Professor and The Pregnant Nanny

No wonder she was tired! They’d done a lot. They’d made play dough, then shaped it into animals, made a zoo fence out of popsicle sticks and glue, colored and sprinkled glitter on cards for Mrs. Butters’s eventual return, practiced writing their names on the little chalk board in Christopher’s room, and gone swimming in the blow-up pool on the shaded patio.

Charles gazed at Melissa with wonder as he listened to this amazing chronology. On top of all that, she’d cooked and cleaned and done some laundry, too…he could hear the dryer going.

As soon as the children were done, Charles gave them permission to watch a video and put Christopher in charge of inserting the tape and turning on the television. He left the kitchen with his chest puffed out importantly, his little brother and sister in tow. Daniel was sucking his thumb, a sure sign he was already getting sleepy.

“The meal was delicious,” Charles said, as soon as he and Melissa were alone in the kitchen. “Just thought I’d tell you, since you couldn’t possibly know from your own sampling of the food.”

Melissa blushed and looked disconcerted. “Oh no. You’re wrong. I eat while I cook. I was full before I even sat down.”

Charles propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I don’t believe you. Annette ate as much as I did while she was pregnant…sometimes more. She was always hungry. She said food just tasted better and it was obvious she enjoyed every bite. I loved watching her eat.”

Melissa stared at Charles. Now it was her turn not to believe him. Brad would never have encouraged her to eat or have enjoyed watching her. He was too paranoid about her getting fat.

“I’m just not hungry tonight,” she said finally.

“Why don’t you just admit you’re too tired to eat?” Charles suggested.

Melissa stared at her plate, anxiety welling up in her. He was right, but if she admitted he was right, would he think she was too pregnant for this job? She needed the money, but more than that, despite the physical work involved, she loved taking care of Charles’s children.

“I’m not going to fire you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Charles continued. “Or maybe I should say, I won’t fire you under one condition.”

Melissa’s gaze flew to his face. “What condition?”

“I want you to take a nap every afternoon.”

Melissa was speechless for a moment, then asked the obvious question. “What about the children? You said they normally don’t nap. What will they be doing while I’m sleeping?”

“I’ll watch them for an hour every afternoon.”

“But your—”

“I’ll get my paper done. Don’t worry. You kept them so busy today, they’ll probably fall asleep before the sun goes down and I’ll have all this evening to work on the paper.”

Melissa shook her head. “You’re being very considerate,” she said quietly. She wasn’t used to that.

“Annette was pregnant three times. I know how tired women can get at this stage of a pregnancy. I really don’t mind helping out.” He slapped his hands on the table and stood up. “Which is also why I’m going to do these dishes and you’re going to go straight home.”

Melissa sprang to her feet. Or at least she was in the process of springing to her feet, but found herself still sitting in the chair by the time Charles had risen and walked around to her end of the table. “I can’t let you do that!” she objected, peering up at him and marveling that he appeared even taller from this vantage point, which was on a level with his belt buckle. “Come on, Charles! I’m perfectly capable of washing a few dishes!”

“Tomorrow you can wash dishes because you will have had your nap and have a little energy left by this time of the day. Tonight, Melissa, just go home.”

Charles’s hands rested lightly on his hips, drawing Melissa’s gaze most reluctantly to the slim perfection of those hips. She also couldn’t help but notice his stomach, flat as a pancake even after a meal. Brad had been a physical marvel in high school and maintained his fitness as long as he played football in college, but after he was dropped from the team at the University of Utah for not keeping up his grades, he quickly developed a gut. Too much armchair football and beer.

Melissa dropped her gaze to her hands, the fingers puffy and pink from dishwater and pregnancy-related water retention. She was indeed tired and there was no reason not to take Charles up on his offer. She was touched by his consideration, but also conflicted. She wanted to prove she could do the job, eight-and-a-half months pregnant or not!

She had a stubborn streak that was sometimes a good thing, and sometimes not such a good thing. It was probably stubborn pride, along with a hefty portion of denial, that had kept her in her marriage for so long. She just didn’t like giving up.

