A Nanny in the Family

by Catherine Spencer

  For a moment, she stared at him, stunned, then whispered, “You stupid, arrogant bastard!”

  “Gee, thanks,” he said, unperturbed. “Talk about how to win friends and influence people!”

  “If you truly believe I could be that conniving, I don’t want you as a friend and I surely don’t care to have you as a husband. For your information, I had a life before I met you and somehow I’ll have one again. And being Tommy’s aunt will be part of that life.”

  He pinioned her in a gaze as bleak as Siberia. “Are you threatening me, Nicole?”

  She did not know this man with the iron-hard features. He was not the man who’d made love to her with such passion and tenderness. He was not the man who’d won her heart for the way he’d taken on the role of instant father without hesitation or a moment’s real resentment. “No,” she said sadly. “I’d never do that. But I’m appealing to you, please, not to cut me out of Tommy’s life just because you’ve decided I’m no longer the person you want to have around for the rest of yours. If you’ll allow me this one thing, Pierce, I’ll never ask anything more of you, ever again.”

  He didn’t answer. He compressed his lips and stared at a spot on the wall behind her, then carried the soup bowls into the dining room and set them at one end of the table.

  When she didn’t follow, he deigned to speak, tossing the question over his shoulder indifferently. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  The mere thought made her ill. She felt raw inside, bleeding invisibly from a hurt so vicious, it left her reeling. “No,” she said. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll try to get some sleep.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said in the same cold, unfeeling tone. “Take your pick of which bed you prefer.”

  That morning, she could have chosen from four. But when she went up to the room she’d used earlier, she found both beds in there soaked from the rain which had been driven in when the wind blew open the window.

  Well, what the heck! Fully clothed, she climbed aboard one of those in the second room, pulled the quilt over her legs and turned her back to the door. Not that she expected to get a wink of sleep, but at least feigning it would preclude the need for further conversation, should Pierce decide to join her.

  What was the point of talking, after all? Despite an occasional softening in his attitude, nothing she’d said had changed his mind. It shouldn’t have surprised her. She’d known from the start that he expected of others the same unbending code of ethics he demanded of himself.

  Outside the rain had stopped and in the still aftermath of the tornado, a full moon rose above the trees. But thunder continued to snarl in the distance and branches of lightning still split the sky over the lake. She smothered a sigh. It was going to be a long, pain-filled night made none the easier for knowing that although she was alone with Pierce in this small, isolated cottage, they might as well have been continents apart.

  Around midnight he came upstairs, the candle flame throwing his flickering shadow across the wall at the foot of the bed, attesting to the fact that the storm had indeed brought down power lines somewhere in the area.

  He paused at the threshold of the room where she lay and she knew, from the way his shadow vanished as he backed out and went to the other room, that he was trying to avoid being near her. A moment later he was back, no doubt having discovered what she already knew about the soggy state of the beds next door.

  Her back to him, she lay rigid as stone beneath the quilt, fighting to maintain an even breathing pattern as he set the candle on the floor, a move which projected his shadow half over the ceiling and down the top of the wall above the window.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to see him undressing; it was too bittersweet a reminder of the intimacies they’d shared earlier. But she heard the rasp of a zipper opening, the rustle of fabric sliding down hair-roughened limbs, and then the creak of the old iron bedstead next to hers. When she opened her eyes again, the room was dark except for the pale gleam of moonlight sliding between the trees.

  There was perhaps a foot of space separating his mattress from hers, with only a small pine cabinet standing between. Either of them could have reached out a hand to the other, a simple touch that said, “I’m sorry,” or “Be patient. I’m trying to understand,” or most of all, “I love you,” without a word having to be spoken.

  Yet neither of them did. They lay there, each wrapped up in their separate, lonely misery. Somehow, it was that more than anything else that had transpired between them that laid bare the utter devastation to their happiness.

  The hours ticked by, marked by the diminishing growl of the storm as it made its way slowly eastward. Pierce turned once or twice, rustling the covers as he did so. His breathing was that of a man asleep, deep and even.

  How would he react, Nicole wondered, if she were to crawl into bed beside him and he awoke to find her pressed against him, with her arms holding him fast to her? Would his body betray him before he could draw away from her? Would that be enough to mend what was broken between them?

  Smothering a sigh, she stared out at the moon. She’d made enough mistakes. She wasn’t about to add to the list by bartering her body for his favors. Sex couldn’t restore love; it took trust to do that and she wasn’t sure either of them could ever trust the other anymore.

  She was sleeping when he crept from the room just after six the next morning. He didn’t look at her; he didn’t dare. It was safer not to let temptation get a foothold.

  He had the car all packed and coffee made when she came downstairs. Unreasonably, the fact that she looked just as desirable with shadows under her eyes while he, with a day’s growth of beard stubbling his chin and his hair standing on end, looked and felt like something a dog had just dug up, ticked him off royally. That the morning was as fresh and sunny as a daisy merely added insult to his sense of injury.

  “I’d like to head back as soon as possible,” he said, knowing he sounded short but unable to moderate his tone.

