Marrying the Virgin Nanny / The Nanny and Me: Marrying the Virgin Nanny / The Nanny and Me

“You get around.”

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Occupational hazard.”

A subtle reminder that her time with him was finite. She didn’t know it yet, but she wouldn’t have to look for another job.

“From my perspective, marriage provides nothing but stress and discord,” he said.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah.” And then some, he thought. “It doesn’t work and inevitably leads to divorce and disillusionment or the demise of dreams. At the very least it causes bitterness and resentment.”

She frowned. “May I ask what your perspective is?”

“My father. He’s currently involved in financial negotiations in a divorce from wife number four and engaged to number five. I’ve had a front-row seat to discord and dying dreams.”

The look she gave him was filled with pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His tone was more sharp than he’d intended. “It was and continues to be a good education. It’s cost Dad a lot of money, a good portion of which goes to the army of accountants he employs to keep up with alimony payments.”

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I can see where that would give you pause. I might have abandonment issues, but at least I had stability. The nuns at Good Shepherd gave me that.”

He didn’t plan to debate the benefits and drawbacks of growing up in an orphanage versus the marriage-go-round of his own childhood. He had a thing about commitment; she had abandonment issues. That was information he would tuck away for another time.

He folded his arms over his chest. “Now that I’m a father, I can see where a case could be made for constancy. I’d be lying if I said it—marriage—hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“That’s the spirit,” she said.

He held up his hands. “Whoa. Finding someone to marry is a nice fantasy, but it’s easier said than done.”

“Are you one of those men who manufactures flaws in every woman he meets?”

“That’s a loaded question.”

“And probably none of my business. But you started it.” She tilted her head to the side and her silky ponytail brushed the shoulder of her sweater making his fingers itch to do the same. “I just meant that some men find the smallest excuses to walk away from a relationship, not really trying to make it work.”

“And you know this from firsthand experience?” Since he’d started the prying, what was the harm in a little more?

“Magazines. Articles in women’s periodicals.”

None of that was helpful information. “You don’t date?”

“I have two problems with dating.”

“Only two?” he asked.

She laughed. “Number one is lack of time. Between my job and working at the home, there’s very little left over.”

“What’s number two?”

“Lack of men.”

“Excuse me?”

“Think about it. My day revolves around infants. I go from job to job. It’s pretty intense.” She gave him a wry look. “And energy consuming. Besides, where am I going to meet someone?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if he was chopped liver, but he figured that wasn’t a place he was prepared to go for too many reasons to list. But right at the top was the fact that he was way too pleased she didn’t meet men.

And suddenly the temptation to touch her was too much to resist when he was this close. And he didn’t trust himself to only touch her. Straightening, he moved back around to the other side of his desk, putting distance between them.

“I’m the last person who should give you advice,” he said.

“Actually, I think Sister Margaret and Sister Mary are the last ones to give advice on the dos and don’ts of dating.”

He couldn’t stop the grin. Wicked, witty sarcasm. It was incredibly intriguing. “Okay. Point taken.”

She looked thoughtful. “For what it’s worth, the most advantageous environment for Brady is one with positive male and female role models. That said, when you meet the right woman, you should snap her up.”

“That’s a challenge to do without Saturday nights. And make no mistake, it will take a lot of dating to get it right.”

“I’m sorry I won’t be around to watch.”

“I should think your curiosity would be powerful motivation to stay,” he said.

“There’s only five weeks left on my contract and I can’t extend it.” Genuine regret darkened her eyes.

And she wasn’t the only one. Unlike the other nannies he’d had, he actually liked Maggie. She was direct and didn’t play games. On top of that she was incredibly good with his son. He couldn’t imagine her being more loving, tender and nurturing if she’d actually given birth to the boy. In the nanny department, this time was indeed the charm. Did she really think he would let her get away without a fight?

Not so fast, Margaret Mary Shepherd. She hadn’t seen his very best stuff yet.

Chapter Three

“Good job on the bedtime prayers, Lyssa.” Maggie pulled the sheet and blanket up, then leaned over and kissed the six-year-old’s cheek.

