Zane was still looking at the diamond file. Sometimes Cindy could be incredibly direct, like a less-tactful version of—
As he thought of Melanie Grandy, his gaze drifted from the paperwork. Lively blue eyes, a spark in every gesture…
He wondered how she was getting on with Livie so far. Wondered if he would be having to hire another nanny soon.
Something like disappointment sank within him, but he ignored it.
“Next item on your list?” he asked.
“I’m working on your other charity commitments, but there’re no updates on those yet. However, we’ve got a lot to cover about that state representative seat. Judge Duarte’s been ringing my phone off the hook to get through to you about running during the next election.”
“I know.” Zane had been avoiding any and all calls about it. “That man’s head is thicker than timber. What’s it going to take to get him to understand that I’m not interested in running for anything?”
“You’d be perfect for it, Mr. Foley. Besides, your family isn’t exactly the hands-off type when it comes to politics.”
True, but Zane preferred to let his fundraising abilities and civic activism do the talking.
“I’ll call Duarte tomorrow,” he said. “By the way, isn’t it about time you headed home? Mike probably has dinner all cooked up for you.”
“Carne asada. I love being a newlywed and having a barbecue master for a hubby.”
“Then scram before he leaves you.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, they ended the call, but it wasn’t two minutes later that Zane got another one.
He didn’t mind, though. Business kept him going, gave him less time to think about everything else.
He saw his youngest brother Travis’s number on the caller ID, so he donned his earpiece, left the study and went to the kitchen, since his stomach felt empty.
“Hey, Trav,” Zane said as he walked down the dark hall. He knew every unlit step by heart. “You out on the range?”
“Just got back in from seeing to some fences that needed fixing. I hear Jason told you about the McCords’ unwelcome interest in the ranch.”
“That’s right.”
“I already talked to him about the grand plan with Penny McCord. I don’t love this sneaking around Jason’s going to be doing with her,” he said, “but if it clears the air in any way, I’ll live with it.”
He distrusted the McCords just the same as any of them, yet Travis was a cowboy, a loner, and loathed being distracted by what he thought to be less important matters, such as the other family’s “sniffing around.”
“Jace and I didn’t want to go forward on anything without your knowing it,” Zane said, opening the fridge, discovering that it didn’t contain much more than a drop of milk in a carton, and several long-neck bottles of beer. He grabbed one of those and headed for a pantry cupboard.
“Jason said the same thing.” Travis waited a beat, and Zane could hear the change in his voice as he switched gears. The less time he could dwell on the McCords, the better. “Aside from the drama, I hear you’ve got yourself a new nanny. Jason thinks you like her.”
Zane almost dropped his beer, and it wasn’t just because Travis was being a smart-ass.
It was because a bolt of contained need had shot through him, released from somewhere deep down, where he’d repressed the longing, thinking that it was useless.
He recovered in time to say, “For Pete’s sake, do you two live in a middle-school locker room?”
Travis laughed softly. “Just bustin’ your chops. But he did tell me that Livie’s finally going to have some dedicated company again. I have to say I’m glad for that, because I imagine she’s lonely over there.”
Zane wrapped up all remainders of desire that he’d felt this afternoon, packing it tightly away at the mention of his daughter.
Travis and Jason adored their niece, and occasionally they tried to let Zane know that he could improve his fatherly skills.
But they didn’t understand how tough it was. They hadn’t lived with Danielle, hadn’t tried to keep it all together after her death.
How could they understand Zane’s failures and his need to keep it from happening again with Livie?
“Zane,” Travis said, clearly knowing that he was treading on thin ice, “I know the anniversary of Danielle’s death is coming up, and I’m sorry for broaching this again, but what’re you going to do about Livie?”
“Stay out of this, Travis.”
Every inch a Foley, his sibling did no such thing.
“You think it’s a good idea to keep sweeping every mention of Danielle under the carpet?” his brother asked. “It’s not like Livie’s ever going to forget she had a mother. Your pretending as if Danielle never existed is only going to do more harm than good.”
Zane’s temper crept up, squeezing his temples.
But maybe “temper” was the wrong word. “Remorse” was more like it.
“I don’t need to hear this from you,” he said.
“Zane—”
Unable to stand any more, he hung up on his brother and leaned against the cupboard in the darkness of his home, wanting to say he was sorry.
And not just to Travis, either.
At ten minutes to six, a bell clanged from downstairs, and Livie jumped up from her spot on the floor in her upstairs playroom, immediately beginning to tidy all the Barbies and stuffed animals she’d brought out.
“Dinnertime,” the little girl said, as serious as ever.
Melanie gathered the doll clothes, watching her charge bustle here and there, as if her life depended upon a spic-and-span performance. Once again, she felt for Livie, who’d actually began removing those stuffed animals bit by bit, until she’d opened a hole for herself to come through and get closer to Melanie.
Of course, she’d done it slyly, as if her new nanny wouldn’t notice, and Melanie had played along, trying not to look too happy about even that bit of progress.
Livie was so efficient that she had most of the stuffed toys back in place before Melanie had cleaned her own mess, and before she knew it, the little girl was standing at the side of the door, her back straight as she expectantly folded her hands in front of her.
