Undercover Nanny

Setting her internal alarm for 7:00 a.m., she lay on her back and stared into the darkness, waiting for sleep to overtake her. She had plenty to think about while she drifted off, but one image in particular kept coming back: Max on the couch, staring at the photo in his wallet and looking very much as though he was determined not to cry.

Rolling onto her side, D.J. scrunched the pillow till it suited her and closed her eyes. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that she doubted there was a man alive who had ever looked at her picture like that.

“Hey. What do you think you’re doing?” Max’s whisper held more than a hint of censure.

“We’re watching,” Sean whispered back. “She kinda spits when she sleeps.”

“Come out of there. Right now!”

D.J. frowned, blinked and woozily lifted her head. The voices she heard were evidently not part of a dream. By the time her eyes focused, she saw the backs of three little people as they marched out the door, having been duly chastised by the frowning countenance of Maxwell Lotorto. He reached for the knob, but looked up to catch her watching him. A cautious smile replaced the scowl.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

Gingerly, D.J. sat up, pulling the sheet with her. Sneaking a glance at the digital clock on the nightstand, she almost groaned. So much for her internal alarm, previously as trustworthy as Big Ben. It was eight-thirty already.

“I hope the kids didn’t bug you.”

D.J. ran a hand through her hair. “No.” She tried to smile, but it wasn’t easy. Not only was she, the nanny, the last person up this morning, but also beneath the sheet, D.J. wore only a T-shirt and panties—no bra, no pajama bottoms. Granted, she was covered by a bedspread and a sheet hiked up to her chin, but she felt more self-conscious than she had the first time she’d stayed at a man’s apartment overnight. “Sorry I stayed in bed so long. I’m usually up way before now.”

He waved her guilt away. “You had a tough first night. At least that’s what Anabel tells me.”

The kid with her finger on the pulse of the food pyramid had ratted her out? “It wasn’t bad.” D.J. protested mildly, but if he already knew about James’s collision with a spaghetti sauce display at the market, or about the scorched hot dogs she’d tried to convince the children were “cook-out style,” she figured her goose was cooked.

“My brothers and sisters are all adults now. I’m a little out of practice with kids.”

Max accepted that easily. “Tell me about it. I think I’m still there myself.” Awkwardly D.J. laughed with him. “The teenage years.” He shook his head, looking, D.J. thought, a bit green around the gills. “Can’t say I’m looking forward to those. Especially with the girls.”

D.J. arched a brow. “Why ’especially with the girls’?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He waved a hand in her direction. “Teenage girls want to talk about bras and boys. What do I know about that?” Taking a moment, he amended, “Actually, I know a lot about bras and boys, but nothing I want to tell Anabel or Liv.”

Max looked so adorably cocky and disgruntled and paternal, D.J. wanted to laugh…until the talk of bras made her remember she wasn’t wearing one under her thin muscle shirt. She tugged the sheet closer.

“Well, I think I’ll get up now.” She waited for Max to leave, but he seemed preoccupied, as if he hadn’t really heard her, and he definitely wasn’t leaving. D.J. tried again, prompting gently, “I need to get up, and I’m…not really dressed for company.”

That got his attention. His gaze traveled down the sheet and bedspread as if it just occurred to him she might not be wearing jeans under there.

He turned red—actually grew red—beneath his collar. “Right. I’ve already got the kids’ breakfast on the table, so take your time. When you’re ready, we can have coffee. And a talk.”

Smiling agreeably until he left the room, D.J. stayed in bed a couple of minutes after he closed the door. Criminy! She’d over-slept, so Max had been forced to fix the children’s breakfast, and still he wanted to have “a talk,” surely about her staying on as a nanny. Either the man had an appreciation of equality that would make working women everywhere lust after him…or he was truly, truly desperate. Maybe both.

Her stomach growled loudly as she grabbed her clothes and headed for the shower. Maybe he’d take pity and feed her, too.

Heading toward the dining room, where the kids were squabbling over whose chocolate chip pancakes had the most chips, Max took a minute to draw a deep breath and clear his head.

She’s the nanny, he reminded himself, striving to keep his eye on the big picture. Daisy Holden, as she’d introduced herself yesterday, would be a great fling, no doubt about it. And, frankly, he could use a good fling. With all the responsibility he’d assumed over the past four months, Max figured he deserved a fling. He’d earned a night—what the heck, maybe two—of carefree laughter and lust.

