Jo looked back to the samples and carefully said, “Do you pick out your own clothes, Claire?”
Shaking her blond head, Claire replied, “No, mostly I just wear clothes I wore at our old school in Atlanta.”
“Was it a private school?”
“Uh-huh.”
Which explained the uniform quality of her outfit. “The spring semester starts here pretty soon, doesn’t it?”
Claire nodded. “One week. We’re going to a public school, though, so I don’t have to dress like everyone else.”
“Have you gone shopping for new clothes?”
She shook her head vigorously. “Aunt Cleo’s coming over from Atlanta next Saturday to take me—she said it would be a day for just us women.” She smiled timidly, and Jo nodded, satisfied the Sterling family had the situation under control. It had been foolish of her to think otherwise.
Heads together, they pored over the heavy sample books. They quickly chose shades of blue for the boys’ bed and bath, then moved on to the guest room.
“Granny Watts would like the rose color,” Claire asserted, pointing.
“Good choice,” Jo responded, impressed. “Rose is a great color to lie down beside your pink room and the boys’ blue one.” She couldn’t resist finding out more about John’s relatives. “Tell me about your grandparents.”
“There’s just Granny and Grandpa Watts. They’re my mom’s parents and they live in Atlanta. Granny took care of us after Mom died, but then she got sick and we moved here.” Her mouth drew down and she chewed on her lower lip. “We were too much trouble, I guess.”
Jo wanted to hug her, but instead she swallowed and said, “I’m sure that’s not true. People just get sick sometimes, that’s all. I bet you miss them.”
Claire nodded. “They were going to get us a dog.”
“You’ll be able to visit them,” Jo said kindly, immensely sorry she’d raised the subject. “And thanks to your help, the house will look great when they come to see you.” This coaxed a smile from Claire.
“Now for your dad’s room.” Jo’s stomach squirmed annoyingly.
“Make it purple,” Claire said, her confidence growing.
“Hmm.” Jo pondered the color, then brightened in agreement. “Purple it is—that’s the color for royalty, you know.”
Claire beamed, and Jo decided the little girl was quite pretty when she was happy. With a slight pang, Jo wondered how often that was. “We’ll throw in cream and black for accent colors,” Jo added enthusiastically. “I’m sure your dad will like it.” She paused and leaned toward Claire. “You’re very good with colors.”
Claire’s eyes dipped, then she glanced back up at Jo beneath her lashes. “I like to paint.” She poked at her glasses unnecessarily.
Delighted, Jo asked, “You like to paint pictures?”
She nodded. “My mom painted pretty pictures, but Daddy has them all packed away.”
Jo felt another tug for Claire’s loss. Jamie’s memory of his mother would be dim at best, and Billy would never know what he missed. But Claire remembered and still nursed the pain. Smiling, Jo reached forward to place her hand over the girl’s small one. “Promise me you’ll paint a picture someday for my office.”
Claire brightened. “I promise.”
They moved on to the rooms on the first floor and before long had selected taupe and white for the living room, brown and gold for John’s study, and coral and gray for the den. All that remained was the kitchen, and Jo turned to a palette of beautiful clear greens. “Since the bar will allow both rooms to be seen at once, green in the kitchen will be a perfect complement to the den’s coral,” she said, patting her notepad in finality.
But Claire’s face wrinkled into a dark frown. “Red.”
“Red with coral?” Jo asked, perplexed.
“The kitchen has to be red, with strawberries,” she said, crossing her arms resolutely. “It’s what Mom always wanted.”
Unknowingly, she’d hit an exposed nerve, but Jo knew when to back down. She glanced at her watch. “We’ll have to leave a few loose ends. Right now, we need to get going.” But almost another hour had passed by the time she herded up the boys, combed everyone’s hair, tamed one red cowlick, washed two sticky faces and knelt on the floor to change one diaper.
Jo shook her head and clucked as she bent over the toddler sprawled patiently on the floor, naked from the waist down. “Billy, if you’re old enough to get a diaper, bring it to me and ask for a change, you’re plenty old enough to go to the potty.”