Melanie wasn’t sure what was happening until Livie said, “This is where you’re allowed to come in to make sure everything is in its place.”
Oh. Right.
But Melanie kept near the doorway, on her side of the invisible semicircle that the girl had created earlier with the stuffed animals. “Do you mind if I come in, Olivia?”
The child gave Melanie a sidelong glance, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
The hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, revealing darling dimples, and she nodded. And went back to not smiling.
Melanie didn’t mind, though; she entered the room, making sure all the dolls they’d played with were lined up on the shelves. She was tempted to mess them up ever so slightly, just because she wondered what Zane Foley would do if he saw the aberration, yet she resisted.
“Top-notch job,” she said, turning around just in time to see Livie watching her, then quickly fix her gaze on a spot above Melanie’s head. “You’re a hard worker, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Ms. Grandy.”
She walked toward her charge, wishing she could rest her hand on Livie’s dark head or touch her shoulder, offering some reassurance.
But sensing that this wouldn’t go over well—not just yet—she instead said, “Let’s get washed up and see what’s on the menu.”
Livie spent one more second checking Melanie out, then spun around and dashed down the stairway.
“Careful,” Melanie said, and the girl stopped, then slowed down, using the banister.
But, as if realizing that she was being too nice to the nanny she still had to haze, she sped up again, yet not enough to be chastised for it.
Good heavens, Melanie thought, wishing she had a million more
Barbie clothes to use as placating lures from this point on.
After cleaning up herself, she went to the dining room, which was just as stark as the rest of the house, with a long table—an item Zane Foley seemed to favor for the distance it established between diners—and plain chairs and a sideboard. The only ornamentation, if you could call it that, was a bland chandelier, with frosted glass cups lending illumination.
Livie took a seat at the long side of the table, and just as Melanie sat down opposite her, Mrs. Howe appeared through a door.
It was only when the manager cleared her throat that Melanie noticed Livie’s saucered eyes that stared at her new nanny sitting at the main table.
Oh.
“Ms. Grandy,” Mrs. Howe said, “Livie will eat here. Why don’t you follow me?”
Livie looked down at her table setting, and Melanie couldn’t read her expression.
Without causing a scene, Melanie rose, went through the door with Mrs. Howe, but stopped the manager before they got too far.
“I appreciate that there are certain ways you’ve done things around here,” Melanie said, “but I’d really like to be with Olivia tonight. She’s not resisting me as much as she did earlier, and if I could continue that streak…”
Mrs. Howe’s face was unreadable. “That would be between Mr. Foley and you, Ms. Grandy. He’s the one who wants the help to eat in the kitchen.”
Really now?
“Well, I’m willing to answer to him for this,” Melanie said evenly, smiling at the manager.
With a curious look, the woman left her alone.
Truly alone, too, because when it would come time to answer to Zane Foley, it’d be all on Melanie.
But, seriously—like she was going to leave poor Livie to eat by herself?
She went back into the dining room, and when the girl looked up, her sad eyes softened a tad.
Then she glanced back at her plate; but it was too late—because she’d already wrapped her tiny fingers around Melanie’s heart.
She waited, not trusting herself to speak for a moment.
Finally, when she’d gotten some composure, she said, “I like it better out here. It’s nice and quiet.”
“Yes.” The girl peeked at Melanie.
Melanie gave her a reassuring grin, and from the way Livie held back her own smile, she guessed that the child understood that her nanny had risked a spot of trouble just to eat with her.
The door behind them opened again, and a young blond man with a scraggly beard stepped through with a table setting for Melanie. He was dressed in chef’s whites, so she assumed he was the cook.
Without saying anything, he nodded to her, then winked.
Approval. Thank goodness there was someone here who wasn’t giving her the near-silent treatment.
Then he left, but only to bring out a well-balanced meal of meatloaf with broccoli, fruit cocktail and macaroni and cheese.
Livie dug right in after the cook was gone, then slowed down when she saw Melanie’s are-we-at-the-zoo? expression.
She swallowed. “I’m only eating fast because Mrs. Howe said I can play with my new present from Daddy after dinner and study time.”
“Oh?”
The girl nodded, a fork full of mac and cheese halfway to her mouth now. “An American Girl doll. Daddy sends one every week if I’m good.”
Livie chowed down again, but Melanie didn’t touch her food yet. Her stomach roiled a bit at the thought of how Zane Foley couldn’t be bothered to visit his daughter, seemingly buying her off with gifts instead.
And when Livie next spoke, she only confirmed Melanie’s heartsick suspicions.
“I like the dolls,” she said softly, “but they’d be even better if he’d bring them to me.”
Melanie held back a swell of emotion. This little girl needed the love and attention of the only parent she had left.
Why couldn’t he see that?
“I know what you mean, Olivia,” Melanie said, thinking of her own mom. “I know exactly what you mean.”
The child didn’t look up from her plate, but her next words revealed everything, even if her tone was just as subtly guarded as it’d been earlier in the attic.
“My name’s Livie.”
