Professor and The Pregnant Nanny

Now she looked pointedly at Charles, who took the hint and stepped aside to allow her to enter the house.

“Well…that’s great,” Charles said, not very convincingly as he shut the door behind them and led Melissa into a large living room. He motioned to a chair. “I’ll introduce you to the kids, then we can…you know…get started.”

As Melissa settled in the chair Charles indicated, he and the children sat down on a sofa directly opposite her. Charles seemed to be trying to avoid staring at her pregnant belly as he introduced the children—Christopher, four, Sarah, three, and Daniel, two—but none of the children were shy about staring. As soon as his father stopped to draw breath, Christopher directed a question to the object of all their thoughts. “Are you going to have a baby or somethin’?”

Melissa smiled. “Oh, it’s not a something. It’s a baby, all right. I’ve seen pictures.”

Christopher’s eyes widened. “Wow. Already? But how—?”

“When are you due, Melissa?” Charles broke in, probably trying to curtail Christopher’s questions as well as to discover for himself whether or not he had to worry about a pregnant woman going into labor while she was supposed to be taking care of his children.

“Not for two weeks,” she told him, hoping he found that fact reassuring.

He nodded, but there was still a tiny fissure of worry between his eyebrows. “And…and how’s Brad doing?”

Melissa should have been expecting the question, but it still took her by surprise. She had no idea what to say. Did she dare admit that she and Brad were divorced? That the golden couple from East High had had a tarnished marriage? That she was paying off credit card bills from Brad’s extravagant support of his mistress, the rent on that woman’s apartment and all the little trinkets he bought her?

Probably bored by now with the grown-up talk, Christopher scrambled off the couch, grabbed a ball from the corner of the room, and began tossing it in the air.

Charles returned to the subject. “He’s probably pretty excited about the baby…Brad, I mean. Is this the first for you two?”

That’s when Melissa did it. She did it without thinking. She did it without considering repercussions or the very obvious moral arguments against it. She did it almost before Charles finished speaking.

She opened her mouth and out came the biggest lie of her life.

“Brad’s dead,” she stated abruptly. “Killed several months ago in a car accident.”

Charles’s face immediately reflected his horror at so insensitively mentioning her poor, dead husband. “I’m sorry, Melissa. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know. How could you?” Melissa automatically answered, while internally rationalizing what she’d just done. It’s just a small concession to my pride, she told herself. After this week, I’ll never see Charles Avery again. It’s just a little white lie. A little…white…lie.

Charles’s horrified expression softened to one of sympathy and concern. “I won’t say I know just how you feel. People say that all the time, trying to be comforting. But, actually, it’s possible that I do know a little of how you feel, Melissa. When Annette died—”

“Annette?” Melissa quavered.

“My wife,” Charles answered with a nod. He studied her face for a moment, then said, “Oh, I see. You didn’t know, either.”

“Your wife is—?”

“Yes. She’s been gone since Daniel was just a month old. She was killed in a car accident, too.”

“But I thought…The agency told me your wife was away to a funeral or something,” Melissa explained faintly.

“They obviously got their facts mixed up,” Charles said. “But it sounded pretty hectic at the agency when I called this morning. It’s my permanent nanny, Mrs. Butters, who’s away at a funeral in New Orleans.”

Melissa was sick with shame! She’d told him Brad was dead to avoid revealing the embarrassing truth. She didn’t want to admit that Melissa Richardson Baxter had made a shambles of her life. That she’d been duped and dumped on by her husband for more than a decade before finally seeing the light and getting a divorce. That she, the stupid, deluded half of East High’s golden couple, had continued being stupid and deluded for twelve long years! But Charles’s wife had really died!

“I’m sorry, Charles,” Melissa said feelingly. “So sorry.” But he had no idea how sorry she really was, and for more than he could ever imagine. She’d claimed falsely to have endured a tragedy that Charles had actually lived through.

“It’s been a while,” Charles said with that slight, crooked smile of his again. “I’ve got great memories, but I’m doing fine now. And so are the kids.”

Emboldened by the sight of his older brother having fun despite the presence of a stranger in the house, Daniel squirmed out of his father’s arms and started skipping around the living room in his towel. Sarah couldn’t resist, either, and got down to chase him.