  The fact remained that no matter how she tried to mitigate her behavior, she’d had any number of chances to tell him the truth, but she’d waited until she had him exactly where she wanted him before she’d been forthcoming. And who was to say he might not still be in the dark, if Louise hadn’t gone snooping through her things?

  The whole business amounted to more than broken trust. He’d lost a dream, a hope so fragile and new it couldn’t easily bear too close a scrutiny. For the first time in his life, he’d seen himself with a woman he’d want through eternity, only to discover she wasn’t at all what he’d made her out to be. She was an illusion, alluring and lovely on the outside to be sure, but underneath lay a cunning so perfectly clothed in womanly guile that he had not for a moment questioned his perceptions of her.

  He scowled at the sun glinting off the kitchen window. He felt a real kinship with those men he’d know under his command whose relationships had gone sour when their backs were turned. Women were trouble, far more trouble than they were worth.

  “I’m ready,” she said from the dining room.

  “Don’t you want coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He shot a glance at her from beneath lowered lashes. Tote slung over her arm, she stood by the door, her expression remote and, damn it, unrepentant. As if her not having been able to sway him with her excuses and explanations the night before somehow had made him the transgressor and her the injured party.

  She had a lot of chutzpah—too damned much!

  “I’ve decided,” he announced, when they’d navigated the mud-filled ruts of the country road and were speeding west on the main route back to the coast, “to take Tom to Arizona to visit his grandparents.”

  “Jim’s family, you mean?”

  “Uh-huh. My aunt is crippled with arthritis and the trip up here is too much for her, but I know both she and my uncle are anxious to spend some time with their grandson.”

  “When will you leave?”

  �
�Next week. It’ll take me that long to square things away at the office.” .

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “I’m not sure—six, eight weeks, maybe longer. I’ll probably roll in a few long overdue business trips while I’m at it.”

  He ignored her sucked-in breath of dismay. He needed to put time and distance between them, to sort out his feelings. It was one thing to tell himself whatever they’d had was over, and another to believe it. The truth was, he didn’t know how he felt.

  “I’ll miss Tommy,” she said.

  But not you. Now that I’ve blown my cover, I’ve got no further use for you. She didn’t say as much; she didn’t have to. The way she huddled as far away from him as she could get spoke for her.

  “I daresay he’ll miss you at first, but he’ll have his grandparents to keep him occupied, and a child soon adjusts. You haven’t played that big a part in his life for very long, after all.”

  The last was a low blow; pure retaliation and he knew it. But she took it without flinching, saying only, “In that case, I think I’ll go home for a visit, too. My parents have been very worried about the...situation out here. They’ll be glad to see I’ve survived it relatively unscathed.”

  “Yeah, well.” Ticked off again that she seemed so able to pick up the pieces and get on with her life regardless of what he did with his, he steered too quickly into a hairpin bend. “I’ll explain to Tom.”

  “I’ll do my own explaining, thanks,” she said coolly. “It’s the very least I can do. It’s not as if there’s any point in my hanging around your house when he’s not there to be looked after.”

  “No point at all,” he replied, clenching his teeth.

  “It’ll probably be easier for Janet if I take Peaches, too.”

  “Probably.”

  “You have my parents’ address and know where to find me, so I’ll wait to hear from you when you get back.”

  “Do that,” he practically snarled.

  And just like that, it was over. He spent the following days clearing his office calendar and setting up tentative dates to visit various naval bases around the country. In addition to what she usually did with Tom, Nicole obviously spelled out the new plans in some way that the boy found acceptable because he was fired up all week about flying on a jet to see his grandparents.

  “I put everything in my backpack,” he informed Pierce, the night before they left. “Nicole helped me. I got all my shorts and my Duplo blocks and my pictures of Mommy and Daddy.”

  She sort of choked on her food at that.

  “Good work, Tom,” Pierce said, stifling the twinge of conscience her distress gave rise to. “We’ll be off first thing in the morning.”

  “And I made a drawing for Grandpa.”

  “What about Grandma?”

  “She prefers a card,” Tom said, in that laughably grown-up way he had of saying things occasionally. “I’ll make her a card on the jet.”

  “Sounds like a fine plan,” Pierce said, and pretended not to notice the single tear rolling down her cheek.

  She didn’t come down again after she’d put Tom to bed that night. He waited an hour or so, pacing up and down in the library, stopping every once in a while to stare out to sea, and wondering how in hell they’d managed to make such a screw-up of things.

  Eventually, he decided twisting in the wind didn’t agree with him, so he went up to find her. Her door was closed but he could hear her moving about inside. He knocked, and it took her a moment or two to answer.

  When she did, he saw at once that she’d been crying. Probably sobbing, to be more accurate, because she gave one of those involuntary little hiccups that seemed to follow a real bout of female tears.

  He didn’t like the jolt that gave him. It seemed a sign of weakness. “I guess we should talk,” he said, for want of a more original opening.