“Charles, it will only take a few minutes for me to do these dishes, so—”

Melissa stood up, took a step, promptly tripped on something and fell into Charles’s arms. It was the only physical contact Melissa had had with a man in several months…except for hugs from her dad and her two brothers. But this was different. Very different.

Charles grabbed her shoulders and gently returned her to her seat. “Whoa! You’re not fainting on me, are you?”

“Of course not,” she said, embarrassed and angry at herself. Her heart was fluttering and racing like some lovesick teenager’s!

“Then why—?” His face was very close to hers and his gaze—searching her eyes and face for pinpoint pupils and a waxy complexion, she supposed—suddenly dropped to her feet. “Oh! Your shoelaces are untied. You must have tripped on them.”

Melissa could have explained why she had been unaware of her untied shoelaces, but it was just too mortifying to admit that she couldn’t see her feet unless she deliberately stuck them out in front of her. Simply looking down and seeing them where they usually were just wasn’t an option anymore.

“Those darn things are always coming untied,” she mumbled, wrapping her arms awkwardly around her stomach to tie her shoes.

“Let me do that,” Charles offered, getting down on one knee. He smiled up at her as he quickly and easily accomplished what took her plenty of heavy breathing to do. “Annette had trouble tying her shoes, too. And don’t get me started on pantyhose. It took her and me and a small crane to get her into those.”

Melissa laughed. “Hey, I quit trying to get into pantyhose four months ago. It was when I went to—”

Melissa stopped herself just in time. She was about to reveal that she’d last worn pantyhose when she met her lawyer at the Grand America Hotel for a fancy lunch to celebrate the signing of her divorce papers. It had been a great day and a great meal, even though the pantyhose had started cutting into her waist by the time the white chocolate cheesecake showed up for dessert. She’d only managed two bites of the luscious stuff because the pantyhose just wouldn’t budge.

Charles didn’t ask her to complete what she’d been saying, but he sobered and quickly stood up. She realized then that he probably thought she’d been about to refer to Brad’s funeral, that she’d last worn pantyhose at her dead husband’s funeral! Oh, that damn lie was going to torture her all week long!

“I’ll go home, Charles,” she said meekly, leaving him to draw whatever conclusions he wanted to from her sudden capitulation. She was just too tired to care right now. And another slip of the tongue could be disastrous.

“Good,” he said, then picked up her nanny bag. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Melissa couldn’t believe his kindness. She wanted to repay him somehow, and the first thing that came to mind was to bake for him. “Charles, thank you for being so kind!” she blurted out impetuously. “To show my appreciation, I’ll make you some cookies tomorrow. I have a wonderful chocolate-chip recipe that was handed down from my grandmother.”

Melissa was surprised when her spontaneously offered gesture of gratitude was received by Charles with a look of surprise, then a frown, then a fleeting expression of…scorn? “That won’t be necessary, Melissa.”

“But I want to. I really—”

“Have you got everything? Let’s go.”

Melissa felt hurried as Charles escorted her to the front door and outside to her car. She snatched quick glances at him, puzzled by his closed expression. Since mentioning the cookies, his mood had definitely changed!

It was still sweltering outside and it was quite a shock to go from Charles’s cool house into one hundred degrees of dry, suffocating Utah heat. Melissa could hardly bear the thought of driving home in her little hot car with only the windows and vents as cooling devices, as all the while she’d be trying to figure out what she’d said or done to make Charles suddenly so distant.

Melissa pried herself in behind the steering wheel as Charles waited and watched. He didn’t look angry or scornful anymore, just rather stern. Maybe, like her, he was simply tired, she reasoned.

Melissa turned on the ignition, smiled tentatively and waved through the open window.

“Better get those windows up and the air conditioning on, or you’re going to have a hot drive home,” Charles advised, not bothering to wave back or smile.

Melissa rolled up the window. No point going into an explanation about the car’s air conditioning being broken and her frugal decision not to fix it. He didn’t look receptive to any conversation, much less something so mundane and pathetic, anyway. Once she turned the corner at the end of the street and was out of sight, she rolled down all four windows.

HOW IRONIC, Charles thought, as he watched Melissa’s car turn the corner. Cookies.

He shook his head and chuckled, glad he was finally seeing the humor in the situation. It was history repeating itself.