Billy’s eyes turned dark. “Bad potty,” he said ominously.
She sat back on her heels and glanced around the room. “Where’s Jamie?” she asked Claire.
Suddenly a car horn sounded in the driveway. Her car horn. Fear stabbed Jo’s heart. “Oh my God, he can’t be in my car!” She raced to the door, threw it open and tore down the steps, nearly tripping in her haste.
Jamie was not only sitting in the driver’s seat, elevated by two thick catalogs, but he had the engine running, the windows down, the stereo blasting, and was sporting Jo’s sunglasses. But by some miracle, the car hadn’t moved from its spot in the driveway. She glanced at the busy street at the end of the driveway and shuddered at what could have happened. Some mother she would make, all right. No kid would last a month in her care.
“Can I drive, Jo?” Jamie asked excitedly, turning the steering wheel sharply left, then right.
Make that a week—she’d kill them with her own hands.
“Whoa, he really needs a time-out now,” Claire breathed.
Jo was so scared and angry, she didn’t trust herself to speak. Her hands were shaking and her heart thudded in her chest. Finally, her feet propelled her to the car, where she reached in and yanked the keys from the ignition.
“Hey!” Jamie said in a loud, cross voice.
“Don’t you ‘hey’ me, young man,” Jo said, her voice low and trembling. “Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in?”
His chin went up. “I wasn’t afraid.”
“Out of the car, right now!”
Jamie quickly obliged, his towel-cape swirling around him as he jerked to a halt before Jo, his green eyes wide.
Jo took a deep breath and knelt in front of the little boy, her hand on his shoulder. “If the car had gone out into the road, you eould have been killed, Jamie.” Her voice was shaking. “Do you know what that means?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like my mom was killed by a car.”
Jo hesitated, then said, “That’s right. And you know how sad your daddy was when that happened?”
He nodded solemnly. “Daddy cried.”
Her heart was getting an aerobic workout this morning, she thought as it squeezed tighter. “I’m sure he did. But if something happened to you or Claire or Billy, your daddy would never stop crying. Do you understand?”
Jamie nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “Don’t tell Daddy, okay, Jo?”
She sighed, then pulled the little boy to her for a hug. “Okay, but if you ever do this again, I’m going to give you time-off for a jillion years, got it?”
He sniffed, then giggled against her neck. “It’s time-out, Jo.”
His small body melted into hers, his arms going around her neck like a vise. “Whatever,” she mumbled, her insides turning over at his touch. When he loosened his grip, Jo glanced at her watch and gasped. “We’re late!” She dashed back into the house to rustle up light jackets for everyone and to grab her purse from the hall table. Mrs. Harris was pulling in when she came out carrying Billy’s car seat. The kids ran to the buxom gray-haired woman and received hugs and kisses in return. Jo introduced herself and chatted for a few minutes before hurrying the kids into the car. This time she instructed Jamie to sit up front, and put Billy in the back where Claire could tend to his needs if necessary.
Jamie turned around and stuck his tongue out at Claire. “I get to sit up front!”
“And Claire gets to on the way
home,” Jo interjected smoothly, sticking her tongue out at Jamie. In the back seat, Claire giggled.
Aside from stopping to make Jamie apologize for throwing a wad of bubblegum onto the windshield of the police car behind them, the trip to the day care was relatively uneventful.
A row of four-foot-tall red lockers lined the walls of the entryway for the day care, colorful coat sleeves hanging out here and there. A big-boned brunette woman dressed in chinos and a sweatshirt greeted Jo. She looked to be in her mid-forties. At first, she presented a wide smile to the group, then her eyes swept the children and the smile froze beneath her bulging eyes.
Jamie lifted his hand in a wave. “Hi ya, Cap’n Hook.”
Already nervous, Jo’s stomach dived and her eyes darted to his impish grin. “Jamie, do you know this nice lady?”