Melanie swallowed back the tightness in her throat, then picked up her fork so they could eat their meal together.
She only wished that Zane Foley could be here, too—for his daughter, of course.
But when an unwelcome, low burn heated her belly, pooling down and down, Melanie admitted that maybe she also wanted him here for a different reason altogether.
Chapter Four
The days sped by with more dolls being delivered to Livie, more meals that Melanie took at the table with her charge and even more instructional hours for the girl.
But to supplement those regular study sessions, Melanie also brought her love of dance into the playroom, where Livie had been allowing her nanny to slowly but surely spend more time.
Still, out of all of those passing days, Zane Foley hadn’t paid a visit to Tall Oaks once, nor sent for Livie to come to Dallas.
Not even one darn time.
Oh, sure, there’d been phone calls to the little girl—about one every few days—but Melanie guessed they were more out of habit than a true need to connect with Livie, because each one left the child looking sadder than ever.
Yet, this only encouraged Melanie to step up her “save Livie” campaign, paying the child as much attention as the girl was open to on any given day. She showed her that someone really did care, even if Livie turned away from Melanie at times, and let those stuffed animals that had protected the playroom on that first day speak for her.
“They want you to leave them alone,” Livie would say sometimes. “They don’t need anyone to pretend they like them.”
Little did she know that Melanie wasn’t pretending; so the newest nanny hung in there, doing her best to give Livie her all.
She just wished she knew how to confront the problem of Zane Foley himself. How to talk some sense into him. How to make him see that he wasn’t doing Livie any favors by staying away.
Melanie wanted to despise him, but then night would come, when the wind thumped branches against the old house, when the moon shined through her window and lulled her to close her eyes and imagine how it had felt to touch him when she shook his hand.
How the contact had shaken her to the core.
And morning would arrive again, and she’d go right back to thinking about what to do about him and Livie.
Today, as the June sun spilled through the attic window, Livie had decided to celebrate summer—and her leaving kindergarten behind—with an impromptu performance for some of the house staff. Accordingly, the audience of two sat on the quilts spread over the floor in front of a makeshift blanket curtain that Livie and Melanie had constructed.
The little girl was behind it now, while Mrs. Howe and Cook waited.
Cook, who was in his chef’s whites, crossed his legs Indian-style and grinned at Melanie, who was just in front of the curtain, ready to open it. His name was Scott, and from that first week forward, he’d encouraged Melanie to call him that.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Howe sat in a ladylike position, her knees to the side, her pale skirt covering her legs. Her name was Sue, but when Melanie had dared use it one time, she’d gotten a raised eyebrow and hadn’t tried it since.
“Is it almost showtime?” Melanie asked Livie.
“Five minutes!” the girl said from behind the curtain.
“Okay.” Melanie smiled at the audience, then walked toward them, sitting on the edge of the quilt while making sure her sundress skirt was in place. “Last-minute rehearsals behind that curtain, I imagine,” she whispered. “Livie’s nervous.”
Scott shrugged, but he was so mellow that Melanie often suspected life was one big “oh, well” for him, anyway.
“It’s her first show,” he said. “The squirt can take her time to give us the premiere.”
<
br /> Mrs. Howe sighed at the nickname “squirt.” She sighed a lot about Cook’s surfer-in-Texas attitude.
Melanie grinned at Scott. “I guess that’s the beauty of summer—no school to work a schedule around.”
“But,” Mrs. Howe said, “a schedule’s still important.”
During the past weeks, Melanie and the manager had experienced some…philosophical differences…about many things, although Mrs. Howe hadn’t tipped off Zane Foley to the new nanny’s slight adjustments. At least, that’s what Melanie suspected, because her boss hadn’t rung her up yet to give her a talking to or fire her.
“You’re right,” Melanie said, “schedule’s are important, and we still have one. Livie does well with them, so it seemed counterproductive to change her way of life midstream. But there’s room for flexibility when it’s warranted.”
Scott playfully made the sign of the cross, like he was extending Mrs. Howe some help in fighting off Melanie’s words.
“Mrs. Howe,” he said, “would lose her mind without lists and charts and diagrams. Them’s fightin’ words, Mel.”
The manager made a dismissive gesture at him, as if that would cause him to disappear, but she had an air of barely restrained amusement just the same. Melanie had decided that Scott was like Mrs. Howe’s little brother, and their relationship was one long drive in a backseat where they get on each other’s nerves.
Nothing romantic, though, Melanie thought. Mrs. Howe had a husband down the hill in their own cottage, and Scott had mentioned something to Melanie once about a serious girlfriend.
Livie’s voice came from behind the curtain. “Almost ready!”
“Okay,” all the adults answered back.
Scott kept looking toward the performance area, but now there was something pensive about him.
Melanie leaned near so her voice wouldn’t have to carry. “What is it?”
He started to talk, then stopped, shrugged and smiled vaguely.
Melanie knew if she waited long enough he would go on.
And he did.
“It’s nice to see her like this,” he said. “I don’t know exactly what you’re doing, Mel, but I can’t imagine Livie ever wanting to give any kind of performance before you came along.”
The Texas Billionaire’s Bride Page 5