He was smitten and couldn’t help being nice to her, so much so that he neglected his own concerns.

She was promising cookies as a thank you.

Well, it would be interesting to see if she actually came through this time. But if she didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. Not like it had mattered thirteen years ago.

Chapter Three

Melissa lived in Sugarhouse, about ten miles south of Charles’s place. It took her fifteen minutes to get home, but by the time she got to her building and climbed the stairs to her apartment, she was ready to die from the heat.

When she got inside, she turned up the air conditioning—which she always turned off completely while she was gone for more than a couple of hours—and plopped down on the couch directly in front of the window-mounted unit. She toed off her shoes and propped her feet on the coffee table. Sure enough, her ankles looked as though they were encircled by a couple of inflated inner tubes. When Charles had got down on his knees to tie her shoes, he’d been up close and personal with those poor, swollen ankles!

Melissa closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the sofa, lamenting the fact that she couldn’t have met Charles Avery under better circumstances. For example, when she’d had a figure, trim ankles and no ex-husband. Then she reminded herself that she had met him under those circumstances…thirteen years ago.

The baby kicked and Melissa rested her hands on her stomach, stroking it in a circular motion. She smiled dreamily. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she murmured to her unborn child. “I don’t really regret anything that got me to this place in my life. ’Cause I’ve got you.” Although she wouldn’t mind if Charles was the baby’s father and not Brad.

Melissa was shocked by this thought, coming unbidden to her mind just as she was about to doze off. After all, she barely knew Charles.

Melissa’s almost-nap was interrupted by the unmistakable three knocks, a pause, and two more knocks on the front door that was her mother’s calling card. Although she was tired, she was glad for the company. “Come in, Mom.”

Pam Richardson swung open the door and breezed into the room, looking not at all hot or uncomfortable from the heat. “How many times have I told you to lock your door, Missy!” she scolded, then scooped down to kiss Melissa on the cheek.

“I just got home. I didn’t have time to lock the door.”

“How long does it take?”

“Did you bring me something?” Melissa eyed the Tupperware her mother was carrying. There were five containers and one of them looked like brownies. Suddenly she was hungry again.

“I brought you lasagna, tuna casserole, beef stew with carrots and onions, fruit salad and—”

“Brownies?”

Pam handed her daughter the brownie container and took the rest into the kitchen, placing all but the fruit salad in the freezer. “You ate a decent dinner at that professor’s house, didn’t you?” she asked over her shoulder as she rummaged in the fridge, then emerged with a diet cola. She turned, pulled the tab on her drink and leaned her hip against the counter as she took a long swallow.

Melissa marveled at how slim, vibrant and young-looking her mother was at fifty-one. She dyed her hair to hide the emerging streaks of gray, of course, but who didn’t anymore?

Taking a bite of brownie, Melissa considered telling her mother she’d eaten a good dinner, but she never lied to her mother. She wasn’t any good at lying and it never got her anywhere, anyway. Today’s debacle was a perfect example.

She swallowed her bite of brownie and confessed, “I couldn’t eat. I was too tired.”

Pam immediately retrieved one of the Tupperware containers from the fridge, put it in the microwave and punched the appropriate buttons to heat up the food. “Guess you and the baby need some dinner, then. Chocolate may be food for the gods, but it doesn’t contain all the nutrients necessary for pregnant women and their babies.”

Melissa didn’t bother to explain to her mother that she was planning to eat one of the meals she’d brought over as soon as she’d appeased her sweet tooth. But her mom liked fussing over her, and it made Melissa feel cherished. She definitely enjoyed that feeling these days, and it made her mother feel good, too.

Melissa’s parents had wanted her to move in with them when she and Brad had split and she’d been faced with so many financial challenges, along with the pregnancy. But Melissa withstood their heartfelt entreaties to let them take care of her for a while. She knew she needed to get on with her life as independently as possible. Besides, they still managed to help her a bunch, especially with her business. She’d have never been able to take care of the physical demands of carting her product to stores and putting up displays without the help of her parents and her older brothers, Kent and Craig.

“Thanks, Mom,” Melissa said with a smile.

