She swallowed her complaint about the living situation—for now. He’d probably pick one of the bedrooms upstairs anyway. “That’s fine. Be safe.”
“Of course. At least Brandon’s there with you and the girls now. That makes me feel better about it. Kiss the twins for me, okay?”
“Will do.”
She disconnected and slid the phone back into her pocket, then turned to face Brandon. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at some random spot on the wall. His forehead still looked misshaped from the goose egg. But besides that, she had to admit, he was a handsome guy.
Not that she was on the market.
Someday—after grad school. And after she was settled in a job. It was all in her ten-year plan. Dating started around year eight or so. She’d given herself a little wiggle room.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate eye candy when she saw it, though.
Brandon wasn’t her typical type, or, well, what she’d imagine her type would be. Her perfect guy was more put together. Tall, thin, suit and tie maybe, dark hair, a bright, white smile that could charm his way right into a girl’s heart.
Natalie’s brother was none of those things. He stood a few inches taller than her, if that. His arms and chest were thick with muscle, which she knew since she’d held him up by said chest less than an hour ago. His hair was a thick, light brown in a modern cut, brushed back at the moment but probably spiked most of the time, if she had to guess, and his face featured glasses that she’d bet twenty bucks were to create a look instead of an actual need for corrected vision.
His jeans were on the slim side, and the open buttoned blue flannel with a white t-shirt completed the look. He almost looked like a—
She snapped her fingers. “Musician.”
He turned, his eyebrows hiked toward the rim of his glasses. “Excuse me?”
“You’re a musician, right?” Of course he was. Everything about him screamed fly-by-the-night musician, from the fact that he lived in his sister’s basement to the haphazard-country-yet-designer-ish look about him.
“Why do you say that?”
She shrugged. “Educated guess. So what do you do? Sing in a band? Play guitar?”
His lips curled into an impish smile. “Worse. I’m a drummer.”
“Ah, yes. Should’ve guessed. You play for anyone I know?”
“You listen to country music?”
Every single day. But she didn’t want to feed his ego too much. “It depends. Does Taylor Swift count?”
He threw his head back and laughed, a nice throaty sound she could get used to. “Not anymore, but that depends on who you talk to. I play with Andrew Davies these days. Heard of him?”
Her mouth dropped open as she gripped a hand against her heart, the rapid thud slamming against her fingers. “The Andrew Davies? Like, multi-platinum, CMA entertainer of the year last year, Andrew Davies?”
“I take it you’ve heard of him?”
Heard of him? If having posters plastered all over one’s college dorm walls for three years and attending every concert she could scrape enough money to afford and having the biggest school-girl crush on the man counted for hearing of him, then yeah. She had.
Now, Andrew—he was her type. Dashingly handsome, tall, a deep voice that made her want to do a super old-fashioned swoon.
She’d worn black for a week after he’d announced his engagement a year ago to some lady no one had heard of, supposedly an old high school crush or something.
Not that she’d been serious about it anyway. But he’d represented everything she was looking for in a guy, at least on the outside. She was smart enough to know that looks could be deceiving. But he gave hundreds of thousands of dollars to the local children’s hospital and other charities, was vocal about his love for Jesus, and had some of the more respectable songs in country music, focusing more on fun, upbeat love songs than the baby-done-me-wrong-so-I’m-gonna-drink-myself-to-death kind.
Yes, someday, when she was ready to do the whole marriage/family/kids thing, someone like Andrew Davies was exactly what she pictured.
She lifted her chin and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I, uh, may have heard of him before. So you’re his drummer?”
“Yes, ma’am. Have been for the last two years.”
“Isn’t he on his country-wide tour right now?” As soon as she asked the question, she longed to snatch it back.
His raised eyebrows said he caught on to the fact she was aware of his tour schedule. “Yes, except that he had a gallbladder attack late last night and is in surgery at Vanderbilt as we speak, getting it removed.”
Poor Andrew! “That’s terrible. So, the tour’s postponed?” She needed to check what was going to happen to the show she and Danielle, her former roommate at college, had tickets for in May.
Brandon grabbed his bag from the floor. “You’re one of those, aren’t you?”
She squared her shoulders. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You do too. One of those girls who follow him around like he’s a god with a guitar. You know, the ones who cried for days when he got engaged last year?”
“Of course not. That’s insane.” She’d stopped crying after an hour or two.
Brandon shook his head and chuckled. “Whatever you say. Listen, seriously, it’s good to meet a fan of Andrew’s, but I’m gonna go check out my new digs. Seems I’ve been displaced by the nanny.”
She followed after him. “Wait a second.”
Ignoring her, he walked across the living area to the other door she hadn’t ventured in yet. “Not to be mean, Nanny Mari, but aren’t you neglecting your charges upstairs?”
“They’re upstairs watching Paw Patrol. Believe me, nothing will take them away from the TV when Chase is on the case.”
“Nice. Letting the TV babysit. I’ll be sure to tell Natalie.”
Mari stood in the doorway of the room he’d just entered. Storage bins littered the floor, and a dresser stood against the far wall. But unlike her room that faced the outside wall of the walkout basement, there was no window in here. Probably why they’d switched the rooms for her. “For your information, Natalie is the one who gave me the tip about the magic of Pup Power in keeping the girls occupied.”
