A Nanny in the Family

by Catherine Spencer

  From the minute the new nanny had set foot in the house, she’d brought Pierce nothing but complications

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Copyright

  From the minute the new nanny had set foot in the house, she’d brought Pierce nothing but complications

  He didn’t understand Nicole; he didn’t know how to deal with her. She turned his orderly life upside down and usurped his authority.... Yet despite all that, the fact remained: he enjoyed every minute of the aggravation she brought to his life.

  He found himself watching her as she interacted with Tom. He was blown away by her patience and tenderness with the little boy. And he’d even gone so far as to wonder how she’d be with a child of her own, a baby. His baby....

  Dear Reader,

  A perfect nanny can be tough to find, but once you’ve found her you’ll love and treasure her forever. She’s someone who’ll not only look after the kids but could also be that loving mom they never knew. Or sometimes she’s a he and is the daddy they aspire to.

  Here at Harlequin Presents we’ve put together a compelling new series, NANNY WANTED!, in which some of our most popular authors create nannies whose talents extend way beyond taking care of the children! Each story will excite and delight you and make you wonder how any family could be complete without a nineties nanny.

  Remember—nanny knows best when it comes to falling in love!

  The Editors

  Look out next month for:

  The Millionaire’s Baby by Diana Hamilton (#1956)

  CATHERINE SPENCER

  A Nanny in the Family

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN

  MADRID • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  CHAPTER ONE

  IT SHOULD have been raining, with the drops falling from the trees softly, steadily, like the tears she’d shed all night long. The sky should have been draped in mourning gray and the ocean swathed in funereal mist. Instead, the day was indecently gorgeous, with the sun beating down and the gardens flaming with geraniums and early roses.

  Even the house seemed to smile, with its mellow rosy pink walls and sparkling paned windows. Four elegant chimneys posed against the clear sky, the white painted woodwork gleamed, the brass door knocker shone brilliantly. Or was it the threat of yet more tears blinding her so thoroughly that she had to blink repeatedly before she dared step out of the car?

  Suddenly, the front door swung open and a middle-aged woman appeared. She paused on the top step and spoke to someone standing out of sight within the house. Shook her head commiseratingly and reached one hand forward as though to pat the unseen person’s arm.

  She looked, Nicole thought, exactly the way a nanny should look: pleasingly plump, competent and cheerful in her print dress and sensible white shoes. The last thing Tommy needed at this point in his life was a woman drearily mired in her own misery.

  Blinking again, Nicole swung her gaze away and stared at a bed of deep blue hydrangeas flanked by spiny white Shasta daisies the size of baseballs. Be here at two, the voice on the phone had said, and it had been exactly five minutes to the hour when she’d turned off the quiet road and driven through the wrought iron gates described by the woman she’d met yesterday, at Arlene’s house. She had a minute, two at the most, in which to prepare herself for the most consummate performance of her life. Yet how did a person push aside a grief so new, even for a moment? Worse, how to keep it permanently in the background, hidden under a facade of serene capability?

  The other applicant came down the steps, large white handbag slung over her sturdy wrist. She nodded pleasantly as she passed Nicole’s car and continued down the drive, planting one foot solidly in front of the other.

  She would be kind and firm. Under her care, Tommy would learn to like green beans and spinach, and go to bed on time. When he cried for his mommy and daddy, he would be taken up on that ample lap and comforted. But it wouldn’t be enough. Only she, Nicole, could truly understand his loss, and only she could compensate for it.

  The front door to the house stood open still and another woman, older and more slender than the first, beckoned to her from the top step. Nicole nodded and glanced quickly in her rearview mirror, thankful to see the eyedrops she’d used had reduced the redness brought on by a night of weeping. She could not afford to look distraught. She dare not break down.

  “You must be the young lady who phoned just this morning. Miss Bennett, right?” The woman at the door spoke with a trace of a British accent and wore a starched white apron over her plain gray dress. “It’s good that you’re on time. The Commander expects punctuality.”

  The Commander expects. The words filled Nicole with dread, evoking an image of aging but erect military bearing born of regimented discipline. And Tommy was only four. Oh, the poor baby!

  “Have there been many other applicants for the job?” she asked, quickly before she burst into tears again.

  “Only three, I’m afraid.” The woman shook her head. “You’re our last hope unless someone else turns up unexpectedly. Commander Warner’s at his wit’s end, what with losing his cousin so tragically and then, with poor Doctor Jim and his wife barely cold in their graves, finding himself standing in as Daddy for their boy.”

  She pulled a tissue from her apron pocket and wiped at the tears filming her eyes.

  Don’t cry, Nicole silently begged, or you’ll start me off again and I’m afraid I’ll never stop. “I take it,” she said, “that Commander Warner has no children of his own?”