Charles watched the playing children for a moment, then turned his gaze back to Melissa, his smile slipping away and his eyes darkening with renewed concern. “But how are you doing, Melissa. It can’t have been very long since—”

Melissa shook her head vigorously. “Please, Charles, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he assured her. “I understand completely.”

But Charles didn’t understand, and Melissa was going to make sure he never did. It was going to be difficult, but for the next week she was just going to have to live with her horrible lie and hope Charles respected her wishes never to mention Brad again.

After a sober pause, Charles took a bracing and cheerful tone. “Why don’t I fill you in on our routine around here as I give you a tour of the house, Melissa? We’ll go to Daniel’s room first so we can get some clothes on this little rascal.” He grabbed Daniel as he scooted past, the toddler now naked as a jaybird because Christopher had stolen the towel and was swinging it over his head. Sarah giggled.

Melissa agreed to Charles’s suggestion with a nod and tried to smile, but she couldn’t meet his eyes.

GEEZ, I REALLY BLEW THAT! thought Charles as he led the way to the boys’ shared bedroom. She’s probably still too grief-stricken about Brad’s death to talk about it. I’m not going to say another word about him unless she brings up the subject first.

Not talking about Brad was actually fine with Charles. He was sorry the guy was dead, but he’d never liked him in high school, and the main reason was because of Melissa. If she only knew how he’d bragged in the locker room about all his sexual exploits with other girls, laughing indulgently at Melissa’s old-fashioned notion about “saving herself for the wedding night.” Brad had announced that it was fine if Melissa wanted to wait till marriage for sex, but he didn’t share the same viewpoint. And if Melissa wasn’t willing, there were plenty of other girls who were.

Yeah, Brad Baxter was Charles’s idea of a first-class jerk back then. But Melissa had stayed married to him for all this time and now found it too upsetting to talk about his death, so the guy must have changed over the years. People did change. In fact, hadn’t Charles’s own physical appearance altered so much that Melissa didn’t recognize or remember him when she’d first showed up?

But who was he kidding? Charles thought with a secret, self-deprecatory smile. Melissa might not have remembered him even if he’d looked exactly the same as in high school. After all, it had taken her no time at all to completely forget his existence the moment their tutoring sessions were over. She’d promised to come by the house with her special-recipe, chocolate chip cookies as a thank-you for his help, and Charles had waited for days afterward, sitting at home when he could have been out with friends, making sure his hair was combed, his teeth brushed, his clothes neat and clean.

But she’d never showed up.

And he never saw a single cookie.

He got over it, though. He realized he’d been a fool to allow himself a crush on the school’s most pretty and popular girl, anyway.

Still…she really should have made him those cookies. It was funny how he still remembered that little slight, and how it still gave him a twinge of irritation and disappointment. After all, he’d given up outings with friends and his own study time to help her with her math. But as sweet as she could be—and he remembered she could be very sweet—Melissa was pretty self-absorbed back then. Or maybe he should say, Brad-absorbed.

Charles shook his head. High-school crushes…what a joke. In the big scheme of things, they usually didn’t turn out to be very important.

While Charles dressed Daniel, he quickly explained to Melissa his busy schedule for the next week. He was relieved to notice, as they talked, that the children were warming to Melissa and she to them. Sarah, usually the most shy, had climbed up on Melissa’s lap and was confiding something in her ear.

However, this didn’t stop Christopher from butting in with his own questions.

“What do we call you? We call Mrs. Butters, Mrs. Butters. Are you a missus, too?”

Christopher had already jumped off the couch and had been playing and pretty much ignoring the adults when Melissa told Charles about Brad’s accident.

Melissa darted a glance at Charles—it was the first time she’d looked directly at him since the dead-husband debacle—before she answered Christopher. “Yes, I’m a missus, too. But you can call me Melissa.”

“Missus Melissa?” Christopher laughed. “Sounds funny.”

“No, just Melissa,” Melissa clarified with an amused smile.

Christopher nodded. “Okay. Are you a good cook? Mrs. Butters makes the best blueberry pancakes. How old are you? Mrs. Butters is real old. More than fifty, even. Do you have any other kids, Melissa?”

