"No, not— I mean, yes, them too. But I was talking about Pete and Clara. I like those two."
"They're the best," Brooks said simply.
"They're the parents of your heart, aren't they?"
He slanted a glance at her. "Never thought of it like that, but yeah, I reckon you're right."
She nodded, her expression wistful before she turned toward the window.
He wondered then about her family, what had become of them. He obviously couldn't ask her, but he was finding himself more and more curious about her. He could only imagine the questions that must have been eating at her.
Hopefully she'd get her answers soon.
They rode all the way to the highway in companionable silence before Amelia shifted and cleared her throat. "So, um, who takes care of Jo's kids?"
"Her mother-in-law. She moved in about two years ago, after the twins were born."
"And Jo's husband?" She fidgeted some more, clasping and unclasping her hands. "What does he do?"
Besides any genuine interest she might have had, he could tell she was nervous and needed to talk to keep her mind off the hospital. He wasn't used to idle chitchat, but he tried to oblige as best as he could. "He was a rancher."
"Was?"
"Key died a little over a year ago."
Amelia swiveled in her seat, clearly caught off guard. "Inoperable brain tumor," he said. "Went in his sleep one night."
She sucked in a breath, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, how tragic. Jo must have been devastated."
"She was. She'd been prepared for years, but there's no real preparation for losing someone you love."
"She knew he was dying?"
"Yeah. Married him right after the diagnosis. Same night in fact. Said to hell with the engagement. She didn't know how much time they had left, but she wasn't wasting another second of it. The doctors gave Key anywhere from a week to six months, but it turned out to be two years. He saw the birth of his children, watched them take their first steps."
Amelia's eyelashes fluttered, as if trying to keep her tears at bay. "That's incredible. I can't even imagine…" Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Loving someone that much… Being that brave… Knowing you have to let go."
Brooks's throat worked, and he flexed his hand on the steering wheel. "Me, either."
They made it to the hospital in record time. In the parking lot, he cut the engine, opened his door and hopped down. But in the time he'd rounded to the passenger side, Amelia had yet to unbuckle her seat belt.
Without a word, he opened her door and offered his hand, but she continued to stare straight ahead, oblivious to him. They stayed like that a full minute before she closed her eyes briefly, then turned to him. When she opened her mouth, he fully expected her to balk.
"I can do it myself," she said instead, reaching for the seat belt.
"All right." He stepped back.
She shook her head. "I mean inside."
"Oh." His hands shot to her waist, helping her down, then jammed into his pockets the second she planted both feet on the ground. "You sure?"
She nodded. "I'm sure."
"Okay." Brooks pointed them toward the hospital, one hand starting for the small of her back before he caught himself. "I'll just sit in the waiting room until you're—"
"No." She stopped, lifted her chin and turned to him. "I'll call you when I'm done."
He wasn't going to win this one. "All right. Hang on a sec." He jogged back to the pickup, rooted around in the glove compartment and unearthed a gum wrapper and a chewed pen. It would do. "Beep me when you're done."
"Beep you?"
He felt her gaze on him as he scribbled two numbers and showed her the pager clipped to his belt after he finished. "I got it for Timmy. You know, in case of emergencies. I'm giving you the cell number, too. But sometimes the battery runs low, or I'm out of range. The pager's best."
She smiled and took the wrapper, tucking it into her back pocket. There was a look in her eyes that unsettled him, a look he wasn't used to seeing.
"What?" he asked. "You're looking at me funny."
"Sorry. It's just … I feel…" She gave a nervous laugh and lifted a shoulder. "Proud?"
"Well, sure. That's understandable—"
"Of you."
His head jerked back. "Of me?"
Her smile widened, and she nodded. "You might have started from ground zero with this baby stuff, but you've come a long way in a short time. Not everyone could have done it. I'm proud of you."