Not with Daisy Holden, though.

Long Thoroughbred legs and wide, sexy smile aside, Daisy Holden was going to make an even better nanny than she would a fling. And Max needed a nanny more than he wanted a lover. He needed someone with staying power in order to impress the social worker who’d been scrutinizing his home, his life, his bank account and just about everything else for the past month. A social worker from the Department of Human Services held his family in the palm of her hand. If he failed to impress her with his ability to create a stable home, he could lose the kids.

Briefly, Max closed his eyes, amazed by how quickly that thought could flood his body with fear. He wasn’t perfect. God knew his parenting skills could use a shot in the arm. He lost his temper too often with the twins. He was a total pushover with Liv. He sometimes forgot that Anabel wasn’t as grown-up as she liked to pretend and failed to anticipate her needs.

But he’d loved them all from the day they were born. The five of them made a pretty motley crew, but they needed each other. And they were fresh out of other family. If the state decided that Max was not able to care for the kids on his own, the only alternative would be foster care.

When he pictured Livie being taken away—when he thought of any of the kids being separated from each other or from him—Max felt an overwhelming need to shove his fist through the wall.

Daisy Holden didn’t know it yet, but she was their last hope. Two days ago they’d been falling apart faster than a house of cards. Last night he’d come home to a stocked refrigerator and a house that looked more like a home than it had in months. Nanny Holden might not be professionally trained, but she had experience; if he could keep her around, the threat hanging over them might very well be solved.

Pushing away from the wall, Max pressed on toward the dining room. He had a goal and he had a plan. The goal: to secure a commitment from Daisy Holden. Max wanted her signature on a year-long contract.

The plan: send the kids outside so he could have a little time and a little privacy to woo the nanny into staying.

Chapter Four

Ohmigod, the man can make pancakes. If he’d thrown a few sausages on the plate, D.J. would have followed him anywhere. Drawing her fork lazily through the remaining puddle of maple syrup on her plate, she watched his bottom while he cleaned the skillet.

Focus, Daisy, focus! she commanded herself. Ogling her employer’s tush when she was supposed to be watching his children was not the rip-roaring start she’d intended today. Gamely, she reached for sticky plates.

“I’ll take these,” she said to the children.

One plate clattered to the table when Sean practically screamed, “I’m not finished yet!”

D.J. jumped back, surprised by his vehemence. Not finished? All he’d done was draw squiggles in the syrup for the past ten minutes. She wasn’t sure how to respond. The only irascible children she’d ever spent time with were herself and a couple of foster siblings who made the cousin in Harry Potter look like Beaver Cleaver.

Fortunately, Max intervened. One good glare from over his shoulder was enough to make Sean lower his chin to his chest. “Apologize to Daisy for using that tone. We don’t scream at each other in this house. At least not much,” he added, winking at Daisy.

While Sean apologized, D.J. nodded and faked a brief coughing fit into her napkin to hide the blush creeping up her neck. Yes, she actually felt her face heating from the single wink Max tossed her. It was upsetting. She wasn’t a virgin, for heaven’s sake, and she wasn’t here to date him. But there was something disturbingly intimate about sitting at his breakfast table.

She’d never lived with a man or come close to marriage. She’d never dated anyone with kids. As a child, she’d bounced from one home to the next and had occasionally woken up wondering if she was having Raisin Bran with the Meltons that day or eggs and toast with the Donleavys. It wasn’t until she’d moved in with the Thompsons that there was any continuity in her life. They had become her eighth and final set of foster parents.

Perhaps because she’d moved so much in her life, sharing a table with a family had always seemed like an intimate experience to D.J., one that subtly highlighted who truly belonged and who was just visiting.

“Bring me your plates,” Max instructed the kids. “Then I want you to put all the toys that are in the backyard onto the patio so I can water the lawn.” A few grumbles greeted his request. He silenced them with a raised hand. “Toys on the patio,” he repeated. “Or no bike ride, no picnic, no swimming pool and no Game Boy. Now move it. Move it!”

