But…
She closed her eyes. How about the desire she’d seen in his gaze? At least, that’s what she thought it’d been when it’d just about buckled her knees.
She opened her eyes again, wishing she could figure him all the way out.
Her gaze wandered to the living room, where he’d been looking at something in that chest the other night.
What if she took a peek, just in case it offered an answer?
Any answer.
Glancing around at the still house, with its blur of stained glass muting the morning, she put down the egg bowl before second guessing herself, then went to the living room, heading straight for the TV and the chest sitting on the shelves right beside it.
All while, she chided herself. Mel, think about what you’re doing.
But if this helped her to understand him, it couldn’t hurt, right?
She unlatched the chest—there was no lock, thank goodness—then eased it open to get a glimpse.
What she found made her close it and put it back the way she’d found it, her heartbeat strangled.
An urn.
Danielle’s ashes?
Feeling as if she’d intruded into someone’s most private secrets, Melanie retreated back to the kitchen to finish making breakfast.
She should’ve known that was what Zane had been hunched over the other night. If they were Danielle’s ashes—and Melanie would bet on the truth of that—he kept his deceased wife close. Physically close, not just mentally or emotionally. Six years, and he hadn’t let her go for even a few yards.
No wonder he had that darkness in his eyes: because the shadow still resided in his house.
She stared at the mess on the counter, the bowls and ingredients fuzzing before her. If she’d entertained any thoughts of Zane’s interest in her before, they were beaten down now. After all, how could she compete with a woman who would always be here?
And just who had this woman been, to have such a hold on him?
She heard a door opening upstairs, then footsteps treading down the steps. When Livie came around the corner, her hair tousled from sleep, Melanie motioned her over for a good-morning hug.
No one should have to compete with a ghost, Melanie thought as the little girl smiled and rubbed her eyes, coming to her nanny. Not Livie and not…
Well, not anyone else.
She heard another person enter the kitchen from the opposite direction, and her pulse kicked.
Then his voice.
“I thought I smelled something good,” he said as Melanie and Livie parted.
His daughter got that shy grin on her face, as if she were wondering whether or not to go to her daddy. But out of the corner of Melanie’s eye, she saw him bend down—an invitation for the child to come on over.
It was an improvement, she thought, taking the biscuits out of the oven.
The embrace between father and daughter was tentative, but it was a start. And as he finished hugging her, keeping a light hold on her pajamas as she drew away, Melanie became acutely aware that he was in a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, just like the other night.
All that was missing was her nightgown and the tick of a clock while they looked at each other from across the living room.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.” She sent a quick glance of acknowledgement over her shoulder, intending to get right to work again.
But when Livie came back over to Melanie and leaned her sleepy head against her leg, Nanny Workhorse lost direction.
And it only got worse when Zane’s gaze fell on her and Livie, a look of such longing about him that, for a brief moment, it made her want to cry.
Such a strong, solid man, she thought, and to see a crack in his defenses made her want to reach out.
Made her want to make him happy.
“Hey, Livie,” she said, resting a hand on the child’s head. “Breakfast is coming right up. Maybe you and Daddy can sit at the table and start drinking your orange juice together. He’ll have to get to work soon.”
Zane’s eyes met hers, and along with the zing of electricity that always came with it, she also noticed a bared gratefulness.
She grinned and nodded toward a cabinet that she knew contained the glasses. He understood, going to it, getting three out.
Three, not just two.
But the plan was to get them together, and the last thing Melanie wanted to do was act as the go-between she’d been for the last couple of days. They should relate to each other without her around, just as they had at the toy store last night.
“Mr. Foley,” she said, “I need to eat on the fly while I pack up for Livie and myself.”
She could feel Livie grip her leg, but Melanie stroked the girl’s hair, soothing her. They would have to leave sooner or later.
“I see,” he said. Then he set the glasses on the counter.
Livie spoke up. “We can’t stay another day? Not even so we can listen to the band in the park tonight in the hot tub?”
Livie and Melanie had found fliers advertising a family group playing in the nearby park that night during a farmer’s market. And since Zane’s townhouse was so close, they would probably be able to hear its amplified sound from his roof, where the little girl had been begging Melanie to try the spa.
He’d braced his hands on the counter, and Melanie could tell he was fighting with himself.
Help him, she thought.
“We don’t have any pressing engagements in Austin,” she said, giving him an opening. “And the maintenance crew can do work inside the house while we’re not around.”
Finally, he slid her one of those looks—pulled apart by two different, warring sides.
The dad versus the haunted man.
Melanie silently tried to lend him encouragement. Please, she thought. Do it for Livie.
He opened the fridge, took out the juice, then began to pour. “All right. You can stay another night then. But I’ve got work.”
Success!
“Yes, you do,” Melanie said as Livie hugged her nanny’s leg.
Melanie squeezed the little girl’s shoulder, smiling down at her. Because after tonight, when they went back to Austin, smiles would probably come few and far between.
Melanie had spent the day seeing that Livie kept to her schedule while her dad was at the office.