“That’s enough questions for now, Christopher,” Charles said. “You’re going to tire Melissa out before she’s even here an hour.”

And Melissa did look tired. Oh, she was as pretty as ever, and while pregnancy became her, he knew the last month could be a trial. Annette’s three pregnancies had made him well aware of that fact.

He just hoped she could handle the kids and all the work that went with them. If she stayed through Saturday, as arranged, she’d be within a week of her due date.

What was the agency thinking, anyway, sending out an eight-and-a-half months pregnant woman for a job like this? Charles wondered, frowning and worried.

And why did it have to be Missy Richardson?

Chapter Two

After the tour of the house—which was just as homey and commodious as she’d envisioned it—Melissa was again managing to look Charles directly in the eye for more than thirty seconds at a time. She was going to try to forget she’d told him “the big lie” and enjoy the next week with his three adorable children. His work schedule, as he’d outlined it for her earlier, would keep him shut up in his study for most of the day, anyway, or teaching classes at the college. She’d see very little of him.

While she wasn’t dead yet—just pregnant and divorced and perpetually tired—Melissa was not immune to the charms of a handsome, well-educated, successful family man like Charles Avery. Under other circumstances, she’d like to get to know him better. But she didn’t dare spend any more time with him than necessary, just in case the truth—that Brad wasn’t dead yet, either, just dead to her—exploded out of her mouth in a moment of weakness.

While Melissa got acquainted with the children and the lay of the house that morning, Charles more or less hung around…probably to make sure it was safe to leave his children in her care. By noon, Melissa felt sure she had matters well in hand. She and the children were getting along great. Sarah’s hair was in neat pigtails, tied on the ends with her favorite ribbons, Daniel was dressed and seated in his high chair squashing banana slices with the heel of his chubby little hand, and Christopher’s questions were being answered as quickly as Melissa could manage.

As well, she was having no trouble finding everything in the kitchen necessary to make tuna-salad sandwiches for lunch. Mrs. Butters was evidently very organized and put things in places that made sense.

As Melissa scooped mayonnaise into a bowl, Sarah stood on a stool next to her and “helped” by sampling the pickle relish straight out of the jar with her fingers. Christopher still talked nonstop as he got the milk out of the refrigerator and promptly spilled some on the floor. Now Daniel was throwing his flattened banana slices—those that were still intact—against the wall, seeing which ones would stick.

Melissa was unperturbed. This was typical toddler behavior. Her back was to the door, but Melissa could feel Charles hovering and watching from the hall. She grabbed two paper towels, handed one to Christopher to clean up the small puddle of spilled milk, and dampened the other to use in wiping Sarah’s sticky fingers. She finished this task just in time to catch a banana slice while it was airborne, then turned to confront her employer.

He seemed chagrined to be caught watching, but she just smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Charles. I can manage. The kids will be fine. I’ll be fine. But you won’t be fine if you’re not prepared for that lecture Saturday. Isn’t that why you hired me? So you could get some work done?”

“Well…yes.”

“So go and do your work.”

He hesitated, then said, “You’re right. I’ll go do my work. But first I should warn you, Daniel is a very picky eater. What he doesn’t like he either hurls across the room or dumps down his pants.”

Melissa laughed. “I see. So, does Mrs. Butters keep a list of his likes and dislikes?”

“No, because what he likes and doesn’t like changes day by day. Each meal is an experiment, so to speak.” Charles looked apologetic, waiting for her response.

Melissa merely shrugged. “As I said, we’ll manage.”

Charles nodded uncertainly, turned to go, then turned back.

“Oh, and they don’t take naps, as a rule. Mrs. Butters thinks napping interferes with nighttime sleeping.”

Melissa smiled. “In other words, she likes to maintain an early bedtime.”

“Yes, I guess so.” Charles just stood there. He seemed to be stalling, trying to think of something else to talk about. Then he finally turned to go.

Melissa couldn’t resist. “Charles?”

He turned quickly back. “Yes?”

“By any chance are you a picky eater? Do you have a list of likes and dislikes, and do you hurl food or stuff it down your pants?”

