Главная страница | Зарубежные любовные романы | Project: Daddy

Project: Daddy
Patricia Knoll
When Mac Weston found himself the guardian of his sister's children, he knew he was in trouble. He was a man who worked so hard he barely had time to look after himself, let alone a pair of mischievous toddlers. Which was why he hired Paris Barbour as the new nanny…Paris could see straightaway that Mac adored the children–he just didn't know how to show it. What he needed, she decided, was to learn how to be a daddy. But during his lessons, was Mac going to realize he was also ready to be a husband?


“‘Immediate position available. Housekeeper/nanny needed for two small children.’”
Paris rattled off the phone number, then looked up. “That’s you, right?”
Mac could only nod. “But that ad just appeared in the paper this morning….”
“Oh, good, then I am the first.” She seemed quite pleased with the notion. “Where are the children?”
“In the kitchen,” he mumbled, disgruntled. “Eating breakfast.” He considered telling her to leave and come back when he was ready to see her, but if she’d been into town, she already knew he was desperate.
“Oh,” she said. With an apologetic grimace, her eyes flickered to her watch. “I guess it is early. I wasn’t sure if you’d hired anyone else yet and if you hadn’t, I wanted to be the first today.”
“Believe me, you are,” he grumbled. “But since you’re here, you might as well come in.”
Dear Reader,
Back by popular request is our deliciously delightful series—BABY BOOM. We’ve asked some of your favorite authors in Harlequin Romance® to bring you a few more special deliveries—of the baby kind!
BABY BOOM is all about the true labor of love—parenthood and how to survive it! And Patricia Knoll’s Project: Daddy brings you a man who didn’t expect to be a dad just yet—and a woman with enough love to help him make a family.


When two’s company and three (or four…or five) is a family!

Project: Daddy
Patricia Knoll




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Barbara McMahon and Renee Roszel, whom I love for their writing and for their friendship.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#ub85bb710-1d46-5785-8b98-0681fa6d82e3)
CHAPTER TWO (#u28de17df-3d15-5781-8634-4f9fe9633eeb)
CHAPTER THREE (#uca842572-4f06-539b-9ab4-d39c124a9378)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
MACKENZIE—Mac—Weston felt as if he’d been picked up by a whirlwind—a five-and-a-half-foot tall one with curly strawberry-blond hair and big green eyes. A whirlwind with the unlikely name of Paris Katharine Barbour who had snatched him up at eight o’clock that morning and danced him merrily from one end of Cliff County to the other.
He’d spent half an hour standing in this very spot trying to figure out exactly how it had happened. He hooked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and stared out at the darkness, then grunted in frustration when he felt the loose jeans begin to slide down his hips. He stuck his thumbs through the belt loops and jerked them back up again. He should have put on a belt. All his jeans were loose these days, had been for months, but he hadn’t cared enough to do more than tighten his belt another notch and keep wearing them. He didn’t want new ones, couldn’t afford them. Anyway, he’d be horsewhipped before he’d go into Cliffside to buy them.
His jeans weren’t his immediate problem, though. Ms. Paris Katharine was a more urgent dilemma right now.
Mac thought back carefully over the conversation he’d had with her when she’d arrived at his door, suitcase in hand and bright smile on face.
He rubbed his jaw, unshaven for two days, and tried to pinpoint exactly where the whole situation had begun to go south on him….
“Mr. Weston?” she asked, sidling through the front door as soon as he’d opened it. She grinned up at him, dazzling him with a set of beautiful white teeth and a bow-shaped smile. “I’m Paris Barbour. The new housekeeper and nanny.” She peeked past his shoulder. “Why don’t I just come right in?”
“The new…?” Staggered by the full wattage of that smile, he stood with the door open, gaping at her as her long skirt, brightly patterned in shades of red, purple and yellow, swirled through the door behind her.
Paris reached back, gently pried the door from his grip and shut it firmly as if to assert that she was in now and wouldn’t be dislodged. Flashing him a supremely confident look, she set down her suitcase and her purse with a finality that had his stunned eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Paris…?”
“Barbour,” she supplied, her gaze darting around the foyer, taking in the putty-colored native stone beneath their feet and the pale yellow walls. “Paris Katharine Barbour. Fancy name, but one of my mom’s favorite movies was Summertime with Katharine Hepburn and Rossano Brazzi. The movie takes place in Venice, so Mom wanted to name me Venice Katharine—I think she identified with the idea of an older woman having a fling because she never really did anything outrageous in her life, my mom I mean, but my dad put his foot down and said he’d waited fifty years to have a child and no daughter of his was going to have such an unfeminine name, so they called me Paris instead.” She shrugged, then dazzled him with that smile once again. “I guess that’s okay. It’s better than being called Zurich or Detroit, wouldn’t you say?”
Mac couldn’t say anything. He was drowning in her torrent of words. It took him a few seconds to gasp his way to the surface. If he hadn’t witnessed it, he never would have believed a person could pack so many words into a single breath. Finally, he said, “Wha…why did you say you’re here?”
“Your advertisement, remember? I’m answering it.”
“In person?”
His appalled question caused a moment of doubt to flash in her eyes but it was quickly hidden by bravado. She lifted a delicately square chin and said, “Yes. Your ad sounded quite urgent, so I thought it would be best if I started work right away.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a newspaper clipping and held it up. “Immediate position available,” she read. “Housekeeper/nanny needed for two small children. Competitive salary and benefits offered.” She rattled off the phone number then looked up. “That’s you, right?”
Mac could only nod, still taken aback by her pushiness. “But that ad just appeared in the paper this morning….”
“Oh, good, then I am the first.” She seemed quite pleased with the notion.
“How’d you find me? I only gave the number.”
She waved airily. “Oh, that doesn’t matter, does it? I’m here now and that’s what’s important.” She rubbed her palms together expectantly and turned her head from side to side, peeking past his shoulder. That incredible hair of hers shifted softly, catching the weak morning light and magnifying its power. “Where are the children?”
Mac pushed his own too-long, damp hair out of his eyes and pulled the front of his shirt together—she’d caught him fresh out of the shower—and began to do up the buttons as he observed her and tried to get his brain to work even though it hadn’t yet been jumpstarted with a dose of caffeine. She made him think of that kids’ movie about the nanny who had blown in on the wind. Mary Poppins, that was the name. Maybe he’d better check outside and see if a gale had kicked up when he wasn’t looking.
“In the kitchen,” he mumbled, disgruntled. “Eating breakfast.” He considered telling her to leave and come back when he was ready to see her, but if she’d been into Cliffside, she already knew he was desperate for someone to watch Elly and Simon. No doubt, she also knew a great many other things about him, which made him wonder why she’d come here at all. On the other hand, she’d been in such a hurry, she might not have stopped in town.
“Oh,” she said. With an apologetic grimace, her eyes flickered to her watch. “I guess it is early. I wasn’t sure if you’d hired anyone else yet and if you hadn’t, I wanted to be the first one here today.”