In this wing of the home, the little girl was the youngest and the last of her ten charges to be tucked in. There were fifty children, from birth to eighteen, being cared for here and Maggie relieved one of the paid employees who took a much-needed day off. Her commitment to Good Shepherd Home for Children was unwavering because without this place, she wasn’t sure what would have become of her. The nuns continued to protect and care for kids who desperately needed them and Maggie considered it a sacred honor to assist in any way she could.

“Maggie?”

She felt a small hand patting her arm and looked at the blue-eyed, blond cherub clutching a tattered blanket. “What is it, sweetie?”

“I asked God to bring my mommy back.”

If Maggie had a dollar for every child who’d said that, she’d be a wealthy woman. The words never failed to tug at her heart because she knew exactly how the little girl felt. “I’m sure God will do His best to answer your prayer.”

Lyssa rubbed a finger beneath her nose. “But I thought God can do anything.”

She always hated this part. The children received religious instruction and were taught that the Lord is all powerful and merciful. The kids eventually came up with the same questions she had. If God loves me and takes care of me, then why don’t I have a mom or dad? In Lyssa’s case, her drugged-out mother and a boyfriend had abandoned the little girl at the bus station. There was no way this child would understand that God had taken care of her by making sure she was with the nuns here at Good Shepherd.

“God can do anything, sweetie.”

“Why did He let her go away?”

She met the child’s innocent gaze and wondered how to explain when she didn’t understand it herself. “All I can tell you is that God always does things right, even if it seems wrong to us.”

“Is it okay that I asked Him to bring Mommy back?”

“Of course.” Maggie stroked the hair away from the small face. “Just remember that if you ask Him for something and you don’t get it, you have to trust.”

“Why?”

“Because you can be sure He’ll give you what you need at the appropriate time. God can do anything He thinks is best.”

“I think my mommy is best.”

Maggie managed to smile even though the words hurt her heart. “And I think you’re pretty special.”

“I love you, Maggie.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

When the little girl yawned and rolled to her side, Maggie let out a sigh of relief. For now she’d dodged the issue with Lyssa. But she couldn’t help thinking about the infant in the luxurious penthouse in the center of Las Vegas who would one day be asking his father a similar version of the question: Why isn’t my mother here with me? Why didn’t she love me enough to stay? In Maggie’s case, eventually the questions had hollowed out a place inside that became a need for someone to love her, someone who didn’t have to because it was their job. Someone to love her just for herself. Now she channeled that need into the extra-special care she gave every child who came into her life.

After one final glance at the four other twin beds in the room, she was satisfied that everyone was sleeping soundly. She turned on the nightlight and left the door open in order to hear the children during the night.

The house was a big Victorian located on Water Street in the Old Henderson section. Rumor had it that there’d been a brothel here once upon a time. Then the church acquired the property and turned it into a children’s home.

Maggie had spent a good portion of her life here and thought how different this place was from Jason’s posh penthouse. At the bottom of the wooden stairs there was a living room on her right and dining room on the left. Neither functioned in that capacity. Worn furniture and toy boxes said loud and clear that this was a place for children.

Her steps echoed on the wooden floor as she headed to the kitchen in the back of the house. Cold in body and spirit, she thought a cup of coffee would hit the spot. When she entered the large room with rows of tables and benches, she saw Sister Margaret sitting by herself, deep in thought.

Maggie loved this woman—not just like a mother. Sister Margaret Connelly was the only mother she’d ever known. And she looked troubled.

“They’re asleep,” she said, moving farther into the room.

Sister looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Maggie.”

“I was just going to pour myself a cup of coffee. Can I get one for you?”

“That would be nice, dear. I just made a pot.”

Maggie knew that because Sister always made a pot for their catching-up chat, a cherished weekly ritual. She smiled as she walked over to the old white stove with the electric coffeemaker beside it. She reached up and opened the battered-oak cupboard door and pulled out a green mug for herself and a blue one for Sister. After pouring the steaming liquid and putting sugar and cream in each, she carried both to the long, picniclike table and sat down across from the nun.