"Thanks." The single word stuck to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter. "That, ah, means a lot coming from you, this being your field of expertise and all." He stuck his hands into his pockets and squinted at the hospital doors. "I'm … proud of you, too. I know this wasn't easy for you, coming here." Nor was it easy for him to be having this conversation. He shifted uneasily.
"Thanks. I'd better go now, before I change my mind."
He heard the catch in her voice, noticed her smile slipped a notch. He straightened to his full height. "I don't mind waiting, you know."
"I know." She glanced down at her hands, now clasped together, one on top of the other. "But I need to do this myself." Squaring her shoulders, she met his eyes directly. "Please don't be angry with me."
"Angry? Why would I be angry?"
"Because I had you clear your schedule, and—"
He waved her away. "Never mind that." He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking of a way he could pass the time, kill two birds with one stone. "Tell you what. I'm going to stick around town a while longer, so don't hesitate to call. I was planning to hook up with an old friend Friday night, but there may be a chance of getting together sooner rather than later."
Amelia smiled. "I hope it works out."
"Yeah. For you, too." He forced himself to turn, not to watch her leave. He wasn't going to let himself fall for this woman, couldn't let himself think of her in any way but as Timmy's nanny.
Amelia Rigsby wasn't the kind of woman a man took to bed and forgot shortly afterward, the kind who could walk out the door one day and hardly be missed.
No, she was the kind of woman a man envisioned as the mother of his children. The kind he'd want to make love to not once, but every night, for the rest of his life. The kind he'd move heaven and earth just to keep by his side.
That was the reason he steered clear of her kind. His exact same fear with hard liquor. Losing control. He didn't know if monsters were made or born, only that his father had been one, unable to control his dark side. No way could Brooks see himself following in the bastard's footsteps, but some risks plain weren't worth the gamble.
* * *
Amelia didn't know why the idea of Brooks accompanying her into the hospital had suddenly made her nervous. She'd been fine with it—even reassured by it—before they pulled into the parking lot. But once she'd seen the building, all she could think was she didn't want anyone speaking for her, or listening to what she said. She needed privacy.
Luckily Brooks hadn't needed explanations.
She waited until the blue Ford pickup pulled out of sight before she headed for the entrance, trying to ignore the odd, prickling sensation creeping up and down her spine.
An unaccountable urge compelled her to tug up her collar, tuck her chin and glance over her shoulder a few times. Jittery hands tapped her pockets in search of sunglasses to shield her eyes, but there were none.
As she slipped inside the automatic doors, a whiff of antiseptic odor made the breath catch in her throat. She'd smelled it before. She knew for certain. But where? When?
Why?
Adrenaline pumped fast and furious through her veins, roaring in her ears. With small steps, she forced herself toward the water fountain to take a sip. Then she eyed the long corridor and started toward the information desk.
With each step, her jaw clenched tighter, every nerve in her body throbbing with a dull ache. From the corner of her eye, she saw something blue and stopped in
her tracks. A uniformed police officer breezed past her. She went numb.
He approached the information desk, standing with his legs braced apart, gun holster and billy club on his belt. As he talked to the person behind the counter, perspiration beaded on her lip. She started shaking.
Run! Before he sees you!
Her gaze darted around, searching for an escape, but he turned before she could move.
Their eyes met, paralyzing her with indecision. At his slight frown, the hands of panic wrapped around her throat, squeezing until she couldn't breath. Spots danced before her eyes. Her head swam. Her vision tunneled. A low, dejected whimper slipped free.
The policeman's frown deepened. He shifted, the silver of his badge glinting under overhead florescent bulbs.
As a vampire blinded by sunlight, Amelia recoiled and spun away. Back, toward the sliding doors. Shoes clicked the tile. Faster and faster. She broke into a dead run.
A blur of brown emerged from the doors, catching her up short. She raised her hands to shield her face but couldn't stop her body from colliding into the rock-solid barrier.
In the next second, she heard someone saying "Amelia," felt strong hands grip her arms, pinning her, dragging her out of the way, away from the doors.