“Believe me, you are,” he grumbled. “Since you’re here, you might as well come on into the kitchen.” He led the way up the short flight of steps from the entryway to the living room, and his gaze darted around self-consciously. It hadn’t bothered him before to let people see the place, bare and uninviting as it was, but something about this bright-eyed woman made him glance back for her reaction. It was a mistake. Her burnished hair and swirling skirt made it look as though someone had trapped a butterfly in the icy gray-and-whiteness of his living room.
Surprisingly, she didn’t say anything about the bareness of the room. After a moment, he wondered if she’d even noticed it because her gaze was fixed on the huge plate glass windows.
“Incredible view,” she murmured, evidently in awe of the vast expanse of ocean visible beyond the glass. The water was capped by flecks of white foam thrown up by the breeze and brightened by the morning sun slanting in from the east. “I’ve always wanted to live near the ocean.”
He’d heard that line before. Annoyed, he said, “If that’s your only reason for wanting this job, you’re in the wrong place.”
She turned swiftly and gave him a direct look from those clear green eyes. “It’s not my only reason. In fact, it’s not a reason at all. I didn’t know about the ocean view, remember? I’m here because I need a job and this is one I’ll be good at.”
Mac gave her the full force of his frown, the one he’d been told made him look like a grizzly bear with indigestion. The butterfly didn’t back down from the impact of it, but tilted her head and gave him another of those expectant looks as if she was asking if he had any other comments to make.
He did. “Well, we’ll see about that. Come on.” Turning, he led the way past the windows, through the formal dining room which held nothing but a built-in sideboard, empty of all but a gray film of dust, and through a wide archway into the kitchen.
He heard her rock to a stop behind him and looked back to see her taking in the sight of the kitchen. It was certainly impressive. On the right, a stainless steel restaurant-quality range and oven stood beside a glass-fronted refrigerator. On the left were a double sink, a vegetable sink, and long, bare white-tiled counters. All the cabinet fronts were painted stark white and had plain steel hardware. A food preparation island in the middle of the room was topped by a concrete slab that he’d been assured was the height of home fashion.
“When does the surgical team arrive?” Paris murmured, then gave him an apologetic look and clamped her lips shut.
He frowned at her again, although he agreed with her assessment. However, he hadn’t been the one to choose the decor, and it didn’t really matter to him. It was a kitchen, he could get food there, after a fashion, and that’s all that mattered, or had been all that mattered until a few days ago. Now he spent more time there and the desolate place was beginning to get on his nerves.
He gestured for her to follow him to a bay window. In the alcove was a chrome and red vinyl dinette set straight out of the nineteen fifties. It was a castoff from his parents’ house and the only thing in the place with a speck of personality. Paris must have thought so, too, because her gaze swept over it appreciatively before landing on his niece and nephew.
Four-year-old Elly knelt on one of the chairs where he had settled her before he and Simon had headed for the shower. She was rocking rhythmically as she leaned over the table and ate from a bowl. Her head full of coppery curls had gone uncombed since she’d arrived at Uncle Mac’s house. Eighteen-month-old Simon, also a curly redhead, was perched on a stack of books and tied securely onto the chair with a necktie that ran beneath his armpits and was knotted behind him. Both children looked up when the adults entered. Their faces were smeared with chocolate, giving them a comical appearance, but neither child smiled. Reacting to the sight of yet another stranger, Elly scooted down from her chair and hurried around to stand protectively beside her baby brother.
It made Mac uncomfortable to meet the solemn blue eyes of his niece and nephew, but he didn’t know quite how to remedy the problem. He’d rarely seen them before their arrival two days ago and he knew absolutely nothing about kids, could barely even remember his own childhood, in fact.
Paris flashed one of her vivid smiles at the two kids who blinked at her hesitantly. “Hello,” she said. “My name is Paris. What’s yours?”
Elly gave Mac a questioning glance and he nodded reassuringly even as he wondered at this about-face. Two days ago, the little girl had been afraid of him. Now she was looking to him for reassurance. Finally, Elly lifted a chocolate-covered hand to point to herself. “Elly,” she said. “And that’s Simon. He’s just a baby.”
“So I see.” Paris moved toward the table and glanced into the children’s bowls. Mac shuffled his feet and looked down when he saw the amazement that crossed her face. “What are you having for breakfast?” she asked in a strangled voice.
“Choc’late bars,” Elly answered, returning to her own bowl and scooping up another fingerful. “It’s good.”
Mac felt Paris’s gaze on him and he met it with a one-shouldered shrug. “Haven’t had time to get to the grocery store,” he muttered, then could have kicked himself for offering an explanation to this woman he didn’t even know.
She brightened and he figured she was probably laughing at him. “Then that’s something I can handle for you, isn’t it?” Seeing that Elly was finished with her breakfast, Paris flashed a quick look around the untarnished kitchen and said, “Why don’t we wash your hands before you get down?”
Before Elly could answer, Paris tore paper towels from a roll by the sink, wet them and began wiping Elly’s hands free of chocolate. Elly gave Paris a startled look as if she wanted to pull away, but Paris began prattling on about what a beautiful day it was and how lucky they were to live by the ocean, and had they seen the seagulls flying overhead that morning? In the face of such good-natured chatter, cautious Elly relaxed. She even offered Paris a tiny, tentative smile.
Mac felt disgruntled. Elly hadn’t allowed him to touch her until late last night, screaming for her mother each time he tried to do something for her. Poor kid, her mother was long gone. Simon, on the other hand, seemed to like Mac. At least he didn’t holler whenever Mac came near him.
Just so she wouldn’t think he was completely hopeless, Mac got both children glasses of water to drink, but when she treated him to another of those questioning looks he had to admit, “No milk, either.”
He hustled the children into the family room to watch Saturday morning cartoons. When they were lying on the floor in front of the screen, he breathed a sigh of relief that they’d be safely occupied for a while, and turned back to the kitchen. He’d never interviewed a housekeeper/nanny before, but he had a basic idea of what questions he needed to ask. Any good parent, even a temporary one, knew that there were certain things kids needed: food, cleanliness, companionship, discipline. He figured if he paid for the first one, and paid the nanny enough, she could provide the rest of the list.
In the kitchen, he found that Paris was busy going through the cupboards and refrigerator. She had located a piece of paper and a pencil and was making a list.
“Wait,” he said, holding up his hand. “Before you make plans to move in and take over, I need to know a few things about you.”
“Sure,” she answered breezily, as she clucked over the bareness of his refrigerator. He frowned at her. It wasn’t bare. He had two six-packs of beer and a couple of stale doughnuts in there, as well as five different kinds of gourmet mustard. He didn’t usually eat at home, but picked up breakfast, lunch and dinner at any fast-food place he happened to pass on his way to and from work.
“My name is Paris…oh, I already told you my name. I’m a widow.” He couldn’t read her expression or her tone of voice when she said that, but he thought she sounded very matter-of-fact. “I need a job and this looks like something I can do.”
Mac strolled over to where she was standing, slapped his hand against the refrigerator door to shut it, and said, “What exactly do you mean by that?”
She tilted her head and smiled. A California jay had nothing on this girl in the perkiness department. “It means I can take care of this house and your children.”
“They’re not my children,” he admitted, then stepped back when he realized he could detect the scent of her perfume. It smelled like April violets and somehow went straight to his head. He needed coffee. Turning away, he reached for the coffeemaker and began making the brew.