D.J. felt a surge of foreboding—and quite possibly the pancakes—rise to her throat. Bike ride, picnic and swimming pool? She might know squat about the care and feeding of children, but sheer gut instinct told her those activities required supervision. More than that, they required an ability to corral children while performing physical feats. How was she going to do all those things and search the house for information on Max? Besides…

She couldn’t swim.

While the children scrambled off their chairs with their breakfast plates and then hustled out the kitchen door, D.J. wondered how she was going to investigate Max when he decided to fire her.

Setting the plates to soak in the sink, he grabbed a towel and turned toward her. “I figured getting rid of the munchkins for a while would give us a chance to talk.” He nodded toward her dish. “How was breakfast?”

“Terrific.” She hopped up, plate in hand. “You’re a good cook.”

Taking the plate from her, he slipped it into the sink. “I like cooking for someone with a good appetite,” he told her, his cloud-colored eyes and bourbon voice turning the comment into a skin-shivering compliment. “The kids play with more food than they eat.” A lopsided grin tugged his lips. “Although you look a little kidlike yourself right now.” Wiping his hand on a dish towel, he pointed to the corner of her mouth. “You’ve got a little chocolate there.”

“I do?” Embarrassed, D.J. automatically sent her tongue in search of the smudge.

Max watched her efforts, but shook his head. “You’re missing it. Here.” Leaning in, he licked his own thumb then touched it to the corner of her mouth and rubbed. It was exactly what he might have done for one of the kids. And it was nothing like what he might have done for one of the kids. Tingles zigged down D.J.’s spine then zagged back up again. “Got it,” he said, examining the spot that was now transferred to his thumb. “Hmm. Chocolate and maple syrup.” He put the tip of his thumb in his mouth and sucked it clean. “Not bad.”

Ohmigod.

The kitchen door banged open, nearly making D.J. jump in the air. Sean…or James…barreled in. “We found a snake!” He raced to a cupboard. “I need a jar.”

Max caught the boy before he could begin his jar search. The elder Lotorto shifted gears a lot more easily than D.J. could. She was still vacillating between hyperventilation and not inhaling at all. “I don’t think so, partner. No more pets. Besides, you’re supposed to be cleaning up.” Over the boy’s fervent protests, Max guided him to the door.

“But he’ll be gone if we don’t get him now. James is holdin’him.”

“Tell James to put the snake down, so he can pick up some toys.”

“Awww, Uncle Max…”

“Sean, if I have to come out there—”

Uncle Max?

Max shoved Sean out the door, walked to the refrigerator and swigged orange juice from the carton as if it were a shot of something far more soothing. Midswig, he caught himself and swore. “Sorry.” Setting the juice on the counter, he got a glass. “I lived alone so long, I’ve still got a lot of bad habits.”

Uncle Max? Uncle? “You’re not married?” D.J. blurted, realizing immediately she was going to have to work on subtlety. “I mean, I thought…I assumed you were married to the children’s mother. That you were their father.”

Max drank half a glass of juice then set it aside and frowned. “Their mother was my cousin.” He smiled. “You thought I was their father? That makes sense. I suppose I was so relieved to hire you, the little facts slipped my mind.”

“Little facts? Mr. Lotorto, that is not a little fact.” Questions raced through D.J.’s brain faster than she could sort them.

Laughing, Max reached for her elbow. “Mr. Lotorto? You can’t be that angry about an oversight.” Holding her arm, he guided her calmly toward the living room. “Come on, let’s sit down while we have the chance. Not even 9:00 a.m., and I’m beat already.” His smile was tired as he pointed her toward the sofa and settled himself on a large chenille-covered easy chair. “Embarking on fatherhood and a new business at the same time isn’t exactly what I’d planned.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t the children’s father?”

Facing her, he wiped the smile from his face and said, “I just didn’t think about it. Honest. Does it make that big a difference?”

D.J. thought a moment and decided that yes, it made a very big difference, though she’d have a hard time articulating why. She knew that decent men, good men, accepted the responsibility of single parenthood. But how did one characterize a man willing to take in four kids he hadn’t even fathered? Also, D.J. had expected Loretta to be mighty pleased at the news she had grandchildren. Now D.J. would have to find out whether Loretta was related to the kids at all.