Pam’s eyebrows lifted. “For lecturing you? That’s a first.”

“No, Mom, for everything.” Melissa was embarrassed when her eyes filled with tears again.

“Missy, what’s the matter?” Her mom was instantly beside her on the sofa, her hand on her knee, her worried gaze searching Melissa’s face. “Don’t you feel well? Was this professor a tyrant who made you work like a dog, then sent you away without eating?”

Melissa gave a watery chuckle, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Oh, no. Charles Avery is anything but a tyrant. It’s just pregnancy hormones. I’ve been emotional all day.”

Pam sat back and gazed intently at Melissa. “Charles Avery? This professor you’re working for isn’t by any chance the Charles Avery who helped you pass your trig class, is he?”

Melissa was surprised. “You remember Charles Avery?”

Pam shrugged. “Of course I do. I was very impressed by him. And he was doing a good deed for my daughter—a mother never forgets something like that. Besides, he had beautiful green eyes.”

Melissa stared at her mother, her surprise increasing with each sentence she uttered. “You noticed his eyes were beautiful behind those thick lenses he wore? How come I didn’t? Heck, I didn’t even remember him after he told me who he was this morning…at least, not right away. I really felt stupid. But then he doesn’t look the same, so—”

This time Pam lifted just one brow, her expression sly. “So how does he look?”

Melissa felt the heat climbing her neck and, no doubt, staining her cheeks bright red.

Pam laughed. “Missy, you’re blushing! I gather he’s gotten pretty cute. Too bad there’s a Mrs. Charles Avery.”

Now Melissa felt the blood and the color draining out of her face as she recalled her horrible lie. Pam watched with alarm as her daughter went from red as a rose to white as a ghost. “Missy, you’d better tell me what’s going on. And don’t fall back on the pregnancy hormones as an excuse.”

Melissa blew out a long breath and told her mother about the lie she’d told Charles. At the conclusion of her story, after recounting the highlights of the day from her arrival to her departure, she stressed, “I would never have told him that Brad was dead if I’d known his own wife had died, Mom. It’s just that I—”

“It was wrong to tell him Brad was dead, even if his wife was still alive…but you know that. But I do understand how it happened, Melissa. Brad hasn’t exactly been good for your self-esteem, has he?”

Melissa’s chin jutted out slightly. “No, but I’m not going to blame him for the rest of my life for decisions I made of my own free will. I know I was mostly just naive and too in love to see things straight, but Brad and I are divorced now and he’s living happily—I assume—in California.”

“I just wish he was farther away. Possibly Yemen?”

“That part of my life is over, thank goodness. I’m doing just fine, and feeling better about myself everyday. I’m just sorry I didn’t have the strength of character to be honest with Charles from the beginning.”

Pam sat back against the sofa cushions, took the brownie container from Melissa and peered inside, mulling over which one to choose. “You can still be honest with him, you know.”

“What for? He might fire me, and I won’t see him again after this week anyway.”

“If he’s the nice guy you say he is, I doubt he’d fire you. He’s lived long enough to know that people make mistakes. He’ll understand. And what makes you think you won’t see him again after the job’s over? Don’t you want to see him again? Heck if it was me…”

Melissa recognized her mother’s matchmaking tone and immediately nipped that flowering idea in the bud. “Mom, even if I admitted to the truth and he forgave me, there’s no chance Charles Avery would be interested in me.”

Pam gave Melissa a disapproving scowl. “I can’t stand it when you talk like that. Brad really did do a number on you, didn’t he? Don’t you realize how beautiful and special you are, Melissa Richardson?”

“You’re my mom. You’re prejudiced. Besides, Charles could have anyone he wants, believe me. Why would he want me?”

“He wanted you in high school. Give him some time! The week has just begun and—”

Melissa gave an uncertain chuckle. “What do you mean, he wanted me in high school?”

“He had a crush on you, Missy. Didn’t you know? It was patently obvious to me and your father, I can tell you. The way he looked at you, the way he blushed and stared and—Well, we just knew. He probably thought he’d died and gone to heaven when you took him those cookies to thank him for tutoring you.”

Melissa felt her heart sink. “Oh…now I understand.”