“They’re not?”
“Elly and Simon are my sister’s kids. Sheila arrived a couple of days ago, just after I got home from work and said she needed for me to take care of them for a while. She was on her way to Africa on a photographic safari.”
“She’s a photographer?”
Mac growled, “She doesn’t know a lens cap from a viewfinder. Her new boyfriend is a photographer and she went along to keep him company. Unfortunately, she had two little responsibilities standing in her way.” As Paris made a soft sound of distress, Mac viciously ripped the plastic lid off a can of coffee and scooped grounds into the filter. It still infuriated him that Sheila had shown up blithely assuming that he would take the kids, kissed them goodbye and left them, wailing loudly, in his faulty care.
He didn’t know why he was surprised. The whole family had spoiled Sheila and done her bidding throughout her life. Her divorce had come about because her husband, as feckless and selfish as she, wouldn’t cater to her the way the Weston family had. The husband had taken off shortly after the divorce, had never even seen Simon. When Sheila had decided to go on safari, big brother Mac had seemed the logical choice to take care of her children.
Poor little tykes, he thought, pouring water into the coffeemaker and switching it on. Dragged from pillar to post their whole lives, then left in the care of the one person who was the least likely to know what to do with them. Surreptitiously, he studied Paris who had seated herself at the table after carefully checking to make sure she’d cleaned up all chocolate smears. He wondered how capable she was of caring for the two children. So far, he hadn’t pulled any hard information out of her except that she was a widow. His gaze drifted over her as he wondered what had become of her husband and how long the man had been dead. She didn’t seem too broken up, but then, who was he to judge how misfortune affected anyone? The good citizens of Cliffside said the lousy things that had happened in his life had only served to make him meaner and more stubborn. Too bad he couldn’t disagree with them.
He poured coffee for both of them and handed her a cup. She sipped it cautiously and opened her mouth as if to ask for cream or milk, then apparently recalled that he had none, so she drank stoically. Mac supposed he shouldn’t have made it the way he usually did, strong enough to float an ax handle.
“Do you have a resume?” he asked abruptly.
“Certainly.” She had left her suitcase by the front door, but had set her purse on one of the kitchen chairs while tending to Elly. Paris opened the large bag and pulled out an envelope which she handed to him with a flourish, her eyes full of the same bravado he’d seen moments before. Mac wondered about that as he pulled out the folded page and smoothed it.
He scanned it quickly and his eyebrows inched up. Finally, he bent down one corner of the paper and looked at her over the top. She seemed to be busy examining the blue sky outside the window. When she felt him looking at her, she brought her attention back to him and gave him a sprightly smile. “Impressive, isn’t it?” she asked on a hopeful note.
Mac stared at her, stared at the paper, then at her again. “Organized the annual fund-raiser for the Junior League?”
“And topped our previous year’s earnings, I might add,” she said with a firm nod and a tap of her fingernail on the tabletop.
“Chairman of the country club ball committee?”
“Everyone in attendance said it was the best ball they’d ever seen.”
“Scandinavian cooking classes?”
“My Danish frikadellar are to die for,” she assured him as she linked her fingers together loosely on the tabletop and sat forward as if waiting for his applause.
He scanned the resume again, just in case he’d missed something. “There’s no evidence here that you’ve ever held a real, salary-paying job.”
Her hands tightened around each other. “Oh?”
“Have you?” he prompted.
“Held a salaried position? Noooo,” she answered, drawing the word out. “I can’t say that I have.”
“All you’ve ever done is volunteer work?”
“I’ve done it very well, though.”
“Mrs. Barbour…”
“Paris, please.”
He ignored her interruption and soldiered on. “These accomplishments have nothing to do with taking care of children or running a house.”
“That’s not true. If you’ll look carefully, you’ll see I had extensive experience doing baby-sitting all through high school. I didn’t get an allowance so that was how I earned spending money. Also, I spent a summer caring for two children while their mom was sick.”
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Baby-sitting is far different than being a nanny.”
“The duties are basically the same.”
“But the responsibility isn’t. Taking care of two children for a few hours is very different than caring for them day in and day out.”
“That’s true,” she agreed. “Fortunately, I’m versatile and can learn quickly. Why, I’d never even been involved with a fund-raiser before I headed up the one for the Junior League, but it did far better than expected.”
Mac’s eyes narrowed. “That’s fine, but when exactly was the last time you actually took care of children?”
Her eyes made a quick survey of the corners of the room as if looking for spider webs—like the ones she was catching herself in, Mac thought cynically. “About six years ago,” she admitted in a rush, giving him a sincere nod that set her hair to bouncing around her shoulders. “However, it’s a skill I’ve never forgotten, and truly, I can do anything I set my mind to. Like I said, I’m a quick learner.”
And a fast talker, he thought, trying to suppress the admiration he felt for her determination. “Have you ever run a house?”
“Of course,” she answered firmly, but her eyes couldn’t quite meet his. “Well, I supervised.”
With a last disparaging glance at her resume, Mac refolded it and shoved it back into the envelope. He didn’t know what kind of game she was playing, but he wanted no part of it. “Why would a society girl like you want this job?”
“I’m not a society girl. At least, not any longer. I need to provide for myself. This is a job that I can do. You won’t be taking any risk by hiring me,” she went on fervently. “There are character references on my resume who will vouch for my honesty. I’m a good cook, anybody can clean house, and what I don’t know about taking care of children, I can learn.”
“No,” he began, shaking his head, but she cut him off.
“A two-week trial, then,” she pleaded, her eyes going deep green in her distress. “That’s all I ask.”
Mac felt an uncomfortable stillness within him as he looked at the need in her eyes. He wanted to back away like a crab scrambling across the sand. Wasn’t it enough that he had these two kids to look out for? He didn’t want anyone else around who had needs of any kind that he would have to deal with. Before he could react, she reached across the table and cupped her hand over his, squeezing firmly as she tried to convince him.
Mac reacted as if a live wire had wrapped itself around his wrist. He recoiled and she snatched her hand away. She flushed, obviously embarrassed by what she’d done and stunned by his reaction. Shifting in his chair, he sat back and tried to cover his retreat with a sip of coffee.
What the heck had that been about? he wondered. No mystery, he decided after a moment. He’d gone too long without having a woman around and it just proved he didn’t need this one around, either.
Mac cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but you won’t do, Mrs. Barbour. I need someone with more experience.”
“But I’m reliable,” she said, desperately. Pointing toward the room where the children were watching cartoons, she said, “You could see for yourself that Elly liked me. That’s something I can build on. Besides,” she went on in a breathless tone, as if she’d used up all her ammunition and was prepared to go down fighting anyway, “The economy is good right now, there are all kinds of jobs available for anyone who wants one—”
“Then why don’t you try for one of those?” Mac broke in.
Her mouth opened and closed. He had her there and it took her a moment to regroup and come charging back.
“I would prefer to work in a home. I was trying to say that it’s possible you might have trouble finding someone who’d like to work out here. It’s somewhat…isolated.”