"No … please." She struggled, a sickening sensation churning her stomach. "Have … to … go." Muted words assailed her. Indistinguishable. Like a tape played at half speed. "Please," she begged. "Don't hurt me."
* * *
Chapter 4
« ^ »
Brooks swore under his breath. "I'm not going to hurt you. I would never…" She wasn't listening. She pounded on his chest with her balled fists. "Amelia, it's Brooks." Her arms flailed, striking his shoulders and arms. A panic attack. He should have known, should have seen it coming.
He'd been there himself once.
"Look at me, honey. Look," he said, catching her chin, but she refused to meet his eyes.
She kicked his shin instead.
"Ow." Damn, she was going to hurt herself if he let go. He tightened his grasp, avoided what blows he could, and took the rest. She was stronger than she looked, but one slip of a woman was hardly equipped to kick the stuffing out of him. Sooner or later, she'd wear herself out. Just like Timmy.
Brooks had gotten the baby past his hysteria at being handled by strangers; he'd get Amelia past this.
He tapped his wellspring of patience and softened his voice as much as he could. "It's okay," he murmured, over and over. "You're all right. No one's going to hurt you."
Though he'd pulled her out of the way of the entrance, the few passersby craned their necks to get a better look. He ignored them and concentrated on Amelia, repeating his reassurances. "You're safe, honey. Everything's okay."
Bit by bit, the fight siphoned out of her. Each time, he loosened his hold, until finally, he wasn't restraining her at all, but stroking his hands up and down her back.
"Brooks?" she whispered, her voice so reedy he almost didn't hear her.
"Yeah."
"Oh, God." She squeezed her eyes shut and burrowed deeper into his open coat, her face pressed to his chest, her trembling fingers bunching the material of his shirt. "What … what just happened to me?"
"Shh, it's okay." He raised his hand to the back of her head, smoothing the silken strands of her hair. "Just rest for a minute. Lean against me and catch your breath."
She drew a shuddery breath, and he felt tiny ripples racking her body like hiccups, dampness against his skin where her tears had soaked through his shirt. Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out his handkerchief. With a muffled thanks, she accepted the offering and blew her nose.
Just then, a police officer came up to them. "You folks need any help?" His gaze alternated between them.
Amelia took an almost-imperceptible step closer to Brooks, her fingers tightening on the wads of his shirt.
Instinctively he dropped a hand to the small of her back and turned his body to shield her. "Yeah, actually. My sister's a doctor on staff here. Josephine Hart."
"Sure, I know Dr. Jo." He smiled.
Brooks didn't know what to make of his smile, but now wasn't the time to think about it. "If you could tell her Amelia Rigsby's here, we'd appreciate it. She's expecting us."
"Will do." The man nodded and retraced his steps. Brooks turned his gaze to the woman nestled against him. One of his hands was still in her hair, the other at the base of her spine. Her cheek rested on his chest, her knuckles pressing against his stomach. She'd relaxed when the cop left, but she didn't move away, and neither did he.
Every so often, she sniffled, and he held his breath. Damn, but she felt good—not just her body, but her trust. Brooks knew he didn't deserve either, knew this was a onetime, limited offer, so he wasn't in any hurry to let go.
"You came back," she whispered after a time.
"I was going to sneak into the waiting room."
"Why?"
"Didn't want to get my head bit off. You were pretty insistent—"
"No, why did you come back?"
He'd asked himself the same question as he'd turned the pickup around not even halfway down the road. "Would you believe me if I said I wanted to give blood?"
She shrugged and glanced up. "Do you?"
"I'm a card-carrying Red Cross donor. I usually give every month." He was avoiding the real answer. He sighed. "I thought you might need me."
Her lower lip trembled. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"But I am. I can't believe I flipped out—"
"Stop right there." He brushed her hair back from her face. "We knew you were afraid of hospitals. I was stupid to leave in the first place." I was too busy hoping to get laid. "I'm the one who should apologize."