He chuckled. “No to all three questions.”

She grinned. “In that case, why don’t I bring a sandwich to your study when I’ve got lunch ready?”

He grinned back. “That would be nice.” After another pause, he turned abruptly and strode away, presumably to his study.

Melissa breathed a sigh of relief. She knew he was just being protective of the children—and of her, which was a wholly new experience for her, since Brad never worried about anyone but himself. But it was better that Charles kept his distance, for more reasons than one.

“What do you want to do after lunch?” she asked the children.

Sarah shrugged, licking a last, stray piece of pickle off her pinky finger. “We don’t know.”

“I know how to make play dough,” Melissa offered.

The children’s eyes widened.

“All dif’rent colors?” Sarah asked.

Melissa nodded, then motioned with her head in the direction of her nanny bag, sitting on the floor by the refrigerator. “Of course. I brought along some food coloring in my nanny bag. We can make the dough any color you want.”

Christopher eyed the small canvas suitcase with interest.

“What else have you got in there?”

“Oh, lots of things. You’ll find out, little by little as the week goes by. But there’s something in there I want to get out right now.” She retrieved the bag and set it on the counter, high above the children’s eye level. She wanted the insides of her nanny bag to retain a certain mystery for them. She reached in and took out two jars of toddler food.

“What’s that?” Sarah asked.

“It’s food for Daniel,” Melissa answered. “I made it myself.”

“He probably won’t eat it,” Christopher warned her.

“We’ll see.”

Christopher’s brows furrowed, his concerned expression reminding Melissa of Charles. “But will it hurt your feelings if he throws it on the wall or stuffs it down his pants?”

Melissa shook her head. “Not at all. Daniel can be my guinea pig. I’ll try different foods on him every day, and if he likes something more than once, I’ll know it’s really good.”

Sarah laughed. “M’lissa called Daniel a pig.”

“No she didn’t,” Christopher scoffed. “She called him a guinea pig. It’s not the same as a pig pig. It’s like a lab rat or somethin’.”

Melissa scrunched her nose. “I’m not sure that’s much better.”

Christopher stood on tiptoe and tried to see inside the bag.

“Do you have your toothbrush and pajamas in there, too?”

“Oh, no,” Melissa quickly answered. “I’m not an overnight nanny like Mrs. Butters. I go home after dinner.”

“Too bad,” Christopher said with a doleful shake of his head, a gesture that looked too grownup and theatrical on a four-year-old. But, in just the short time she’d spent with Christopher, Melissa had decided he was intelligent and perceptive and curious beyond his years. Probably like his father had been as a child.

“I’ll bet Dad would like it if you stayed and kept him company after we go to bed,” Christopher suggested.

Melissa was surprised by the alarming mental image that instantly sprang to mind, an image brought on by the innocent words of a child. She could see it all too clearly…her and Charles sitting by the fire, eating, drinking, talking, laughing, whispering, cuddling, kissing.

Yep, it was a darn good thing she wasn’t spending the night under Charles’s roof. She barely knew him, really, and she was already fantasizing about him. And knowing he was sleeping right down the hall would only make the fantasies more vivid and more disruptive to her peace of mind.

Melissa supposed that most people considered fantasizing a harmless pastime. But she was opposed to fantasizing, to daydreaming. After all, living in a dream world was what got her married to the wrong man in the first place, and then kept her married to him for far too long.

Yes, fantasizing could be dangerous.

CHARLES WAS HAVING a hard time keeping his mind on his work. He found himself recalling those three weeks thirteen years ago, when he’d tutored Melissa. The way her long blond hair fell over her paper as she did her sums, the way she bit her bottom lip when she was concentrating, the smell of her perfume, the way her face lit up when she finally fathomed that advanced math.

He was daydreaming. He was recalling old fantasies he thought he’d forgotten more than a decade ago.

Sitting at his desk, with the door to his study firmly shut, he was getting absolutely nothing done. But at least he was keeping the promise he’d made to himself to remain in the study till six o’clock, the hour Melissa intended to have dinner ready…unless the house was burning down or some other disaster occurred!