The words desolate and godforsaken, spoken in the voice of his ex-fiancée, Judith, echoed in his mind. She’d wanted to live near the ocean but only if there were plenty of socializing opportunities, preferably a yacht club nearby. She hadn’t been too thrilled with his plan to build the house near his hometown of Cliffside on this rocky section of coast. He’d partially redeemed himself in her eyes by letting her take over the interior design of the place—which was how he’d ended up living in something that looked like the guts of an iceberg.
He couldn’t imagine that Miss Country Club Ball would turn out to be any different than Judith. On the other hand, he was afraid this girl had a point. No one from Cliffside would want to work for him and he had only today and tomorrow to find someone to care for Elly and Simon. He had to be at work on Monday or risk losing his own job. He had a bad feeling about this, though. A really bad feeling. This girl was too attractive, too alive to be around him, around this place that was full of raw emotions and bad memories. No doubt it was unhealthy for Elly and Simon, too, but they were stuck with it.
But Elly and Simon were the ones he had to consider, not himself. He might resent Sheila for dumping them on him, but he had to do his best by them. Despite what the locals might think, he always fulfilled his responsibilities.
He couldn’t have her here, though. He stared at Paris’s hopeful, earnest face for several seconds and was opening his mouth to say once more that she wouldn’t do when Simon came into the room. He was dragging his blanket and carrying a book under his arm.
“Wead,” Simon grunted, holding up the book.
Relieved because he could use the little boy as an excuse to end this interview and send Paris on her way, Mac reached for his nephew. Simon ignored Mac’s outstretched hand, skirted around him, and headed straight for Paris who looked startled, but pulled the baby into her lap and examined the book.
“Animals,” she said. “My favorite subject.”
Satisfied, Simon leaned back against her, popped his thumb into his mouth, and reached up to begin twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. Once again, Paris looked surprised, but she didn’t pull away, earning herself points with both Simon and Mac.
As she opened the book and began reading about Simon’s favorite animals, Mac felt himself soften toward her. Maybe it was true that kids and dogs were good judges of who to trust. If so, Simon obviously trusted Paris.
Still, she had little experience or training. A woman from the country club set had no business here, and why would she want the job, anyway? He wasn’t satisfied with her explanation, what there was of it, and wanted more answers, but getting more answers would mean keeping her around and it was best if he hustled her out the door as quickly as possible. And he would, too, as soon as she finished reading to Simon.
As he watched, Paris snuggled Simon close and turned so the sunlight that had sneaked in the window could fall on the book. It fell on her hair, as well, burnishing it gold, and giving her skin a luminous clarity. To his horror, Mac felt as if that light was reaching toward him. Mentally, he backed away, fabricating imaginary barriers as he went, but when Simon looked up unexpectedly and gave his uncle a grin for the first time since his arrival, Mac felt something inside himself crumple and give way. Although it was the last thing he would have expected to come out of his mouth, he abruptly said, “Two weeks.”
Paris placed her finger on the page and glanced up curiously. “Excuse me?”
Feeling like five kinds of a fool, Mac said, “You can have a two-week trial. Then we’ll see. And I should warn you that I don’t know how long the job will last. Sheila could return next week or next year, but I suspect she’ll be gone for a while. We’ll start with two weeks.”
Relief and joy flooded her face, brightening her eyes. “You won’t regret it, Mr. Weston.”
He already did. Then to make sure she knew he was boss, he repeated it. “Two-week trial. That’s all. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll end it right there, no hard feelings on either side.”
She smiled as if he’d handed her a gift. All her other smiles had been designed to charm him and get what she wanted. He was used to that kind. This one was pure pleasure and gratitude as if he’d done a great thing and was a heck of a nice guy.
Mac couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him like that, if anyone ever had. Again, he felt that odd softening going on in his gut and he scowled to fight it off.
“Two weeks,” Paris said, obviously trying to hide her glee and appear professional. “That sounds perfectly fair.” She gave Simon a hug. “Why don’t I get started as soon as I finish this book?”

CHAPTER TWO
AND get started she had. She had taken the money he’d given her and started out to stock up the pantry. He’d headed her off before she left.
“Go into Alban. It’s fifteen miles down the highway.”
Paris, busy double-checking her shopping list, looked up in surprise. “I can go to Cliffside. It’s much closer.”
“And prices are higher. Go to Alban. There’s a supermarket there.”
She started to protest again, but he held up his hand. “While you’re gone, I’ll check your references.”
Her expression told him she wanted to argue, but she kept a lid on it. He hadn’t meant to make it sound like coercion, but if it would get her to do as he asked without having to go into detailed explanations, he would let her think what she liked.
Finally, her lips pinched together and she nodded. “All right.”
He could tell she was put out, though he wasn’t sure if it was directed at him for being so insistent, or herself for giving in so easily. He saw a small war waging in her as if she was battling to keep her thoughts to herself. He had to admire that, but he didn’t want to because it would make her too real to him, too much a person.
He’d known her less than an hour, and he didn’t intend to get to know her much better. After all, she was an employee and he’d learned the hard way that employer/employee familiarity was to be avoided at all costs. In spite of that resolution, he found himself offering the use of his truck for her trip to Alban.
“Is that it?” she asked, nodding toward the ten-year-old battle-scarred extended cab pickup truck parked in the driveway.
“Yes. You’ll need space for all the items on that list.”
The annoyance he’d seen in her eyes was replaced by amusement. “No thanks. I don’t like driving unfamiliar vehicles. I’ll take my own car.” She hesitated, then pushed her unruly hair back from her face and met his gaze. “I just brought in one suitcase. Since I’m going to be staying, I might as well bring in everything to make room for the groceries in my car.”
With that, she whirled out the door and left him to trail along in her wake battling his own irritation that she’d turned the tables on him. Still, he felt another spurt of grudging admiration at the way she’d done it.
They unloaded her car and he carried everything inside while she’d roared away in the small compact that sounded as if it badly needed a tune-up. As he placed her things in the room she’d chosen next to the children’s then went to check on Elly and Simon, Mac speculated that, given her resume, she’d probably been accustomed to a better car but she’d obviously fallen on hard times. Or hard times had fallen on her.
That made two of them. He’d had a fancy, fully-loaded sport utility vehicle that had impressed the heck out of the neighborhood, as well as a midnight-blue sports car that had been his pride, but he’d sold them both without a qualm when he’d needed money. Funny how little either of those had mattered when weighed against his good name.
Now as he stared out at the ocean, Mac, who hadn’t been curious about much of anything for more than a year now, wondered what she’d given up, and why, to be where she was now—a nanny and housekeeper to a lonely man and two abandoned kids.
Paris quietly pulled the bedroom door almost closed behind her, leaving it open just enough to provide a night light for the children and enable her to hear them if they cried out. After peeking down the long, bare hall to make sure she was alone, she allowed her shoulders to slump wearily as she headed for her own room next door.
She was grateful that Elly and Simon had been tired enough to go right to sleep. Though she didn’t know very much about children, she fully understood what it was like to have the world turn upside down and land on top of her and that’s exactly what Elly and Simon had experienced. She’d known them less than fourteen hours, but she wanted to try and make things easier for them. It broke her heart to see sturdy little Elly’s stoic acceptance of her circumstances and her protectiveness toward Simon. Elly had warmed toward Paris during the course of the day and they had made a cautious start toward being friends. When Simon had lost some of his shyness and begun to talk to Paris, Elly had interpreted his baby talk. Still, Paris wondered if the little girl would call out in the night if she was frightened. Hoping she would, and that Paris herself would waken if she was needed, she turned her thoughts to her own situation.