  She pulled the door wider in mute invitation and when he stepped into the room, he saw that her suitcases were spread open on the floor and half stuffed with clothing. “You’re heading out tomorrow, too?”

  “Yes.” She tore a tissue out of a box on the desk and blew her nose.

  “What did you tell Tom?”

  “That he was going on a plane to see his relatives, but because I had my car here, I was driving back to see mine.”

  “Did you tell him you’re his aunt?”

  “No,” she said. “I thought he had enough to deal with and that you’d probably prefer to do that yourself.”

  “You sound just like him,” he said, his throat aching suddenly. “The way you say ‘prefer.’”

  “Don’t forget to pack his dee-dee before you leave. He never goes to bed without it.”

  He nodded. “I’ll remember.”

  “And his vitamins. They’re on the top shelf of the refrigerator door. And you’ll need extra clothes. I left them on the dresser next to his closet.”

  “I’ll manage,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

  She looked at him across the width of the room, her big brown eyes all bruised with pain. “Please let me see him once in a while, Pierce. And keep me posted on how he’s coping.”

  “Sure.”

  They were talking as if she wasn’t coming back; as if they really had reached the end of the road. He wished he could tell her otherwise but the doubts and resentment still simmered inside. “I’ll let you know where we are, how Tom’s doing,” he said.

  She stared at her hands, which were clenched together.

  “After you went to bed that night at the cottage, I read through everything Louise had brought out. If it makes any difference, there’s no doubt at all in my mind that you and Arlene were sisters and I want you to know how sorry I am that you never got to know each other again.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with tears.

  Pain sliced through him and he knew the easy fix would be to take her in his arms, to kiss her. Just to take her. But he was looking for more than a Band-Aid solution and there was a wanting in him that went deeper than sex, that left him feeling raw and empty inside. It wasn’t just her motives he had to come to terms with; his own needed some examining, too.

  “We’ll work this out,” he said. “I just need time—to figure out in my own mind...”

  “Yes,” she said politely. “Of course.” Still, he wanted her. His flesh yearned for her. “Well,” he said, extending his right hand as he would to another man, “drive safely.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  If she’d started wailing then, he could probably have walked away. It was her courage that defeated him; that and the smallness of her hand in his. “Oh, hell,” he groaned, and before he knew it, was kissing her, imprinting the taste and texture of her on his body and soul. Grabbing a handful of her hair and weaving his fingers through it as if it were a lifeline to sanity, a passport to happiness.

  Her mouth felt like flowers, her skin tasted of salt. a marriage of land and sea. Shudders of emotion rippled through her, light as a morning breeze filling a sail, and he knew he had to leave her then, before he drowned in the need she awoke in him.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said hoarsely.

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AUTUMN in Wisconsin usually offered its residents grim warning of the winter ahead. That year, however, was an exception. Though the nights were long and touched with frost, memories of Indian summer still gilded the days.

  During the time it took for summer to slide into fall, she began the slow process of healing. In walking Peaches by the shores of Lake Mendota and training her to come to heel, to sit, to stay, Nicole reclaimed some of the tranquillity of the old days—the Days Before, as she came to think of them.

  In some small measure, she recaptured the simple pleasure of a quiet evening with her parents; the feel of leaves crunching underfoot on a cool morning, the fragrance of her mother’s kitchen as the dinner hour approached. Her thirtieth birthday came and went.


  And then in September, everything came crashing down again when she realized she was pregnant.

  “Good Lord, that man has a lot to answer for!” her father exploded, when he heard.

  “Calm down, Dan. It takes two,” her mother reminded him.

  But Nicole held herself entirely to blame. A woman of her educational background had no excuse for being so careless. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to regret her pregnancy. Wanting children, a man of her own to love, were as much a part of her as her solid, Midwestern upbringing. That she should find both at such cost was too cruel.

  “Tell Pierce, honey,” her mother urged. “He has a right to know, and every child deserves two parents.”

  “He’s got more than rights,” her father fumed. “He’s got obligations to our daughter.”

  Nicole didn’t want Pierce’s obligations; she wanted him, but only if he came to her of his own accord, without reservation. He’d left her because he felt she’d ambushed him with deceit. Would he view finding himself being lassoed into fatherhood as anything less than another attempt at entrapment on her part? And if he did, was it selfish of her to want this baby anyway?

  Damn it, no! She’d been robbed once; she would not let herself be robbed again.

  “You’ve got another postcard from Tommy,” her father said, riffling through the mail during breakfast, one morning in November. “And a letter.”

  From Pierce. Although neither of them mentioned his name unless she did, she knew from her parents’ sudden air of expectation that they both waited, watching her face, hoping to see it flood with happiness as she read his latest news.

  “They’re in North Carolina,” she said, picking up Tommy’s card. “The naval base at Charlottestown. Tommy visited the bridge of a destroyer. And he wrote his own name at the bottom here, see?”

  “When’s that man going to get tired of trying to hang on to his illustrious past and start dealing with the present?” her father grumbled. “Living out of a suitcase is no sort of life for a four-year-old boy.”