After a morning full of dance and drawing, they’d picnicked in the park again, watching tonight’s event being set up. Then they’d gone to a nearby café, where Livie had enjoyed the “adult experience” of drinking tea, then climbing on one of the rented computers to play some phonics games that Melanie had read about in a child-care magazine.
As her charge was doing her thing, Melanie went on her own computer, making sure Livie didn’t see the subject of her Internet search.
Danielle Foley.
However, about an hour later, Melanie didn’t know a whole lot more than she’d started with. It seemed that Danielle had shunned the press, just as her husband did. But Melanie had been able to uncover a few links to high school reunion sites, and there she’d been able to get a few more tidbits about the woman who still seemed to be such a presence in the Foley lives.
Although any hints about Danielle’s death had been vague, Melanie had seen a few pictures of someone who resembled Livie so much that it was eerie: the same dark eyes and hair, the same gentle expressions of disappointment floating over every feature.
Melanie had also pulled up some articles about bipolar disorder, and by the time she was done, Livie was ready to go.
Doing her best to act as if the research hadn’t bothered her, Melanie asked Livie to help her put together a dinner of beef tostadas and fruit salad.
But it was hard to keep her mind off Danielle, especially with Livie—her miniature double—right here. Melanie could see how the resemblance to her mom might affect Zane, could see that he must’ve been crushed by Danielle’s passing to still keep her so close.
Again, she though
t that his grief must be so strong that he chose to avoid his daughter.
A dull throb beat through her chest, but she ignored it until Zane came home, joining them on the roof terrace while the band kicked into gear at the nearby park, lending the warm air graceful notes.
As the group played “Waltzing Matilda,” Melanie laid out Zane’s and Livie’s meals, then started back to the kitchen to eat hers while the other two did more bonding. She would go up there again soon, so Zane could retreat to his study and she could supervise Livie in the hot tub.
“Hey,” Zane said from his seat at the glass-topped table, as she made her way through the sliding doors. “Where’re you going?”
She smiled. “You two enjoy the music. I’ve got things to—”
Now Livie turned her big eyes on her nanny.
Both of them were watching Melanie. They seemed so forlorn, even with their meals sitting there in front of them. Despite that food on the table, the scene somehow looked empty.
Zane stood, pulling out a chair. “We’d enjoy your company.”
As he waited, she could see herself with them, a part of the family, and she only wished it could be real.
“Ms. Grandy?” Zane asked, his voice softly raking over her skin, destroying every “but” she could think of.
“All right,” she said, grinning at Livie. “Just let me get my plate.”
She left, catching father and daughter as they traded smiles.
Had they talked about how she had been missing during breakfast? Nah, she thought, gathering her stuff and climbing the stairs again. Although maybe their nanny was the only subject they had in common right now.
The very idea made her sad, so after she joined them, she made a real effort to introduce subjects that would help them to connect: Livie’s uncles, her schoolwork, her favorite things about both Austin and Dallas.
Zane listened intently to all of it, even smiling sometimes at the cuteness that was Livie. And the little girl ate that right up.
By the end of the meal, Melanie thought it was time well spent—a great springboard for their relationship.
But then it happened.
“I love Mexican food,” Livie said, nearing the last of her tostada. “You make it yummy, Ms. Grandy.”
“Thank you.”
She could feel Zane’s gaze on her again, and goose bumps shivered over her. Actually, she’d felt his attention throughout dinner, but she couldn’t stop from picturing how he’d probably once looked at Danielle, too, back when they had first fallen in love.
Yet Melanie kept telling herself that the way he felt about his wife was none of a nanny’s business, even if she found herself wishing that it were.
Livie was still talking. “Cook says that Mommy liked this kind of food.” She paused. “Didn’t she, Daddy?”
It was as if a cold wind had come off the river and frozen Zane in his seat. After a second that lasted way too long, he wiped his mouth with his napkin. The gesture was controlled, so very careful.
Then he said, “Yes, she did, Livie.”
But he changed the subject back to his daughter’s schooling so quickly that Melanie almost got whiplash. Then, after finishing the rest of his food, he excused himself, heading for the sliding-glass door.
Just as Melanie was about to despair, he seemed to reconsider, coming over to touch Livie’s shoulder, her cheek.
Then, averting his gaze, he left.
Melanie gauged Livie’s reaction, but the child was quietly finishing her tostada without as much as a second glance to where her father had deserted her yet again.
Without thinking, Melanie wrapped an arm around her and kissed her forehead.
Livie just kept eating, not even acknowledging her nanny.
Yet Melanie still hugged the girl, unwilling to let go.
One step forward, two steps back, she thought.
And, at this moment, she couldn’t imagine how it would ever be any different with Zane Foley.
Chapter Seven
The sunlight descended through the windows of Zane’s study, casting stained-glass reflections as he sat in his desk chair.