  “Gracious, no,” the woman exclaimed, recovering herself. “He’s not even married—though not from want of trying on some people’s part! The most he’s been used to is playing long-distance uncle to young Tommy. Not that he’s the boy’s uncle exactly—second cousin, more like—but what does it matter? The important thing is, they’ve got each other and thank God for it, or I don’t know how either of them would get through this dreadful time. Come along this way, dear. The Commander’s interviewing in the library.”

  A long hall with a dark polished wood floor covered by a carpet runner stretched from the front door to the rear of the house. Following behind the woman, Nicole passed a wide archway leading into a formal living room flooded with sunlight.

  Directly opposite, a similar archway showed a dining room with a Duncan Phyfe table and eight high-backed chairs set precisely in the middle of a pale Aubusson rug. Was that where Tommy took his meals now, and did the Commander realize that four-year-olds occasionally spilled food on the floor?

  “Miss Bennett’s here, Commander.”

  “Thank you, Janet. Show her in.” His voice was deep and smoothly rich, a crooner’s voice almost, ludicrously at odds with the authoritarian impression Nicole had built of him.

  The woman smiled encouragingly at Nicole, then turned away down another, narrower hall that led under the curving staircase to what was probably the kitchen wing.

  Don’t leave me, Nicole wanted to call after her. I can’t handle this alone!

  “Are you there, Miss Bennett?” The voice from the library rang with an edge of impatience this time, suggesting there was steel under all that velvet.

  “Yes,” she said, still from beyond the threshold of the room.

  “Then be so good as to present yourself in the fle
sh.”

  There was no mistaking the steel now. Any more shilly-shallying on her part and the interview would be concluded before it had begun. Bracing herself, she walked into the library with what she prayed would strike exactly the proper blend of ability and deference such an old curmudgeon would undoubtedly expect of an underling.

  The man rising from behind a handsome Georgian desk to shake her hand, however, looked anything but the part she’d assigned to him. Mid-thirtyish, tall and broad-shouldered, with devastatingly blue eyes and a granite jaw, he epitomized vintage Hollywood at its most alluring.

  At any other time, Nicole might have dwelled on the romantic potential of such a fine specimen. As things stood now, however, he was merely the means to an end and could have two heads, for all she cared.

  “How do you do? I’m Pierce Warner.” His handclasp was brief and firm. “Please be seated, Miss Bennett.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, appalled to hear her words hanging in the air, breathy as a teenager’s.

  The last time she’d been this nervous was when she’d appeared for her final interview at The Clinic. The ink on her nursing degree had been barely dry at the time and if she’d been asked how many limbs the human body normally came equipped with, she’d probably have given the wrong answer. But that was six years ago and she’d have thought herself past the sort of uncertainty that gripped her now.

  She’d nursed terminally ill children, she’d comforted bereaved parents, and even though she’d many times thought her own heart would break for them all, she’d somehow managed to control her emotions. So why was she falling apart now, at this most crucial time?

  “Tell me about yourself, Miss Bennett,” the Commander commanded, fixing her in the sort of close scrutiny that missed nothing.

  “Well,” she began, discreetly wiping damp palms on her skirt, “I’m new to the area.”

  Dark eyebrows raised disparagingly, he said, “That strikes you as relevant, does it?”

  “Yes—um, no!” She stopped and blew out a small breath. “What I mean is, I expect you’d like to speak to my previous employers, but I recently moved to the west coast, so I’m afraid I can’t offer you any local names. But I do have good references.”

  She reached into the straw bag on her lap, withdrew the manila envelope containing her credentials, and offered it to him.

  He set it aside and folded his hands on the desk. His fingernails, she noted, were short and scrupulously clean. “At this point,” he said, subjecting her to another all-encompassing stare, “I’m more interested in hearing why you think you’re the best person to fill the position of nanny to my ward.”

  She expelled another long breath, hoping that the next time she opened her mouth, she’d make a better impression. Once again, though, she said exactly the wrong thing. “Well, I’d better explain right off that I’ve never been a nanny before.”

  His gaze narrowed as if he’d just sighted an enemy vessel heaving over the horizon. “Now that strikes me as decidedly relevant. Would you care to explain why you’re bothering to waste both my time and yours?”

  “Because,” she said, plunging in and praying she’d remember the lines she’d rehearsed all through last night, “I am very experienced in dealing with children, particularly those under stress. And I’m aware that your... ward—” The cold Victorian description stuck in her throat, nearly choking her. This was Tommy they were talking about. Her nephew. A warm, living child desperately in need of the love and comfort she was so willing to give to him.

  “Go on, Miss Bennett.”

  Could he see the way she was twisting her hands together in her lap? Did he guess that her skin was clammy with cold, even though the temperature outside hovered near eighty? “I’m aware,” she said, closing her mind to everything but the need to convince him that she was exactly the person he was looking for, “that your family has recently faced a terrible tragedy as a result of which your ward lost both his parents. Allow me to offer you my deepest sympathy.”

  He inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgment, a cool, almost detached response, one might have thought, had not the sudden twitch of muscle in his jaw betrayed emotions being kept rigidly in check.