“Actually, I’m not their uncle,” Max said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Terry was my cousin. Let’s see, that would make me…”

“A saint.” D.J. gaped at the man before her. Good Lord, not only hadn’t he fathered the children, he wasn’t even their immediate family. Nor was he being paid. The foster families who’d taken her in had been compensated fairly well by the state.

“I’m their second cousin,” Max corrected, quickly disabusing her of the saint notion. “Believe, me, Daisy, I have never been in line for canonization. I’m just a guy muddling through.”

Exactly what she’d expect a saint to say. So Terry, the woman whose picture he’d looked at with such tenderness, had been his cousin. “Why?” she asked bluntly. “Why are you raising your cousin’s children?” A thought occurred to her. “Is this a temporary setup?”

“No, it’s not temporary.” Max looked angry, even offended. “The kids are going to stay with me. Right here. I don’t consider family a temporary arrangement.”

Sorry. His tone might have cowed someone else into abandoning her questions. But if anything, D.J. was more curious than before. What made a single man willing to turn his life upside down?

“Where is your cousin?”

Max’s jaw tensed. A distant, unhappy expression entered his eyes. “She passed away.”

So this really was permanent. “Look, Max, I’m not implying you can’t handle this, but aren’t there other people who could help out? Other relatives?”

Max’s expression turned more intense than she’d yet seen it. “I didn’t mean to snap at you before, but you’re not the first person to ask whether this is temporary. Or to suggest that it should be.” He leaned forward. “The kids and I are on our own, Daisy. Except for you.”

Nerves and a growing sense of foreboding made D.J.’s deliberate laugh a little too loud. “That’s not saying much, Max. I’m a…a waitress.”

“How dedicated are you to waitressing?”

“How dedicated?”

“Do you see yourself waiting tables a year from now?”

She hadn’t seen herself waiting tables for five minutes. Not until the idea of going undercover had entered her mind. “I suppose I don’t really have a career plan,” she fibbed, since she couldn’t tell him that in five years she planned to own one of the most successful P.I. firms in Portland, Oregon.

“Stay with us, then.”

The pancakes D.J. had eaten seemed to fall to her feet. She didn’t know how to respond, so Max filled in the silence.

“Let’s sign a year contract—you, me and the kids. We’ll jump into this thing together. We need you, Daisy.”

Holy cow. Holy cow. He wasn’t kidding. She’d expected him to ask her to stay a couple of weeks—three on the outside—while he looked for a professional child care provider. “But…I’m not a nanny,” she stumbled.

“You’re great. The kids like you. I like you. Last night I came home to a clean house and kids who were fed and in bed at a reasonable hour. It finally looked like someone knew what they were doing around here.”

Visions of burnt hot dogs and fried chicken coating ground into the carpet came swiftly to mind. “But I’m not a real nanny.”

Max shrugged. “If you want to get technical, I’m not a real daddy. Love and instinct cover a lot of mistakes.” Max relaxed forward, elbows on his knees. “I like having you here, Daisy. You fit us.”

As a professional, D.J. tried to ignore the highly unprofessional fingers of pleasure that skittered up her spine. She fit?

“The fact is I can’t take care of these kids and run a business by myself. I need you, Daisy Holden, and now that I’ve found you, I don’t intend to let you go.” A smile, wry, attractive, almost infectious, spread across Max’s face. “We haven’t discussed hours or days off yet, but I’ll give you a tip—you can pretty much write your own ticket. Anabel and the boys will be in school next month. I take Mondays off, and Livie can come to work with me one or two other days during the week.”

“But I’m not a—”

“Also, I’ll double what you could have made waiting tables at the tavern.”

D.J. breathed in and out slowly. She couldn’t very well tell him that the money didn’t matter, not after the song and dance she’d given him about needing a job. What could she say? “Thanks, but your grandmother has offered a lot more money for investigating you than you could afford to pay me for being a nanny.” D.J. shook her head imperceptibly. This is what happened when you lied: you had to think of more and more lies to cover the first one.

“Thank you for your faith in me, Max,” she began hesitantly.

Max winced. “I hear a ’but’ coming. Tell you what—don’t say it. Don’t decide yet. I think fate brought you to me, Daisy June,” Max smiled, but he didn’t look as if he was kidding at all. “You showed up exactly when I needed you, even though you’re not from around here. That’s not the kind of divine gift I want to ignore.”