She gave a humorless laugh. "How can you people be so incredibly kind to me?"
"You're Timmy's nanny," he said, knowing even as the pat answer rolled off his tongue, it didn't tell the whole story.
She pressed her face to his chest and inhaled deeply. "Did I … did I hurt you?"
His chin came up. "In your dreams, woman."
"Good, I couldn't bear it if I…" She pulled back and winced.
"Hey, now." With the curve of his finger, he raised her head. "You've gotta buck up, buckaroo. You passed the first hurdle. That's cause for celebration, not a long face."
"Right." She stirred up a wobbly, halfhearted smile. "As if my employer doesn't already think his new nanny's a nutball."
"I don't. I think you had a panic attack. But we'll let the good doctor decide."
Brown eyes searched his, wide and uncertain.
He dropped his hand to his side. He hated the thought of turning back when they'd come so far. "There was this time when I was fifteen," he said. "I was riding fence in the north pasture when my horse got spooked by a rattler and threw me, but good. Now I'd been thrown plenty, but this time, I got wrapped in the coils of my rope."
Amelia drew in a sharp breath. "Were you hurt badly?"
"Depends on your definition of bad. The gelding stomped on me, kicked me in the head a few times, cracked four of my ribs and dragged me half-unconscious until the leather holding the rope to my saddle horn broke."
"Oh, no…"
Brooks shrugged. "Took me four months before I'd get back on a horse again. And the only reason I stayed on was because Pete and Luke nearly hog-tied me in the saddle."
"Did you … did you fight like I…"
"Hell, yeah. Not to mention I'm bigger and tougher than you. Luke decked me, so I wouldn't spook the poor horse."
She shivered. "I'm glad you didn't…"
"Slug you?" He shook his head. "Not an option."
Relief flashed in her eyes before she closed them. "I am so embarrassed—"
"Hush." He laid a finger over her mouth, then yanked it back just as fast, not wanting to wait until he was burned before deciding not to play with fire. "You think that's a tale any cowboy worth his spurs goes around bragging about? I've ne
ver told anyone besides you. Only people who know were there." He drew a breath, still unable to believe he had confided in her. "You're not the only one who's been spooked. Not to mention, every one of us has lived through our share of embarrassing moments."
Her lips curved a little then. "And if a big, strong cowboy can pick himself up and dust himself off…"
Something about the way she said that big and strong stuff made the back of Brooks's neck grow warm every time. He straightened his arms and put her away from him. They were through the crisis. He needed some distance and fast.
"I can wait in the truck."
She turned her gaze to the windows. "Looks like snow."
"Rain," Brooks said and hiked his shoulder. "Doesn't bother me. Your call."
"Maybe … maybe you could go give blood, then sit in the waiting room?"
He smiled. "I could do that."
"Brooks?"
"Yeah?"
She returned his smile with a shy one of her own. "I'm glad you came back."
Her quiet words cinched the knot of longing around his belly and pulled the slack. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Don't mention it," he said, fighting to look like a man who didn't give a damn one way or another what she thought of him. And trying like hell to deny he had a thing for his baby nephew's nanny.
* * *
"It's the strangest thing." Amelia drew a shaky breath and hoisted herself onto the examining table. "I don't know why it keeps happening."
Dr. Jo flicked on her penlight. "It happened before?"
"In the bathroom at the ranch." Her eyes followed the penlight as instructed. "The small space … overwhelmed me. But this was worse. A lot worse."
Dr. Jo checked her vitals and reflexes, removed her stethoscope and confirmed, "You had a panic attack." Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact, yet still compassionate. "It's not uncommon."
"But what causes panic attacks?"
"Any number of things—stress, anxiety, an unpleasant experience, an innate phobia. We'll probe the source as we investigate your memory loss. I do want to run some tests, if you're still willing."
"I am." Amelia nodded. "I want to be normal again."
THE NANNY'S SECRET Page 7
