movie.”

  “Thank you. I will, and, um, Mr. Adam, sir, if I may say so, I think she’s just what those young ones need.”

  Her eyes said something more, but he wasn’t very good at reading unspoken messages, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she was thinking, anyway. Man, planning war-game strategies and mass mobilizations had been a walk in the park, compared to this life he led now. But maybe it was going to change for the better now, temporarily, anyway. He frowned. Temporary just wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t be hiring a new nanny every two or three months. The children’s lives were continually overset by such changes, and one day—soon, please!—he was going to have a new career to dedicate himself to, not that his search for a compatible business had yielded much so far. He was feeling a new sense of pressure about that, too. His military retirement wouldn’t put children through college or allow the kind of upkeep on a home that winters in Minnesota required, especially as that home grew older. And he couldn’t just sit, day in and day out, perusing the newspaper. He put that aside for good just as Laura returned to the room.

  “It’s ready,” she told him, crossing to the sofa.

  He nodded and got up out of his chair at the very moment Laura sat down. “Aren’t you coming?”

  She sent him a sheepish look. “I wasn’t sure what was…proper in my situation.”

  “Well, it’s proper to eat,” he said blandly.

  She stood, smoothing her hands over her bottom and the backs of her thighs, as if straightening a skirt. “I just wasn’t certain if I ought to be eating at the table with you and the children.”

  In truth, several of the nannies had preferred to take their meals alone. Often, mealtime had been the only time they could get away from the children. He made a sudden decision not to tell Laura that, though. Maybe if they treated her like family she would stay longer. On the other hand, maybe he needed to find out more about her before he pushed her to stay. That, too, could be accomplished at the dinner table. He lifted an arm in invitation. “We’re pretty informal around here. Come on.”

  She nodded and bit at her lower lip, and her head was bowed almost shyly as she stepped up next to him. His arm just seemed to sort of naturally cur
ve around her, of its own volition. He didn’t remove it until they reached the dining room.

  The kids were giggling when they came in—not a good sign. Sure enough, Robbie had reached into a bowl of mashed potatoes with his hand and was squishing the pulp between his fingers. Adam opened his mouth to snap an angry order, but something in Laura’s demeanor gave him second thoughts. He glanced sideways at her. She had drawn herself up tall and folded her long, slender arms. Her face was impassive, not censuring, not smiling, her gaze as steady as time. Robbie slowly pulled his hand back. Laura moved to the chair opposite him, pulled it out and sank down upon it gracefully, her gaze now studiously averted. Adam sensed a method behind her behavior and calmly copied her. Once carefully ensconced in the chair at the head of the table, he looked around, mentally noted the uncomfortable expression on Robbie’s face as he eyed his potato-encrusted hand and smiled at Laura.

  “Would you serve the children, please?”

  She sent him a look of approval, nodded and reached for the bowl of potatoes. “Wendy, would you care for potatoes?”

  “Yes, please,” Wendy replied in a small voice, and Laura duly dispensed them.

  “Ryan?”

  Ryan crossed his eyes and waggled his tongue. “Yes, pwease!”

  Laura smiled ever so slightly at his antics and spooned creamy potatoes onto his plate. She then turned to Robbie.

  “Robbie, would you care for potatoes?”

  Robbie nodded and bowed his head, frowning. Adam hid a grin, knowing that his scapegrace son was wondering how such a brilliant prank had turned into a embarrassment. Laura doled out the serving and set down the bowl. Utter silence followed, and then Adam heard the sound of sniffles. He looked at Robbie, whose head was practically in his plate now, then at Laura. Her expression of compassion for Robbie put a sudden lump in his throat. He had to look away.

  “Adam,” Laura said quietly, “would you clean Robbie’s hand for him so he can eat?”

  Brilliant. She was brilliant. Adam slipped out of his chair and knelt at Robbie’s side, using his napkin to clean Robbie’s little fist. “You know, Rob,” he said gently, “there are reasons for rules. Dining wouldn’t be a very pleasant exercise if everyone helped themselves with their hands, would it?”