“He should,” the woman said sourly. “He did everything short of cutting off my hand the week he was here.” She looked at Jo, then straightened, as if suddenly remembering her place. “I’m Carolyn Hook,” she said, “the director here at KidScape. As I explained to Mr. Sterling and to his last nanny, the boys are too disruptive to attend our day care.” She smiled tightly and angled her head in a sympathetic gesture. “I’m sure you understand, Ms…”
“Jo Montgomery.” Jo extended her hand, fighting a frown. Some bedside manner for a day-care director. She didn’t love kids herself, but at least she hadn’t made it her career. “But I’m not Mr. Sterling’s nanny.” She paused for a few seconds to let the woman ponder her role in the Sterling household. “My design firm is going to bid on redecorating all the area KidScape day cares. Mr. and Mrs. Patterson said it would be all right if I stopped by to have a look around.” She hesitated, but the woman’s bearing bit into her, so she delivered the kicker. “And they asked me to bring the children along for feedback on how things are run.” A smile tickled her mouth as she watched realization dawn in the woman’s eyes.
“I beg your pardon, I had no idea Mr. Sterling had gotten mar—I mean…”
Say nothing that can’t be explained away later, Jo reminded herself. She donned a tolerant smile and bent to set Billy on his feet, then took his hand firmly in hers. “I’m still getting used to the children myself, Ms. Hook.”
Cap’n Hook straightened and for a moment Jo thought the woman might salute. “Right this way, Ms. Montgomery. Mrs. Patterson is in the storytelling room.”
Melissa Patterson sat on a tiny stool, reading aloud from a bright storybook to a group of preschoolers on the floor. She winked at them, then wound up the story with a flourish, and the children clapped their hands. Rising from her stool, she smiled and addressed Jo. “I’m so glad you brought the children,” she said, then bent over and patted Jamie’s arm. “You’ll like it here.”
“No, I won’t,” he said simply. Jo winced.
Mrs. Patterson recoiled in surprise and said, “But you just arrived.”
“Me and my brother and sister were here for a while when we first moved here,” he explained in a bored voice.
“Why did you leave?” she asked, concern on her face.
Jamie jerked his thumb toward Carolyn Hook. “Ask Cap’n Hook.”
“Um, Mrs. Patterson,” the woman began nervously.
“Yes, Carolyn?”
“These are the Sterling children,” she said politely, but distinctly.
“The Sterling children?” Melissa Patterson looked confused.
“Remember?” Cap’n Hook asked, her eyes wide with meaning. “The flood in the boys’ bathroom? The huge insurance claim?”
Mrs. Patterson’s eyebrows went up. “Ohhhhh, you mean…” She pointed to Jamie, and Cap’n Hook nodded.
Great, Jo thought I’m playing stepmother to impress these people and I pick the kid who nearly destroyed their day care. Jo sighed. “Jamie, why would you do such a thing?”
“Because,” he said, shrugging, “it’s boring here. All they do is tell stories.”
But before Jo could apologize, Mrs. Patterson raised her hand. The woman clasped Jamie’s hand and asked, “Would you come with me and tell me the kinds of things you’d like to do at day care?”
Jo allowed herself a small smile at Jamie’s accidental coup.
An hour later, Melissa Patterson followed Jo out to the car. Once the children were inside with seat belts fastened, she said, “I would appreciate it if you would incorporate some of your stepson’s ideas into the design bid—a multimedia room, a stage, a nature room—all of them. He’s a very creative boy…and that Peter Pan act is adorable.”
Guilt tugged at Jo’s heart as she looked in the car at the children. “They’re all special,” she agreed.
“I didn’t realize you’d married John Sterling,” the woman said, startling Jo. “I assume you still go by your maiden name?”
Jo nodded numbly, then, very near panic, asked, “Do you know John?”
“I spoke with him once over the phone about the flood incident, and he was a wonderfully gracious man.” She pursed her lips and frowned slightly in recollection. “In fact, I would have allowed the boy to come back, but poor Carolyn said she couldn’t take it, and I couldn’t afford to lose her.” She smiled apologetically, then brightened. “I’ll have a talk with her and see if we can work out something.”
“That would be very helpful,” Jo said, smiling gratefully. “Mr. Ster—I mean, John a-and I—” she felt heat suffusing her cheeks “—would appreciate taking the kids to a place we feel good about, at least for the next few days until school starts again. After that, it’ll just be Billy.”