Sheer nerve and desperation had carried her through the day and she was bone-tired. Rubbing her knuckles across her forehead, she sank onto the side of the bed and asked herself what in the world she’d gotten into.
The newspaper ad had seemed like a wonderful gift when she’d first seen it; work she knew she could do in an out-of-the way place where no one knew or cared about her, but this…
Dismayed, she looked around at the stark place. A bed, a table, and a lamp were the entire furnishings, the bleakness of it almost identical to the children’s room which held only a baby playpen and a single bed. Every item looked as though it had been recently purchased at a rummage sale. Elly’s bed still had a little yellow stick-on tag with the price printed by hand. Paris wondered if Mac had run out to scavenge whatever he could as soon as he knew he had to keep the children. She admired that, even as she knew he probably only saw it as doing his duty.
The saddest thing she’d seen among the children’s belongings, though, was the lack of toys and clothes in the closet, as if their mother couldn’t be bothered to bring all they might need or want. She’d wanted to cry at the sight. Her horror at the way they’d been abandoned had been matched by her distress over their uncle’s ineptitude. Truthfully though, she couldn’t say he didn’t care about them. Mac, at least, had some sense of responsibility, certainly more than his sister had.
The sight of the imposing glass-and-cedar home had given her pause when she had first sighted it that morning, but it was so beautiful, and so perfectly positioned on the cliff overlooking the Pacific, she had decided to at least ask about the job. The closer she’d come to the door, the more she had tightened up on her courage until even the sight of the imposing man who answered it couldn’t stop her from barreling inside as if she had every right to be there.
She knew she had given Mac an erroneous impression of herself, maybe even a wrong one, letting him think she was bold and outspoken, when in truth, she was outgoing but not bossy. Usually, only nervousness made her that way. When she had left her small hometown of Hadley in the Imperial Valley, though, she had decided that she had to change. Her days of depending on others to look out for her were over. Being dependent had gained her nothing but a mountain of debts and a broken heart.
Shuddering at the memory of her flight from Hadley, and some of the things that had happened since, she stood suddenly and began unpacking her suitcase, laying the items she would need for the night on the bed and making a mental note to find boxes of some kind to use as a makeshift dresser.
She was wildly curious to know why the house was so bare. Couldn’t he afford furniture? Didn’t he want any? As yet, she didn’t know him well enough to judge whether or not he seemed content with so little, but somehow she didn’t think it mattered to him.
Paris considered the man who had hired her. Mac seemed tense, watchful. More than once that day she’d felt his attention on her and looked up to find him viewing her with a gaze that seemed to be questioning her actions and motives. Not that she blamed him. She knew her resume was far less than impressive—as were her references. However, what Mac had learned about her must have been satisfactory because he hadn’t backed down on his offer to hire her.
Although she was grateful for the job, she wondered why she’d been awarded it. She wasn’t going to ask him and risk being told it was all a terrible mistake and she’d have to go.
“Avoidance at all costs,” she murmured to herself, wincing guiltily as she acknowledged it was a character flaw she was trying to overcome. She wouldn’t be in this predicament now if she hadn’t been so intent on pretending that everything was okay with Keith, if she hadn’t avoided knowing that he was gullibly squandering his own fortune and everything she’d inherited from her parents, if she hadn’t helped him squander it until she’d finally wised up.
Shaking off those maudlin thoughts, Paris moved her tired body out of the room and into the hallway to speak to her new boss. When she got no answer to her knock on his bedroom door, she knew she’d have to search the house for him. “Shouldn’t be hard to find,” she whispered to herself, examining the picture-free walls and pristine carpet. “He can’t exactly hide behind the furniture.”
Telling herself that she wasn’t intimidated by this brooding, disturbing man, Paris walked briskly through the house until she found him before the huge plate glass of the living room windows, staring out into the night. She stopped and hung back so that her reflection wouldn’t catch his attention.
Mac stood with his head thrust forward, causing his midnight-black hair to fall over his forehead. His hands were thrust into the back pockets of his jeans. Though he was physically fit and his arms were roped with muscles, he was too skinny. His clothes hung on a frame that seemed to carry twenty pounds less than it should. She doubted that he had thinned down on purpose. He had told her he was a carpenter and she knew he needed strength and stamina for such a job. Another quick examination of the living room had her wondering if he was more than a carpenter. He may have built this place himself, and she had a hunch he’d also had a hand in designing it. Something about the design of the house, the high ceilings and view of the ocean made her picture him bending over a draftsman’s table, carefully laying out the plans.
His face was thin and gaunt, as well, his dark eyes shadowed, hiding secrets. He stood with one shoulder turned slightly toward the window in a way that made her think of someone shouldering a burden, taking on yet another heavy load. She had never considered herself to be particularly astute at reading people. If she had, she certainly would have tried to keep Keith from giving their money to fast-talking charlatans. She could read Mac Weston, though, and what she saw told her he had been through rough times and they still weren’t behind him.
Against her will, she felt herself drawn to him as she was to his niece and nephew. She had no idea what his story was, but it struck a chord in her and made her more curious about him. Paris reminded herself that she needed to remember that this was just a job, one she would hold until she got back on her feet and decided what she was going to do with the rest of her life.
She must have moved or made a sound, because Mac’s head came up and the brooding look in his eyes gave way to caution as if he feared he’d revealed something of himself. He had, but she pretended as if she hadn’t seen it. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “The kids…”
“Are asleep,” she said, forcing briskness into her voice and striding into the room. Strangely, she felt her exhaustion fall away and vitality take its place as she joined him. “I left their door open so I could hear them. Will they sleep all night?”
“They’ve only been here two nights, and they haven’t slept much either night.” Mac ran his hand over his face. Paris knew he hadn’t either.
“I came to find out when you want breakfast.” She hadn’t been a housekeeper for very long, but she knew that was the kind of question she was supposed to ask. After all, her housekeeper used to ask her that question.
“Feed them whenever they get hungry,” he answered, his dark eyes regarding her in some confusion.
“No, I mean you, what time do you want your breakfast?”
“I can take care of myself,” he said gruffly, as if it didn’t matter. “That’s not why I hired you. You’re here to take care of Elly and Simon.”
Paris took exception to his dismissive tone. “And this house and everything connected with it, right? Including meals.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll get my own food.”
Even though she hadn’t intended to, Paris glanced at the way his jeans hung on his frame. Against her will, her lips tilted into a smile as if to say he hadn’t been doing such a good job of feeding himself. “You hired me to cook and that’s what I intend to—”
“No,” he said, scowling at her. “I don’t need you fussing over me.”
Her eyes widened. “Fussing? I’m trying to do my job.”
“Which is to take care of Elly and Simon, not me.”
Paris could only stare. What kind of man was this who couldn’t accept anything from someone he’d hired to help him? A stubborn and proud one, she concluded.