“What about lunch? I think you’re off schedule by now.”
She glanced at her watch. Crud. He was right. But— “So you’re going to move your stuff upstairs then?”
“Nope. I’m going to set up camp right here.”
Looking around, she frowned. “But there’s no bed.”
“Nat said I could move a bed from one of the guest rooms upstairs. No biggy.”
Panic grabbed at her stomach. She couldn’t share an apartment with this guy. There was no way. She’d only been in the routine for two weeks, but it was working for her. As long as Natalie got home by five-thirty, she was able to come down here, make her own meal, come and go as she pleased out the basement door. It was like her own little place but with the perk of being only seconds from her job. The apartment was part of her compensation package.
Never had she expected or agreed to share it with someone else. “But why don’t you—”
He shifted around, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Listen. I don’t like it, either. I’d told Nat before I left on tour that I was going to start looking for my own place when I got back, so when she decided to ditch the stay-at-home-mom gig and go back to work, she figured I’d be fine if she moved my stuff, and she’s right. It’s cool. Except that I’m back sooner than we both thought. I’ll start looking for apartments, but I doubt I’ll find something and be moved in before the tour starts up again, so you’re stuck with me as a roommate for at least four weeks, maybe more. I promise I don’t sleep walk, and I’ll keep the drums to a minimum at night, kay?”
No. Way. Her head pounded just thinking about it. “Did you say drums? You have got to be—”
He winked at her. “
Kidding. I am. Nat would never let me practice here. Lighten up, Nanny Mari.”
Lighten up? Who did he think he was? She’d known him less than an hour, and already he had dug a deep hole under her skin. “Would you please stop calling me that? My name is just plain Mari, okay?”
“Will do, Miss Mari.”
The infuriating man. “Just Mari.”
A little voice echoed down the stairs. “Miss Mawi! Is it wunch time yet?”
Brandon’s eyes danced with laughter. “I think you’re needed, Miss Mari.”
Obstinate man. It was a good thing his forehead still glowed with that red lump. Otherwise, she might be tempted to pick up some random object and chuck it at him.
Chapter 4
She shouldn’t care.
After all, it wasn’t her fault. She’d just been trying to protect the girls.
The man had been nothing but antagonizing the whole evening. Calling her “Miss Mari” or “Nanny Mari” and giving her that look that dared her to correct him in front of the girls.
And the girls—Trinity and Serenity doted on their uncle like he was Prince Charming and they were the fair princesses. It was almost sickening.
Then why was she here, at eleven o’clock at night, sitting on her bed, Googling head injuries?
It was all Danielle’s fault. She’d texted her best friend, who happened to be a newly graduated nurse, about the horrible day, including almost murdering her employer’s brother with a fireplace poker.
Her friend had reprimanded her for not taking him to a doctor to make sure he didn’t have a concussion.
And now various websites were telling her to watch for all these scary symptoms and to wake him up every two-to-three hours during the night.
Which was ridiculous. There was no way she was going to wake him up, especially since the girls were right outside both their doors. When Natalie had confirmed she couldn’t make it home with the roads as bad as they were, Mari had let Trinity and Serenity have a slumber party on the basement couch, Uncle Brandon’s idea of course. She would have looked like a fuddy-dud disagreeing.
Mari glanced down at the website again. Maybe—Ugh. She’d have to put on a bra and change out of the skimpy tank-top and shorts she wore to bed—ha! She should put on the stuffy, flannel pajamas her mother had gotten her for Christmas as a gag gift. Her mom knew her hatred of being too hot while she slept, so the button-to-the-neck and thick, itchy fabric had been a hilarious present.
She shook her head and clicked her phone off.
This was just silly. Brandon was fine. Perfectly healthy except for that stupid bump.
After turning off the bedside lamp, she burrowed into the bed and tucked the covers around her.
Tomorrow they would wake up. The roads would be clear. Brandon could leave for the day to do whatever it was he did all day, and everything would be well.
Unless Brandon didn’t wake up at all—
Someone was in his room.
Brandon laid still, listening. He’d been having a crazy dream about Nanny Mari and snowmen—she was beating them up with a fireplace poker, but instead of them just falling apart, actual blood came from them. It was like a snowman horror movie.
But a movement at the door had jarred him awake.
Now, soft footsteps made their way closer, pausing every few steps, probably trying to dodge the boxes still strewn all over the floor.
Had one of the girls come into his room? It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d woken up more than once since he’d lived in Nat’s basement to find a stray kid at the foot of his bed. One of the reasons he always wore pajama pants to bed when at home instead of his preferred boxers.
The footsteps came closer, though, until they were right beside him.
“Brandon?” a voice whispered. “Are you awake?”
Was that—Nanny Mari?
Blinking his eyes open, he made out her silhouette leaning toward him, her hand opened as if getting ready to reach for him.
His body burned hot at the very idea of the gorgeous blond in his room. Surely she wasn’t the type—No way. He couldn’t even let his mind go there.
Plus, she didn’t even like him. He was pretty sure he got on her last nerve.