Pam finally chose a brownie and took a nibble. “Well, at least we’re getting somewhere. What exactly do you understand, Missy?”

“Why he bristled when I offered to bake him cookies tomorrow. He was remembering that I’d promised him cookies for helping me with my math and—”

“And what?”

“And I never delivered,” Melissa admitted with a sigh. “I’d forgotten about that, but it’s all coming back to me now.”

Pam frowned. “But I remember you baking cookies.”

“Yes. And I had every intention of taking them to Charles. But Brad and some of his buddies showed up while I was baking and ate almost the whole batch. I meant to bake more, but somehow it slipped my mind. Maybe if I saw Charles at school, I’d have remembered, but he was never around.”

“He might have been around, only you didn’t notice him,” Pam suggested. “You had tunnel vision in those days, Missy, and Brad was the ‘light’ at the end of the tunnel, blinding you to everyone and everything else.”

“Great metaphor, Mom,” Melissa said drily. “But so mortifying.”

“Bake him cookies tomorrow, like you told him you would,” her mother said bracingly. “Bake him a batch for being nice now, and bake him a batch for being nice thirteen years ago.”

“I don’t know, Mom,” Melissa said hesitantly. “He might think I’m…you know…flirting with him or something.”

Pam laughed. “What’s wrong with that?”

“He might have a girlfriend.”

“He might not. If he had a girlfriend, he or one of the children would probably have mentioned her today.”

“Even so…were you listening when I told you I lied to him, Mom? That I told him Brad was dead?”

“And were you listening when I told you to tell him the truth?” Pam countered, gesturing with the hand that held the brownie as she stressed her point. “Do it, the sooner the better. And quit overanalyzing and worrying about everything and bake him those cookies! It will ease your conscience if nothing else.”

“Okay, Mom. I get it. I appreciate the advice, now pass the brownies, please.”

“Your dinner’s warm,” Pam objected, holding the brownie container out of reach. “Stew before chocolate. That’s the rule.”

“I promise I’ll eat the stew,” Melissa bargained playfully. “But the baby wants another brownie and she wants it now! Can’t you feel her kicking?” She took her mother’s free hand and placed it on her stomach. Sure enough, the baby was using the inside of her stomach for a punching bag.

Pam laughed and handed over the brownies. “I guess it’s never too soon to start spoiling your grandchildren.”

She stood up and went to the microwave to get the warmed-up stew. “Now that we’ve got the professor taken care of, so to speak, do you want to hear some good news?”

“By all means.”

“You got another order for your toddler food from the Stork Store this morning. It’s a good thing we put up so many bottles last month. Business is picking up, Missy.”

Melissa nodded, happy her toddler-age baby food had found a local market. But her goal was to sell to the national grocery chains, and when that happened she’d have to move her manufacturing headquarters out of her mother’s extra kitchen in the basement of her house and into a separate and appropriate building, as well as hire some actual employees. So far, she and her mother, father and brothers had been handling the business.

“Things are looking up, Missy,” her mother announced as she set Melissa’s stew on the counter and waved her over. “Now come and eat.”

Melissa obeyed, but stole a glance at her mother’s beaming and optimistic expression, wondering if she was entertaining hopes that had as much to do with Charles Avery as they did with Melissa’s burgeoning business. If so, her mother needed to pull back on the reins. Melissa knew the danger of too many hopes, too much dreaming.

WHEN MELISSA ARRIVED at Charles’s house the next morning, she was on time and wearing makeup. Her hair was down and flowing around her shoulders—pregnancy had at least been good for her hair and nails—and she’d worn one of her favorite yellow maternity blouses and white slacks. Apparently she was more foolish than she’d have ever imagined, because she was allowing her mother’s encouraging words to influence her behavior in respect to Charles Avery.

But Charles barely looked at her as he bid her good morning, gave a quick rundown of his schedule for the day and left the house for Westminster College and his twice-a-week classes. He did mention, however, that he’d be home in time for her afternoon nap, so she should plan on it.

Melissa had barely mumbled a thank-you, which he didn’t appear to hear, and then he was gone. If he’d had a crush on her in high school, as her mother had suggested, there was apparently no danger or sign of the old feelings reemerging.