“Wait a minute, Mr. Weston…”
Wincing, he held up his hand. “Mac, please,” he said.
“Mac, then.” She took a breath. “Although I admit I don’t have much experience as a housekeeper…”
“Much?” he asked, his black brows rising skeptically.
“All right. Very little actual hands-on experience as a housekeeper,” she said, exasperated. “But I’ve been around many of them and their job is to cook and care for the whole family, not just the children.”
“Think of yourself as a pioneer in the housekeeping field, then Mrs. Barbour,” he suggested.
“Paris.” This time she was the one to do the correcting and was surprised to discover it felt good.
“You don’t have to worry about me. Just take care of the kids so I can get to work and hang onto the job that provides for all of us.”
Paris didn’t much like the way he said that, as if what she did with the kids wasn’t important as long as they were cared for. Maybe she had given him too much credit when considering how generous he was to take in Elly and Simon. It didn’t sound as though he had any intention of being involved with them at all.
To test the waters, she asked, “And what time will you be coming home in the evenings? I’m sure you’ll want to spend some quality time with the children when you do.”
His head drew back. Was that panic she saw flash in his eyes? Puzzled, she blinked at him.
“I’ll be home when I get home. This is the busy season in the construction industry and we work as many hours as we can before the winter rains hit. In fact, I often work weekends.”
Dismayed, Paris couldn’t think of a thing to say. She understood he had to work, but he sounded as if he wanted to do all he could to avoid coming home to Elly and Simon. At this point, she was tempted to back away, to accept what he said and meekly agree to it. She’d done that so often with Keith who’d had so many good-natured stories and excuses for his actions that she’d become mired in his logic. This was different, though. In her discussions with Keith, she’d had only herself to consider. Now she had to think about two children and what was best for them. Being stuck all day with the housekeeper/nanny, no matter how devoted, wasn’t best for them. For their sake, she went on instead of backing off as she might have done before.
“So you’re saying that we should just expect you when we see you?”
“That about covers it. I’m trusting you to take care of everything they need.” His eyes narrowed. “I thought I’d made that clear this morning.”
“I understand what my duties are, I just don’t understand what you think yours are if not to be a caring, loving presence for them.”
Annoyance swept over his face. She didn’t need any kind of interpreter to tell her that she’d gone too far, but she couldn’t back down even if she got fired as the culmination of her first day of work.
He stepped forward and leaned in to look into her eyes. Toughness and irritation seemed to vibrate from him like light waves. “If I get fired, I’ll be a constant presence for them since I’ll be hanging around the house all day, but I’d rather not get fired, if it’s all the same to you.”
Paris’s lips thinned as she met his gaze. Because she couldn’t trust herself to speak, she nodded once, quickly and he answered with a nod of his own as if they’d sealed a bargain.
Mac started to step away, then checked himself as if he had more to say. Her eyes holding his, Paris waited for what else would come. He opened his mouth, then paused. His gaze drifted from hers, then dropped lower, touching on her cheek, then her lips. She felt a tingling there which seemed to sweep down her throat and chest to strike with a thud in the center of her stomach. Jerking in a huge breath, she stepped back.
He blinked as if a fingersnap had roused him, and he, too, stepped back. Mac cleared his throat, stuck his hands, palm out into the back pockets of his jeans, then pulled them out again. “I called your references.”
“And?” Paris couldn’t help the caution in her voice.
“They checked out, even though that girl you had listed, Carolyn, said she hadn’t seen you in five years.”
Paris’s hands drifted up to play with the collar of her blouse. “Has it been that long?”
“And the man—your family doctor? Well, he could barely stop laughing long enough for me to ask the questions, but he did confirm the excellent state of your health.”
“Laughing?”
“Apparently, he thought the idea of you being a housekeeper and nanny was pretty funny.”
“Well,” Paris said primly. “Dr. Gaddis is…easily amused.”
“Mm-hm.”
He obviously didn’t believe that stretching of the truth, so she dropped it and said, “The important thing is that they could vouch for my character, right? So my two-week trial is on?”
“Looks like.” Mac tilted his head and gave her a speculative look as if once again, there was more he wanted to say. Instead, he turned abruptly and started from the room. “I’m going to bed. Wake me if you need help with the kids in the night.”
Paris stared at his disappearing back. “Well, I’ll be darned,” she murmured. In one breath he’d virtually turned the kids and their complete care over to her, and in the next, he’d subtly reminded her that he was watching her closely.
It wasn’t fair, she thought grumpily, as she switched off the living room light and made her way to her own room. She wanted to slot him into a neat pigeonhole in her mind, but he wouldn’t fit.
Her father had been a robust, yet simple man whose life had revolved around planting and harvesting, watching the weather and gauging how many cubic feet of water he would need for irrigating his celery crop. Her husband Keith had been sweet and shy, eager to please absolutely everyone around him.
This man had more facets than a fistful of diamonds. She frowned at that poor analogy. There was nothing precious or jewel-like about him, though he certainly seemed to have the hardness of a diamond. Bemused, she prepared for bed.
Paris woke up when a small hand pinched her nostrils shut. Gasping, she jerked into wakefulness and reached out to grab Elly’s wrist and pull it away.
“You ’wake?” the little girl whispered, putting her face up close to Paris’s.
“I am now,” Paris admitted, struggling upward. She reached out to snap on the light.
In the sudden brightness, she and Elly blinked at each other. The little girl’s fiery curls tumbled about her face, her eyes were full of tears and her bottom lip trembled. She clutched a tattered stuffed rabbit to her chest and was holding one of its ears to her cheek.
“Simon wants to sleep with you,” she announced. “He’s scared and he wants to get in your bed. He wants me to be in your bed, too.”
“He does?” Trying hard to focus and clear sleep-fog from her brain, Paris looked around the room. It was empty except for her and Elly. “Where is he?”
Elly turned. “He’s goned,” she said, alarm rising in her voice as she scooted off the bed and hurried from the room.
Paris threw back the covers, grabbed for her robe and rushed after the little girl. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and fumbled for the belt as she shuffled into the hallway. Elly was already in her own room, frantically searching the playpen for her little brother when Paris joined her.
“He’s not here,” Elly wailed. “Somebody’s got him.”
“No, no, we’ll find him,” Paris assured her, sweeping Elly into her arms. The little girl immediately curled her arms around Paris’s neck in a stranglehold. A soft cry behind them told her where the little boy was. Paris turned and hurried back to the hallway, where she found Simon sleepily fumbling at the knob of Mac’s bedroom door. He couldn’t quite reach it, and his groggy efforts were heartrending to see.
Paris rushed to him. “It’s okay, Simon. Come with me,” she whispered, staggering slightly as Elly’s weight around her neck pitched her forward. She stumbled against the door just as it was swept open by Mac. Paris barreled into him.
“Oomph,” he grunted, taking the impact of her head against his chest muscles.
Paris bounced back, her ears ringing. Were his pectoral muscles made of iron, she wondered, as she struggled to keep her grip on Elly. Mac’s arm shot out automatically to hold the two females upright. His free hand slapped the hall light on and they all squinted in its brightness.