Maggie wrapped her hands around the warm mug, which felt incredibly good on a cold January night, and studied the woman who’d raised her. The order she belonged to didn’t wear habits and veils. That clothing was too restrictive for their active work with the children. She was in her usual uniform of striped cotton blouse, black slacks and thick, coordinating sweater. Blue-eyed, brown-haired Sister Margaret was in her early fifties with the spirit of a much younger woman. But tonight the years were showing and it had nothing to do with the silver strands in her hair.

“Is something wrong, Sister?”

“I was just savoring the quiet. It’s such a rare occurrence in a house with so many children.”

“You can say that again.” There were times at Jason’s, when Brady was sleeping soundly, that she experienced the quiet and missed the rowdy sounds of the kids. Loud and lively were normal to her.

“You must be tired, dear. That art project with the younger children must have worn you out. I can’t believe you were up for using real paint.”

Maggie nodded. “It was a little hectic. But the kids loved it. And keeping them busy is the goal.” On Saturday there was no school so channeling the energy was an ongoing challenge for her and the other volunteers.

“Speaking of keeping busy, didn’t you just take on a new job?” Sister blew on her steaming mug. “Where are you working?”

“Spring Mountain Towers.”

The nun’s eyebrows rose. “That’s some pricey property.”

“No kidding. In the penthouse, no less. The infant is completely adorable. His name is Brady Garrett.”

The nun took a sip of her coffee and studied Maggie over the rim. “And something’s troubling you. What is it, dear?”

“I can’t stop worrying about him when I’m not there.”

“You’ve been coming to Good Shepherd on Saturday since you started working as a nanny and this is the first time you’ve ever expressed concern about the child in your care.”

“This is the first time I’ve left the infant with a father and no mother.”

“Where is his wife?”

“He doesn’t have one.” Maggie remembered him talking about dating and her vision of him with lots of women. The idea was oddly disturbing to her. “Jason—he’s Jason Garrett—”

“The billionaire developer?”

“The very one. He only said that the baby’s mother won’t be an issue.”

“If only,” Sister said.

“Amen.” Lyssa’s bedtime prayer for God to bring her mother back still echoed in Maggie’s heart. Jason had more money than he would ever need and couldn’t give his son the one thing every child wanted most.

“What’s he like?” Sister asked.

How did she describe Jason Garrett? Her pulse fluttered and skipped just thinking about him. “He’s driven. Focused. He loves his son very much.”

“You left out seriously cute,” Sister added, blue eyes twinkling.

“I beg your pardon?” Maggie pretended to be shocked.

“I’ve seen his picture in the paper. And he was in that magazine’s yearly issue of best-looking bachelors.” Sister grinned. “I’m a nun, not dead.”

“Clearly.” Maggie laughed. “You’re right. He’s seriously cute—even better looking in person.”

“So if he’s devoted to his son, why are you worried about the baby?”

“What if Brady is upset and Jason can’t quiet him? I showed him the five S’s—” Sister slid her a blank look and she added, “The five S’s of soothing a baby. I’ve taught the technique to the volunteers here who work with infants. It was developed by Dr. Harvey Karp at UCLA. Swaddling, side lying, swinging, shushing and sucking. You wrap him tightly in a receiving blanket to simulate the security of the womb, hold them on their side in your arms, swing gently back and forth and make a shushing noise.”

“That seems simple enough.”

“Maybe.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “But Jason builds big resorts. He’s not a baby kind of guy. What if he can’t handle it? What if he—”

“Needs you?”

“I know that sounds arrogant—”

Sister reached over and squeezed her hand. “Not at all, Maggie. It just shows how much you care. And I worry you’ll get hurt because of that marshmallow heart of yours. You have to be careful.”

The warning was too late, but Sister didn’t know about that. Now there was no point in making both of them feel bad. “I’m a big girl now.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t still worry about you.” Sister shook her head. “Some children never get over a deep anger and resentment about growing up in an orphanage, present company excepted. You were always a sweet child, loving easily and accepting without question.”