He told himself to go back to the roof, to tell Livie not only that her mom had loved Mexican food, but that she had collected porcelain figurines that she’d talked about giving their daughter someday. He wanted to relate how her mother had also loved a nice, old-fashioned scary movie, like those you would’ve gone to at a drive-in. He wanted to let Livie know that, on some afternoons, Danielle had ridden her bike around the Dallas estate they used to live on before Zane had sold the place to move here, by himself.
And on the days that the sun would shine over the Texas landscape, as well as within Danielle, she’d driven that bike to a park—her favorite—where she would sit on a tiny bridge while a stream burbled just underneath her dangling feet.
But those had been on her good days.
Sometimes Zane couldn’t separate the positive stories from the negative, because, looking back, it all seemed to fade together—good days into bad—like a blurred canvas of memory.
He leaned forward in his chair, digging his fingers through his hair. Damn you, Danielle, he thought. Damn you for leaving her…me…alone to live this way.
Glancing up, he saw the portrait of Livie.
His daughter was just upstairs, and so was Melanie—a woman whose smiles came so easily, without any threat of a cost to them later.
Or that’s how it seemed, anyway.
So it was tempting, very damned tempting, to go back up there, because there were times when Melanie almost made him forget. Maybe not entirely, but she did cause him to think that he could learn to live beyond the past.
At least that much had been true for the last couple of days, when he’d caught himself thinking that there might be a little light ahead.
Yet, he also knew other things were ahead of him, too—namely the anniversary of Danielle’s death.
Just over one week away.
The thought pinned him to his chair, and he didn’t go back upstairs. Instead, he awakened his computer and sought work, a refuge.
His eternal saving grace.
Since Zane had retired to that study of his, Melanie didn’t expect to see him for the rest of the night. So after dinner, she and Livie got into the bathing suits they’d purchased in a superstore during their market run yesterday, then eased into the hot tub.
As always, Livie seemed to leave her father behind and, bit by bit, get into the moment. Melanie made it easier for her by initiating a skirmish with bottled bubbles they’d also purchased, blowing the balls of soap at each other through the wands. It got Livie to giggling, until they both settled down to listen to the last of the music from the band in the park, the tunes floating away into the night.
Deciding they’d had enough for the time being, Melanie got Livvie out of the tub and ready for bed, tucking the girl in before reading her a story about The Three Little Pigs.
Halfway through, she heard Livie’s breathing even out, and Melanie closed the book, glancing beside her to where the child lay, her eyes closed, her lashes long and angelic.
Dreamland, she thought, grateful that Livie’s tendency to sleep deeply provided her a haven of sorts. The hot tub had probably even relaxed her further.
Melanie rested her hand on her charge’s arm, closing her eyes, too, smiling. She was so lucky to be here.
Best job in the world.
She must’ve floated off, because after she opened her eyes, kissed Livie’s cheek, shut off the light, then went to her own room, Melanie’s travel clock read about an hour later than when she’d put Livie to bed.
Still, it was pretty early yet, and she thought it might be nice to stay up, maybe watch some TV downstairs, then crawl into bed.
But was Zane in his study? Would she run into him down there?
Thinking of her boss brought the end of dinner rushing back. Livie had only asked a simple question about Danielle, and Zane had withdrawn into himself yet
again. Although he’d made progress with his daughter recently, he’d sure hit a wall tonight. And when Melanie thought of how Livie had gotten quiet right after he left, frustration burned deep inside again.
This had to end, Melanie thought, and if there was a chance that she could get Zane Foley to come around even a little more before they left for Austin tomorrow, she should take it.
Dedicated to what she would do now instead of watching TV, she decided that she would make sure she ran into him downstairs.
She was wearing one of her modest nightgowns, but among the new outfits Zane had purchased for her she’d found a robe that she hadn’t tried on at the department store. He must’ve requested one from the personal shopper on the sly. Melanie wondered if he’d done so because he took offense to her scampering around in her nightgown.
But she could’ve sworn that offense was not what she had seen on his face that night when he had lavished a hot, long look over her body, making her tremble.
She slipped into the white silk, tying the sash around her waist, pausing at the elegant feel of the material.
So tasteful, she thought. This wasn’t the type of robe girls like Melanie Grandy wore. Sure, she’d fit well enough with those sequins and feathers on that Vegas stage, but this was the real thing, not an act.
Then it struck her that, by keeping her past from everyone, her whole life was an act, and she pulled the robe closer around her, heading for her boss’s study to complete her mission as Livie’s advocate.
She would talk to him and get out of his hair. In and out.
When she saw that his light was on behind the door, she ventured a knock.
After a moment, she heard him.
“Yes?”
“It’s me. May I come in?”
A hesitation.
Heck, she could almost imagine him cursing at having to deal with her, because he had to know what this was about.
“Door’s unlocked,” he finally said.
Heart thudding—it always did that Pavlovian trick when she heard Zane Foley—she opened the door to find him facing toward her at his desk, his computer on, the screen tilted toward the doorway enough to show a picture of the Santa Magdalena Diamond. He kept his eyes on it.
The Texas Billionaire’s Bride Page 9