“Oomph,” Simon repeated softly, wrapping himself around Mac’s legs, then said “oomph” again as if the sound of it pleased him and his fright was forgotten. Calm now, he looked up to see what everyone else was going to do.
“What’s going on?” Mac asked, his voice low and knotted with sleep.
“The children woke, and…” Paris began, pushing away from the disturbing strength of his arms and clutching Elly to her like a shield. She wished she had a free hand to smooth her tumbled hair and make sure her knee-length robe covered her decently, then wondered why she cared. No one else did.
“We wanna sleep with you,” Elly said, bringing Paris back to the reason for these midnight wanderings. “Me and Simon.”
Paris blinked at her. “I thought you wanted to sleep with me.”
“Yeah.” Elly’s tangled curls bounced as she nodded vigorously. “We do. Don’t we, Simon? Elly and Simon want to sleep with you.”
“Seep,” Simon confirmed, and popped his thumb into his mouth.
“You can’t have it both ways, Elly. You can either sleep with your Uncle Mac, or with Paris,” she pointed out, automatically picking up on Elly’s habit of speaking of herself in the third person.
“Unka Mac and Pris,” Elly said, nodding as if the adults had finally understood and it was all settled. She lifted herself in Paris’s arms and tried to peer past the shoulders that were blocking the doorway. “Let’s go.”
The four of them in the same bed? Paris’s eyes widened then shot from the bed to its owner, who was treating them to his familiar scowl. He didn’t seem to like the idea any better than she did. Bolstered, she said, “No, Elly, we can’t do that—”
“Why not?” Mac interrupted.
Alarmed, Paris met his gaze. “Why, we just can’t, that’s all. It would…it would set a bad precedent,” she finished lamely.
“It would mean we’d all get some sleep,” he responded.
Paris swept a stunned look over his face and across his chest. Oh yeah? She barely kept herself from voicing her skepticism aloud. “No, it would be best if I took the children into my bed, and we slept there.”
Simon grunted to be picked up. Mac glanced down, looking momentarily baffled, then realized what the boy wanted and bent to lift him into his arms. Simon didn’t curl trustingly against Mac the way Elly was doing with Paris, but he did reach out and begin twining his fingers through Mac’s chest hairs, plucking at them happily.
“Ouch,” Mac said, starting to pull the baby’s hand away. Realizing that hurt worse because of Simon’s grip, he winced and gingerly peeled the little fingers off instead. He looked from one child to the other. “How about it, kids, do you want to sleep with Paris?”
“No,” Elly said firmly. “Pris and Mac and Elly and Simon.”
Mac yawned. “Makes sense to me. Come on. There’s room for all of us.”
He stepped into the room and Paris could see his bed. His room was the only one she hadn’t entered that day and she didn’t look at it now. Her gaze sought out the bed and stuck there.
Indeed, there was room enough for all of them. It was king-sized with fluffy pillows and a puffy burgundy-colored comforter that had been thrown back in his haste to scramble from bed and see who was at his door.
Room or not, she still didn’t want to do this. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I’ve been up almost every night. This is my opportunity to sleep and I’m going to take it. The kids wouldn’t sleep with me in here, so I slept on the floor in their room. My back aches from it and I’m by dam…darned going to sleep all night in my own bed if there’s any way at all that I can do that. Now drop your objections, don’t fear for your chastity, Paris, and get into bed.”
Paris opened her mouth to object, but she caught sight of Elly’s worried face. The little girl looked as if she thought this was going to escalate into a real argument. Guiltily, Paris realized she was only making this harder. Finally, she answered meekly, “All right. I’ll just go turn off the light in my room.” She deposited Elly in the middle of the bed, where Mac had also placed Simon, then went back to her room to switch off the light and make sure that her robe was belted snugly and tucked up around her chin as high as possible.
What on earth was she thinking? She couldn’t sleep in the same bed with a man she’d only met that day! It was crazy. Unimaginable. Wrong.
She hadn’t slept with any man since Keith’s death, or any man other than Keith, for that matter. Her hands flew up to her hot cheeks. She didn’t want to be that close to Mac, to be that vulnerable. These thoughts ran through her head, convincing her she should reverse her decision and try once again to talk Mac out of this, but when she heard Elly’s distressed whimper calling her name, she knew she had to do it.
Wondering how this whole situation had managed to go sideways on her, she went back down the hall to his room, reluctance dragging at her feet. When she reached it, she saw that both children were snuggled in the center of the bed and Elly was looking expectantly at her.
“Come on, Pris. Get in.”
Mac stood beside the bed, his arms folded across his chest and his dark gaze on her. If she’d thought him capable of smiling, she would have been suspicious of the twitch of his lips. His dark eyes traveled from her disheveled hair to her knees, which developed some kind of nervous tic that insisted they knock together beneath the hem of her robe. Mentally, Paris forced a little starch into them.
“Yeah,” he said at last. “Get in and let’s all settle down.”
Paris didn’t answer, but lifted her chin and gave him a direct look which managed to note and be thankful for the fact that he wore a pair of sweatpants. She intended to keep her robe on. Let him think what he would.
With a nod, she swept the covers back and lay down, though she couldn’t relax. He gave her stiff-as-a-board posture a sardonic look as he turned off the bedside lamp. The bed dipped and resettled, then all was quiet.
Paris felt some of the stiffness going out of her spine as Elly scooted in close. She put her arm around the little girl, then reached over to give Simon a reassuring pat. Instead of soft baby skin or a diapered bottom, she encountered the hair-dusted back of Mac’s hand which he’d placed over the baby.
Her fingers sprang away and she heard him sigh in annoyance. “Relax, Paris. You’re safe here.”
Oddly enough, she believed him.

CHAPTER THREE
MAC stood in the master bathroom doorway, rubbing his damp hair with a towel, and marveling at the three people occupying his bed. It had never seemed small before last night, though truthfully, he’d never shared it with anyone before. It had been the one thing he’d bought new when all his other furniture had disappeared along with his ex-fiancée.
The bed seemed crowded now with Paris teetering on one edge, as far from his side as possible and the two babies snuggled up against her, her arm around them in comfort, her bright hair spread over the pillow and hiding her face. Only her chin peeked out as if to lead her through sleep the way it forged her way through life. He had known her less than twenty-four hours, but he’d quickly discovered that he didn’t much like being on the receiving end when that chin thrust forward.
What snagged his attention again and again, though, was her hair. He couldn’t keep his eyes off it, spilling its red-gold curls against the white pillow slip as if someone had trapped sunshine there.
Mac gave a violent start. Trapped sunshine? When had he started becoming poetic? Annoyed with himself, Mac shut the bathroom door and finished getting ready for work. The lovely Mrs. Barbour’s hair was the last thing he needed to be thinking about right now. He wasn’t going to be thinking about her in any way other than as the children’s nanny. He was grateful that she’d been willing to accommodate them, and him, last night by settling in together. She could have fought him on it even harder than she had, but she’d eventually given in.
He doubted that his solution was the conventional way the problem of restless and distraught children was usually handled. However, he didn’t know much about being a daddy and, in spite of her years of baby-sitting, she didn’t know much about being a nanny. Whatever method they used to get the children to sleep through the night seemed okay with him. At least he’d slept seven hours, more than he’d managed since Elly and Simon had come to him.