D.J. was sure she’d stopped breathing—which, looking on the bright side, would effectively eliminate her ability to respond. Oh, what a tangled web we weave…

The slider to the backyard opened and closed. Small feet pattered across the linoleum floor and into the living area. Arms down by her sides, Livie ran with a bobbing motion that made her pigtails bounce. Pigtails that big, strong, masculine Max must have put in her hair. A fresh wash of tears streaked the four-year-old’s face. Only when she reached Max did her arms rise in the child’s universal language. Lift me.

Max rose and, with one fluid sweep, had Livie in his arms before he’d even asked what was wrong. When her tears turned to hiccuping sobs, he cupped the back of her head and pressed her close. The gesture was so protective, it almost made Daisy believe that nothing bad could ever happen to this child.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Max murmured as she calmed a bit.

“I got bi-bi-bit!” Livie cradled her own tiny hand.

Shifting his hold on her slightly, Max examined the offended appendage. Clearly, he didn’t see anything. “What bit you?”

She hiccupped several more times then managed to choke out, “A ladybug.”

“Sweetheart, ladybugs don’t bite.”

“Y-yes, they d-d-do!”

As carefully as if it were spun from glass, Max lifted Livie’s hand and healed it with a kiss. “That must have hurt really badly,” he told her, looking into blue eyes that held his. “You’re very brave.”

The twins invaded the room next at their usual boy pace. Anabel followed more sedately.

The chattering about snakes, about who picked up more toys, about where in the yard they would bury a dead gopher if they found one, began immediately. Over the growing cacophony, Max’s gaze met Daisy’s. “Guess we better get this show on the road.” He seemed resigned, a little frustrated, and maybe a tiny bit wary now as he looked at her. “I think I caught you off guard. I didn’t even ask you if you like us. Let’s shelve the conversation for now and pick it up again later.”

He herded the kids to their rooms to get their swimsuits, while she followed ponderously, biting her tongue so she wouldn’t admit out loud that yes, darn it, she liked them a lot.

Daisy poked her head outside the women’s room at Wal-Mart and looked around. Ascertaining that the coast was clear, she emerged from the restroom, leaned against the wall near the door and unzipped her fanny pack. She had two phone calls to make; this was the first chance she’d had all day.

Max had stayed home from work, but instead of giving her the day off to make her decision, he expected her to accompany them all on an “adventure day.”

Apparently, he’d promised the kids a day of fun, which, to accommodate their juvenile tastes, meant the aforementioned bike ride, a picnic and the activity they were currently pursuing—shopping for a bathing suit so Daisy, too, could partake of the community swimming pool.

Oh, joy.

Max had asked her to take the day to decide whether she’d stay or go. There was no decision to make. She wasn’t a nanny. She wasn’t even a waitress. She was a private investigator, and she was starting to dislike this job.

Max needed to look for real child care; he didn’t need to be lulled into a false sense of security, thinking D.J. might actually accept the job permanently. On the other hand, if she told him she wasn’t staying, he might find someone else and fire her before she’d collected all the information Loretta wanted.

Pulling her cell phone out of her fanny pack, D.J. dialed Loretta’s number then checked her watch—2:00 p.m. They’d already gone on their bike ride and picnic. Max had bought them all sandwiches at a market deli, where the lady behind the counter clearly knew him and his charges and was blatantly curious about D.J. Max was saved an introduction when Sean or James—D.J. was still having trouble deciding who was who—informed everyone within earshot at the small, locally owned market that “This girl’s our new nanny. She’s prob’ly better than the old ones. We dunno yet.”

During the picnic, which took place in a park next to a fire station, Max spread out a blanket while D.J. awkwardly handed out sandwiches. Awkwardly, because it failed to occur to her that the sandwiches needed to be unwrapped for Livie and the boys. Or that stupid, idiotic juice cartons spewed like damned geysers if you didn’t hold them properly when you stuck the little straw in.

The boys had guffawed, Anabel had sighed in her too-grownup way, which was going to doom her to perennial geekdom in junior high if she wasn’t careful, and Liv had looked as if she was going to cry when she realized most of her juice was watering the park lawn.