That may have been true when she lived here, but that changed after she fell in love and then lost even more than her heart. She still cared deeply, especially about children, but now she had parameters in place for her own protection. That way she didn’t have to hold part of herself back. But she was already more attached to Brady than she’d ever been to an infant and it had only been a week. That didn’t bode well for her marshmallow heart.

“I’m older and wiser now, Sister.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“I just meant that as a working woman of the world I’ve acquired experience.”

“You sound sad.”

“No.” Maggie shrugged. “I guess all the constant moving around in my job is making me restless. Making me yearn for stability.”

Odd. It hadn’t occurred to her when they talked, but that was something she and Jason had in common.

Sister’s eyes filled with sympathy. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Maggie hadn’t, until very recently.

“It’s just that I haven’t felt like I belonged since I left here at eighteen. When I entered the convent after college—” She ran her index finger around the rim of her mug. “I think I was looking for roots, like I had here at the home.” Maggie saw the worry she’d noticed earlier in the nun’s expression. “What is it, Sister?”

“It’s not your problem—”

“So there is something.”

Sister sighed. “The state has scheduled an inspection of this building.”

“Isn’t that standard procedure?”

“Yes. But we’ve been aware for some time that the home needs extensive and expensive repairs—starting with a roof and the plumbing and it’s not in our operating budget. The diocese doesn’t have the money, either.” She shook her head. “We’re hoping to get by just one more time, but if we don’t, they could shut us down.”

“But where will the children go?” Maggie couldn’t imagine what would have happened to her without the love and support of Sister Margaret and everyone else here at Good Shepherd.

“We’re looking into alternative placements, but the state is already burdened with more children than they can care for.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Maggie asked.

Sister tried to smile. “That’s very sweet of you, dear. But I don’t think so. The Lord provides, and every day I ask Him to provide for us.”

Maggie would pray, too. For Lyssa’s sake, and all the rest of the kids at Good Shepherd, she hoped the volume of prayers would produce a miracle.

In his study, Jason looked at the computer screen to check his e-mail and rubbed his hands over his face, scraping his palms on the scruff of beard he hadn’t had time to shave. He was bone tired. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear a gravel truck had overturned in his eyes. Brady had been up every two hours during the night. The only way he’d napped was while being held and rocked. Jason had always thought building a resort was stressful, but that was before becoming a father. Right now he’d welcome budget woes, a spike in the cost of building materials and labor disputes.

And Maggie.

He’d take her in a heartbeat. As if his son heard that thought, the baby let out a cry. Just one. Just enough to say he’d need something soon.

“Brady,” he groaned, rubbing his hands over his face again. There’d barely been time for a shower, let alone a shave. He looked at the gold clock on his desk. Thirty minutes until noon, when she was due back. If there was a God in heaven she was the punctual type.

He was walking past the foyer on his way to the nursery when the key sounded in the lock just before Maggie walked in. She was better than punctual; she was early.

“Hi,” he said, casually lifting a hand in greeting.

“Hi. I’ll check on Brady.”

“Do you have X-ray hearing?”

“No. Why?” she asked, hurrying down the hall.

“You just opened the door.” The baby had been quiet since that one dissatisfied cry. “How did you know he needed something?”

“Whether he did or not, I would have looked in on him. It has nothing to do with super hearing.”

“I’m not so sure.” He followed Maggie to her room where she set overnight bag on the floor and her purse on the bed. Then she went next door to the nursery. “It’s like you’re tuned in to his frequency.”

“Hi, sweetheart.” She lifted the baby out of the crib and cuddled him close. “I missed you.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys.”

Jason leaned a shoulder in the doorway and folded his arms over his chest as he looked at her. He’d expected a tart comeback to his comment, but there was only silence, which seemed out of character. What the heck did he know about what was or was not in character for a woman who’d come close to being a nun? He’d only known her a week. Still, she seemed like the spunky type and not inclined to overlook an opportunity for a retort.