Charles shook his head and smiled wryly. What kind of a schmuck still remembered a high-school crush with such vividness? After high school he’d gone to Stanford on a scholarship. He’d gotten rid of his glasses, gained weight on dorm food that he turned into muscle when he joined a gym, took up tennis and marathon running, and, finally, gradually got over his adolescent shyness.

In other words, Charles had enjoyed a full social life at Stanford and had dated numerous women before meeting and marrying Annette. He’d loved her more than he thought possible and was devastated when she was killed in that accident. Yet, even after many relationships and one wonderful marriage, why did he still remember his crush on Melissa with such clarity, the feelings he’d had back then so easily recalled and relived when she unexpectedly showed up on his doorstep?

Well, for whatever reason, it was inappropriate and silly. The woman was still grieving her dead husband! He turned his attention back to the computer screen and forced himself to concentrate. Five minutes later he looked at the clock. It was only two-thirty.

He kept wondering how Melissa was doing with the kids. He hadn’t heard any alarming sounds to indicate that either she or the children were in distress. And he didn’t doubt that Melissa was capable of performing her nanny duties. In high school she’d been the model of efficiency and enthusiasm in everything she undertook.

It’s just that she looked so tired…. And he suspected she’d get the job done, and done well, even if it totally exhausted her. This suspicion of Melissa’s dedication at the risk of her own health made it very difficult for Charles to know she was out there taking care of his kids, fixing meals and doing chores that on some days tired out even Mrs. Butters, who was the most robust, energetic, unpregnant fifty-five-year-old he’d ever met.

But he’d hired Melissa to do exactly what she was doing.

And she obviously was very sure it wasn’t beyond her capabilities.

In fact, she would probably be extremely offended if he suggested she perhaps wasn’t up to the job.

And she probably needed the money.

Hell!

Charles glared at his computer screen. Science had always fascinated him, seduced him, kept him occupied for blissful hours. Why was it failing him now?

BY THE TIME Melissa sent Christopher to fetch his father for dinner at five minutes to six, she was exhausted. They’d had a full day, she and the children. And she needn’t have worried about any awkwardness with Charles, because true to his word he’d stayed in his study all day. She’d only seen him once, when she’d taken him a sandwich at lunchtime.

Now he entered the kitchen on the heels of his son, carrying the empty sandwich plate, glass and soda can. She sat up straighter in her chair and smiled, trying not to look as tired as she felt.

“Get lots of work done?” she asked brightly.

Charles first rested his eyes on her, then the table, which was neatly set and covered with dishes of food, and then the gleaming countertops, which she’d already cleared of the dirty pots and utensils she’d used in preparing dinner.

“Not as much as you got done, evidently,” he murmured.

Melissa waved her hand dismissively. “Hey, it’s my job.”

Charles said nothing and moved to the sink to wash his hands. While his back was turned, Melissa allowed the perky smile to slip away. She didn’t remember getting this tired even as recently as last week, when she’d had her last nanny assignment. She could have really used a nap that afternoon.

Charles sat down at the end of the table and smiled around at his three small children. “Whose turn to say the prayer?”

All three kids raised their hands.

“Me!” Sarah shouted.

“No, it’s my turn,” Christopher argued.

Daniel garbled something around the cracker Melissa had given him to nibble on.

Charles settled it, saying, “I seem to remember it being Sarah’s turn. Christopher, you said the blessing at breakfast.”

“But Daniel was screaming and throwing oatmeal the whole time,” he objected. As if on cue, Daniel threw his cracker and let out a yelp.

“I think God heard you anyway,” Charles observed with a chuckle. “If God only heard us when Daniel wasn’t screaming or throwing food, He wouldn’t hear half our prayers.”

Christopher giggled, and the argument was over. Daniel, pleased with himself for making them laugh, grinned and remained quiet while Sarah recited the simple, memorized prayer that Melissa remembered saying when she was a child.

Along with Charles, Melissa helped the children spoon out their portions, but put only a dab of food on her own plate. She was too tired to eat. She pushed the food around, sampled a bite or two, and hoped no one noticed how little she ate. But Charles was eyeing her from his end of the table, his brow furrowed. Apparently he’d noticed.