  “I have taken an extended leave of absence from my previous job and come to Oregon to be near my relatives,” she went on, veering as close to the truth as she dared. “However, I do need to support myself, and I thought, when I heard you were looking for a full-time nanny, that it was a position I could very well fill.”

  She leaned forward, her confidence spurred by the recitation of facts which were not cloaked in lies. “I’m a pediatric nurse, Commander Warner. For the past three years I’ve worked exclusively in the intensive care unit of my hospital. ICU nurses receive a great deal of exposure to death. They learn to deal with it compassionately. If they don’t, they don’t last long. I can help your ward through this difficult time and I’m available to start looking after him immediately.”

  For the first time, the Commander looked marginally impressed. “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Twenty-nine.”

  He flexed his fingers and rapped a soft tattoo on the desk surface. “Tommy’s mother just turned twenty-eight,” he said, staring bleakly out of the window beside him.

  I know, Nicole could have told him. She was eighteen months younger than I. Her birthday was in February. Instead, she said, “I think having him cared for by someone close to his mother’s age might help.”

  “I agree.” He pulled the manila envelope closer and set it on the blotter in front of him. “You realize this is a live-in position? That you won’t have much spare time to spend with your relatives? I’d need you here at least five days a week.”

  Relief almost made her careless. It was all she could do not to tell him that she’d prefer to work around the clock, seven days a week. “Of course.”

  “Your sleep might be disturbed at times. Tom has cried every night for his mother.”

  Oh, darling! she thought, her arms aching to hold the child almost as badly as her heart broke for him. She swallowed and said briskly, “I’m a nurse. Shift work is second nature to me.”

  He whistled tunelessly under his breath a moment, then slewed another glance her way. “The response to my ad has been disappointing. The woman I saw this morning wasn’t much more than a child herself and totally unsuitable. The one who was here before you has spent the last eleven years with the same family and would have been ideal for the job, but she isn’t free to start working for me until the end of the month.”

  Nicole held her breath, sensing victory within her grasp. As if to clinch the matter, from somewhere within the house a child’s cry broke the silence.

  “I don’t think I can wait that long,” the Commander decided, and touched the tip of the envelope with his forefinger. “These references...I suppose I should read them. Or are they just the usual claptrap?”

  “That’s something only you can decide.”

  “Right.” He shrugged. “Would you like some coffee or a cold drink, Miss Bennett?”

  “A glass of water would be nice.”

  His slow smile creased his cheeks with unexpected dimples. “I think we can do better than that,” he said, indicating the open French doors on the other side of the room. “I’ll have Janet bring something to you on the patio.”

  The view outside stole Nicole’s breath away. Perched on a bluff, the house flowed down to the beach in a series of terraces connected by brick-paved paths. A curved flight of steps similar to those at the front door gave way to a swimming pool set in a natural rock depression. To either side, flower beds edged an expanse of closely trimmed lawn. Below, the great spread of the ocean reflected the cloudless blue sky.

  From a walkway covered by a vine-draped pergola, Janet appeared, a loaded tray in her hands. “Lovely sight, isn’t it?” she remarked, setting the tray on an umbrella-shaded table and coming to stand beside Nicole. “A body can just feel the peace soaking into her
bones.”

  Nicole couldn’t. Her entire body was suffused with pain. God might seem to be in His heaven but, appearances to the contrary, things were far from right in her world. The beauty and tranquillity were an affront.

  Janet turned away to pour liquid from a frosty pitcher into a tall, stemmed glass. “How did the interview go?”

  “I’m not sure. I hope I get the job.”

  “Well, dear, I can tell you the Commander won’t bother keeping anyone around who doesn’t measure up. If he thought he was wasting his time with you, you’d be out the door by now. Try this lemonade. It’s the real thing, made from scratch.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And here’s a plate of biscuits—cookies, you call them—if you’d like something to eat while you wait.”

  Breakfast was a distant memory and dinner last night nonexistent, but the thought of food nauseated Nicole. Still, out of politeness, she nibbled at one of the cookies and said, “What I’d really like is to meet the little boy. Could you bring him out to see me, do you think?”

  She’d said the wrong thing again. Janet backed off as if she’d been indecently propositioned.

  “Oh, it’s not up to me to allow that, dear!” she exclaimed, her accent broadened by shock. “That’s something for the Commander to allow if he decides you’re best for the job.”

  But he’s my nephew and I need to see him, Nicole thought. I need to hold him, to smell the little boy scent of his hair, to kiss the soft sweet skin of his neck. I need to know that he doesn’t feel alone and abandoned.

  Janet straightened the bib of her apron and sighed. “I just hope he makes up his mind quickly. I don’t mind telling you, I’ve got my hands full trying to run the house and keep tabs on Tommy at the same time. He’s a good little boy, but at that age, you know, a child is only ever still when he’s asleep.”