He’d spent a lot of time in this room over the last few weeks, more than the entire eighteen months he’d lived here. But he hadn’t taken the time to notice what a good job the decorator he’d hired had done. The walls were a pale olive green with white baseboards, crown molding and doors. A changing table in maple stood on one wall with the matching crib beside it. The sheet, quilt and airplane mobile were in shades of green, yellow and pale blue. Stuffed animals filled every flat space and corner of the room. Satisfaction trickled through him that he could give his boy the best.

Including the best of care. Which was all about Maggie.

She kissed Brady’s cheek and rubbed his back as her body went into the automatic swaying motion. In her worn jeans, sneakers and pullover red sweatshirt with the words Good Shepherd on the front, she was a sight for sore eyes. Weird that the gravel in them was gone now. And he felt as if he was seeing clearly for the first time in over twenty-four hours.

He’d felt her absence, and not because it had been too quiet without her. Brady had filled a lot of the silence with his outstanding pair of lungs. Now that she was here, he had a bad feeling that the deficiency he’d felt had nothing to do with taking care of the baby and that was unsettling.

“How was your day off?” he asked.

“I think he’s hungry.” She set Brady on the changing table. “When did he last have a bottle?”

Jason glanced at his watch. “About three hours ago.”

“Just as I suspected. You’re ready to eat.” She undid his terrycloth sleeper and slid his legs out, grabbing one tiny foot and kissing the toes. “You have hollow legs, Brady Garrett. Yes, you do.”

Jason was completely caught up in the tenderness that she lavished on the baby. And apparently he wasn’t the only one. When she smiled down, Brady’s tiny mouth curved up in response. His arms waved and legs kicked with genuine excitement rather than agitation. If that was anything to judge by, the little guy had missed her, too. No, not too. That would mean Jason had missed her and he refused to admit to anything but feeling her absence.

He was so caught up in that thought and watching her with his son, it took him several moments to realize she hadn’t answered his question about her day off.

Now that he thought about it, she looked tired. There were circles beneath her eyes that made them look even bigger and more vulnerable.

“I’ll get a bottle,” he said.

“Thanks.” She glanced at him for a moment, then finished changing the diaper.

Jason went to the kitchen and took from the fridge one of the formula-filled bottles she’d prepared before leaving yesterday and set it in the automatic warmer. When it was ready, he returned to the nursery where she sat in the glider with Brady.

“Did you have a good time with Daddy?” she said to the baby, holding him close.

As if talking back, the baby made a cooing sound that was new and Jason’s chest tightened with tenderness. He’d never worked as hard in his life as he had taking care of his child. His only goal had been to make sure Brady was comfortable, happy and content. But it was nice just to be a spectator and watch, noting the milestones in his son that he’d been too busy to notice.

Maggie smiled at the cooing, and said, “I know, sweetheart. I bet you were an angel. Because you’re just the best baby in the whole world. I’m so glad you have food and a place to sleep and a roof over your head.”

Her eyes darkened and there was an edge to her voice. For the second time he remembered that she hadn’t answered his question. “How was your day off, Maggie?”

She glanced up and held out her hand for the bottle. “See what Daddy brought, Brady?”

He handed it to her, then leaned a shoulder against the wall and watched while the boy latched on to the nipple and eagerly started to suck. Maggie smiled gently but it never chased the shadows from her eyes.

“What’s wrong, Maggie?”

Her gaze lifted to his. “Excuse me?”

“How was your day off?”

“Same as always,” she said. “I helped with the kids.”

He didn’t know if her reaction was the same because he had no basis for comparison. No one would accuse him of being the most observant guy on the planet, but even he could see that there was something eating her. “Are you always bothered after spending your day off there?”

“I’m not in the habit of discussing things with my employer.”

“Look, I’m a businessman.” He slid his fingers into the pockets of his jeans. “And the nature of your employment makes it necessary for you to live under my roof. The lines blur. As your friend and employer I ask again, what’s wrong?”