Maybe—The girls.
He sat up with a jerk. “What’s wrong? Are the girls okay?” He threw back the covers and started for the door, but her hand on his arm stopped him.
“They’re fine. Sleeping sound when I passed them. I just—”
He looked back at her, suddenly very aware that he was standing in front of the gorgeous nanny with nothing but pajama pants on. Her eyes were trying very hard not to look at his chest but not succeeding given the downturn of her gaze every few seconds. “You just…?”
She dropped her hand and crossed her arms over her blue-plaid, button-up top. “Just was—concerned. About you. I was reading up on head injuries, and they said if you had a concussion, you’d need to be woken up every couple hours. I figured that was ridiculous, but I couldn’t get the image of waking up and you being in here—dead. I’m sorry. It’s late. I’m not making any sense.”
His mouth curled into a grin. “Oh, I think you’re making perfect sense. You were worried about me.”
Her back straightened and even in the dark, he could see her chin jut up just a hair. “I was worried I’d be charged for murder or something if you didn’t wake up. Purely selfish motives.”
“Ah. Yes. Selfish. Gotcha.”
“Well, you’re obviously fine, so I’m going back to bed.”
He watched her leave, but as she reached his doorway, he couldn’t help himself. “Mari?”
She turned, her gaze surprised, probably from the use of her normal name.
He stared at her a moment—her hair going in all sorts of crazy directions, her almost oversized flannel PJs, her blue eyes that even when hazy from the need of sleep were gorgeous, her lips—
He swallowed the crazy line of thinking for this woman he barely knew and went a different direction with his words. “Nice pajamas.”
Her eyes narrowed into a glare. “Shut up.”
With that, she turned and stomped—lightly—back across the living room to her own room.
Suddenly, his no-serious-relationship vow seemed very unattractive.
Chapter 5
Life was laughing as it pelted her with snowballs.
No, make that iceballs. Snowballs were much easier to handle being hit with.
She’d woken up, determined to steer clear of Uncle Brandon as much as possible.
But the weatherman mocked her as he announced that the temperature had warmed just enough to turn their rare snow storm into an ice storm—covering the white fluffy stuff with a thick layer of ice. The entire city of Nashville and surrounding areas were paralyzed, and according to the insane forecast, temperatures weren’t going to warm enough to melt it for at least twenty-four hours, perhaps longer. Certainly not enough for Natalie to make the twenty-minute drive home from downtown.
The ice was so bad that power lines were starting to snap under the weight. The power had turned off a little bit ago, but she was pretty sure the Hillard’s generator had kicked on since it’d come back on a minute later.
She stood in the living room, coffee in hand, staring at the TV, willing the weather dude in a suit who looked like he’d been up most of the night to announce a sudden change to sunny and balmy forty degree temperatures.
The door to the basement opened, and she turned, expecting to see two hungry little girls.
Instead, there was one handsome, bedraggled man. “Mornin’.”
Oh goodness. Her heart doubled its beat against her will. His hair was splayed in all directions, his eyes only half open from sleep, and his chest blessedly covered with a Real Men Play Drums T-shirt. His forehead still sported a goose egg, but it had shrunk a little and turned a sad black and blue.
He is not your type, Mari. He’s rude, egotistical, and way too spontaneous. You’re not attracted t
o that kind of guy. At all. You’re just—guilty. Yeah. Guilty for his head injury. That’s all it is. “You want coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”
He shot her a grateful smile. “Ah, you’re an angel from Heaven, darlin’.”
She rolled her eyes to cover up the flip-flop of her heart as she padded over to the open kitchen and took a seat at one of the island bar stools. The sprawling white kitchen looked like it was straight out of a magazine, and Brandon standing in it, pouring himself coffee—she shook her head to get the homey picture from her mind. “You seen the news yet?”
“No. What’s going on?”
“Snow turned to ice.”
He took a sip of his coffee, leaning against the black granite counter. “How bad is it?”
“How do you feel about being homebound with two cranky four-year-olds and an equally cranky nanny for a few days?”
“Snowbound I can handle—the other worries me a little.”
She shrugged. “I have two little girls who are missing their mother and are already showing signs of cabin fever. We’re used to daily outings and playing outside. This storm is throwing off our schedule.”
“Ah, there’s your problem.” He came around the island and slid onto the barstool next to her. “Schedules and four-year-olds don’t belong in the same sentence.”
An unladylike snort came from her nose before she could stop it. “You are out of your mind. That’s called insanity, dear sir.”
“No, it’s called fun. Don’t you ever want to just burn the schedule, let loose and have fun with them?”
“You just described most of the last twenty-four hours with these children. Fun is not what I would define it as.” Well, not really anyway. The twins had enjoyed the impromptu game of hide-and-go-seek, until she’d almost killed their uncle, of course. And the rare afternoon of watching movies and eating the unheard of hot dogs and homemade French fries for dinner had gotten lots of cheers.
More than anything, it’d grated on Mari’s nerves to have to make things up as she went instead of following her carefully planned weekly schedule. Not to mention that she’d had plans this evening for dinner with her mom and stepdad she’d have to cancel.
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