“Consider it done,” Mrs. Patterson assured her in a professional tone, then changed the subject with an inquisitive tilt of her head. “Your husband just moved here from Atlanta and took over as head architect for Wilson Brothers, didn’t he?”
Jo’s mind raced, then she remembered the firm name from his business card. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Whirlwind courtship?”
Jo laughed nervously. “You could say that.”
Mrs. Patterson’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He must be a very persuasive man.”
“I PICKED UP LUNCH on the way home,” John said, holding the basket high. “It’s such a warm day, I thought we’d go to Forsythe Park and have a picnic.”
Jamie and Claire cheered, and Billy chimed in.
“Jo, too, Daddy?” Jamie asked, his eyes shining.
John turned his gaze on Jo. “I hope so.”
Jo tingled under his stare. She was still reeling from her morning of pretending to be Mrs. John Sterling, mother of three. The merry slant of his eyes tempted her. She could think of worse ways to while away the afternoon than sharing a sunny picnic with John Sterling. But her anticipation scared her. Two days ago she didn’t even know the Sterlings—in an alarmingly short time, she’d become tangled in their lives. “I really can’t,” she said. “I need to get my notes together so we can talk about the contract.”
“There’ll be plenty of time to talk at the park,” John said.
A very persuasive man.
“Please, Jo?” Jamie hugged her waist and pulled at her hands, his eyes soft and expectant.
“Well…” She wavered and her stomach growled audibly.
John must have heard it. “Fried chicken,” he prompted, angling his head and lifting one side of the basket to allow a wonderful spicy aroma to escape.
What could it hurt? she wondered, other than her cholesterol count. It would give her a chance to review her notes with him. Alan would understand—it was strictly business. It had nothing to do with the fact she found John breathtaking in jeans and a pale blue sweatshirt. And how intimate could it be with three children along?
“Maybe just for a little while,” she agreed softly, but added, “I’ll drive my car in case I need to leave early.”
Jamie and Billy clapped their hands. Claire looked at Jo, her tiny green eyes neither friendly nor adversarial, just questioning. For an instant, Jo wondered how much the girl might have picked
up on this morning at the day-care center. “Want to ride with me, Claire, and keep me company?”
The little girl nodded listlessly, and everyone piled into the cars. When they were under way, Claire remained quiet, sitting forward in her seat, engrossed in the passing landscape. At last, she seemed to relax, and settled back in her seat.
“Were you smart in school?” Claire asked, fingering a loose thread on the seam of her pants.
Surprised by this odd, lone question, Jo nodded cautiously. “I guess so.”
“Did you wear glasses?”
Jo smiled. “As a matter of fact, I did. I switched to contact lenses when I started high school.”
Claire pondered this bit of information for a few seconds. “Did you have a boyfriend before you…you know—” she stabbed at her glasses “—started high school?”
Another heart tug. These kids had a knack for causing tugs. Apparently, Claire had heard the old “boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses” saying. Jo fastened her teeth on her lower lip. But nine years old was a little young to be interested in boys…wasn’t it? She glanced at Claire’s troubled eyes. “Well,” she began, keenly aware of the girl’s fragile confidence, “David Knickerbocker followed me around trying to carry my books, so I guess you could call him my boyfriend.”
Claire giggled, a tinkling sound. “Was that his real name?”
Jo nodded, grinning. “He was shorter than I was and his ears were as big as dinner plates.”
They both laughed, then Claire asked, “What happened to him?”
“I gave him a black eye in the sixth grade on the playground and he didn’t talk to me again until we were sixteen. By that time he’d grown into his ears and was very, very cute.”
Riveted, Claire murmured, “What did he say when he talked to you again?”
Jo leaned toward her conspiratorially, “He said he thought I was prettier wearing my glasses, but he asked me to the sweetheart dance anyway.”
Claire looked hopeful. “Really?”
“Really,” she said, and Jo looked back to the road.
She poked at her glasses. “Is he still your boyfriend?”
Kids Is A 4-Letter Word Page 7