Mac tucked in his shirt, threaded his worn leather belt through the loops on his jeans, then sat on the side of the wide Jacuzzi tub and began lacing up his heavy work boots.
He wondered if the kids had ever climbed into bed with anyone before. He couldn’t imagine Sheila allowing her children to get into bed with her. She wasn’t the most approachable of mothers. In fact, a better word would be uninterested. It bothered him to think about the children returning to her. No doubt, she would be no more interested in them in the future than she had been in the past. They couldn’t stay with him, though. He’d be even worse for them than Sheila. As careless as she was, she was still their mother.
Mac pulled his mind from that unproductive thought. There was no point in taking mental slaps at Sheila. She was what they’d all made her, him most of all because he’d wanted to protect their parents from knowledge of her fecklessness. It worried him deeply, though, because now there were two children to think of. It had been different when Sheila had been alone in her flighty behavior, but now she was dragging Elly and Simon along with her. Once she came back and got them, he wouldn’t see them again, probably for months, or until the next time she needed him to care for them. Maybe that wouldn’t happen, though. Maybe his little sister would settle down, take the trust fund his parents had set up for her and finish college, make a career for herself and a life for her children.
“Yeah, and maybe pigs will fly,” he thought cynically as he left the bathroom and approached the bed. He tried to keep his eyes strictly on the task of scooping up his change and keys from the nightstand and tucking his wallet into his pocket, but his attention strayed to the woman in his bed. He wondered if she’d ever had children. He doubted it because it hadn’t been on her resume, and she’d said most of her experience had been in baby-sitting, not raising her own kids.
His lips twitched at the memory of that resume. Damned if he knew why he’d hired her given her minimal experience, but she’d fallen in love with the children right away, her concern for them seeming to spring to life full-blown, unlike his sister who’d had years to nurture her mothering instincts but they were still dead on the vine. He had a good gut instinct and after they’d made it through their original awkwardness yesterday, he’d realized he could trust Paris with the kids.
He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him so that if Simon woke and started wandering, he wouldn’t be able to get out without waking Paris, as well. Mac was surprised that he even knew to do that. Before their arrival, he’d never given much thought to the kinds of things a dad needed to do to ensure the safety of his children. Not that he was truly a dad, he corrected himself, or ever would be. Once the kids were gone he’d go back to his solitary lifestyle. He’d learned the hard way that it was best for him and everyone else if he did.
Besides, things were simpler that way. Mac grabbed a jacket and headed out to his truck, locking the house as he went, and ignoring the voice that told him he should be substituting the word lonelier for simpler in his mind.
Paris woke with a start when a small hand landed on her cheek. Her eyes flew open. Then she relaxed when she realized it was only Simon who had managed to scoot up to the top of the bed and now lay with his head near hers and his arms spread wide. At least he didn’t pinch noses like his sister.
Over the months since she’d left Hadley, Paris had developed the habit of keeping her eyes closed for the first few minutes of wakefulness until she remembered exactly where she was.
She didn’t need to do that this morning because of the children in the bed beside her and because of the scent that drifted on the air. Mac’s aftershave lotion. She’d never smelled it before, but it couldn’t be anything else; somehow dark and woodsy overlaid with the tangy scent of the ocean. It was the essence of him.
He must have showered, shaved, and gone to work. It gave her a shiver of unease to realize she had been sleeping as he had moved around the bedroom, gathering his things, perhaps watching her and the children as they slept. At the same time, she felt a sense of unaccustomed serenity at the thought that he had been watching over them, even though he had made it clear that he viewed his role as strictly that of breadwinner and had no intention of being directly involved with the children.
He’d been willing to let the children sleep with him, she reminded herself, but a cynical little voice also recalled that it was so he could get some sleep himself.
Knowing she probably wasn’t going to figure Mac out too quickly, Paris slipped from under Simon’s tiny hand and left the room. With any luck, she would have time to shower and dress in the other bathroom down the hall before they woke wanting breakfast.
Ten minutes later she discovered that luck wasn’t on her side when the bathroom door banged open. With a startled squeak, she swiped shampoo from her eyes and peeked out from behind the shower curtain to see Elly standing there, holding Simon by the hand.
“Pris?” Elly asked in a fearful tone. “You in there?”
“Yes,” Paris answered, pulling the shower curtain around her. “If you two will wait in the hall, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Elly shook her head. “We wait here.” She sat down in the middle of the bathroom rug and tugged her little brother down with her. Simon, with his ever-present book under his arm, sat where she indicated, and popped his thumb into his mouth, content to wait.
Flabbergasted, Paris stared at them. They seemed quite determined to stay. Naked and dripping as she was, she had no way to dislodge them. She’d heard it said that mothers of small children forfeited all privacy. No one had ever mentioned that was true of nannies, as well. Resigning herself to her fate, she pulled the curtain shut and quickly finished, rapidly learning that she didn’t need all the time she usually took in the shower.
Once she was ready, she began dressing the children and realized that a four-year-old girl has more established fashion opinions than one might have expected. Her clothes had to match and her shoes had to be tied in precise double knots so they wouldn’t slip off. Then Elly had to supervise while Paris dressed Simon, who couldn’t have cared less how he looked as long as his precious book was firmly in his grasp.
By the time they were finished, Paris felt as though she needed to stop for a deep breath. She didn’t have time to put on makeup or blow-dry her hair as she usually did in an effort to tame the natural curl. Instead, she decided it would have to go wild and she shepherded her little charges to the kitchen where she fixed their breakfast. Glancing around, she saw no evidence that Mac had eaten before he’d left and was saddened by it. No matter what he said, Paris felt that she wasn’t earning her salary if he wasn’t being provided for, too. However, she wasn’t going to talk to him about it again. Instead, she would bake some kind of breakfast rolls and leave them where he could find them. Not that he would probably thank her for the effort, she thought grimly as she sat down at the table and began eating her own breakfast. He certainly seemed determined to accept nothing from her.
“Where’s Unka Mac?” Elly asked abruptly, looking up from a piece of pancake she’d been trying to spear with her fork.
“He’s gone to work,” Paris answered absently.
“Like a daddy?”
Focusing on the little girl’s interested face, Paris nodded. “That’s right.”
“That’s what daddies do,” Elly said with the air of an expert. “They go to work and the mom and the kids stay home.”
Paris grinned. “Have you been watching television shows from the fifties?”
“Huh?”
“Where did you hear this about daddies going to work and everyone else staying home?”
“From Sarah. She’s seven. She was my friend at my other house where I lived with my mommy. My mommy went to see elephants and when she gets back she’s going to take me and Simon to see them.”
Paris’s heart sank at the assurance in the little girl’s voice, but she could think of no words to answer her. She didn’t have to because Elly went on, “Sarah said that daddies go to work. That’s what Unka Mac does, but he’s not really a daddy.”
“Well, no, he’s not,” Paris admitted, wondering where this was leading.
“He could learn to be a daddy.” Elly bumped her feet against the chrome legs of the chair as she considered that. She nodded as if satisfied with her conclusion. “Because he knows how to read.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/patricia-knoll/project-daddy-39907274/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.