Mother in Training

Nothing could take the edge off of the way Jack was reacting to Zooey.

Just as he’d been afraid it wouldn’t.

He’d kept himself away from the house, from her, for most of the past ten days and it still didn’t negate or even blunt the attraction he felt toward her. If anything, it sharpened it. Zooey intrigued him, she amused him, she attracted him.

Any way he sliced it, Jack felt doomed.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it because he needed a nanny and the kids were wild about her. She seemed to be the only one who could keep them from being wild, period.

Doomed. Yep, that was about the size of it.

Dear Reader,

I always wanted to live on a cul-de-sac. I grew up in a New York apartment building where the tenants mostly kept to themselves and eye contact was only made on those occasions when you were stuck on an elevator together, something that happened with a fair amount of frequency. When I moved to the opposite coast, I discovered a friendlier breed of people (constant sun tends to mellow you out). And I wound up moving to a cul-de-sac when I got married. Sadly, I live on a block with nice, friendly, but definitely non-dramatic people. They’re nothing like the residents of Danbury Way, the stars of TALK OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD. A tantalizing potpourri of people can be found here. My two happen to be a harried single dad of two, who behave more like an army of five hundred, and a young woman who is trying to find her true niche in life. On the surface, Zooey and Jack find one another rather quickly, but it takes a while for their souls to make the same discovery—and turn it into a lasting one.

Come, take a peek, and watch them fall in love. It’s worth the wait.

As always, I wish you love,

Marie Ferrarella

Mother in Training

Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARIE FERRARELLA

This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award–winning author has written over 150 books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.

To

Patience Smith,

the kind keeper

of my sanity.

Thank You

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

January

The short, squat man moved his considerable bulk between her and the front door, blocking her line of vision. The look on his round, florid face fairly shouted of exasperation.

“You know how a watched pot don’t boil?” he asked her. “Well, a watched door don’t open, neither. So stop watching the door and start doing somethin’ to earn the money I’m paying you, Zoo-ie.”

Zooey Finnegan grimaced inside. Milo Hanes, the owner of the small Upstate New York coffee shop where she currently clocked in each morning in order to draw a paycheck, seemed to take an inordinate amount of pleasure mispronouncing her name.

Most likely, she thought cynically, it was a holdover from his days as the schoolyard bully.

That was okay, she consoled herself. It wasn’t as if waitressing at the coffee shop was her life’s ambition. She was just passing through. Just as she’d passed through a handful of other jobs, trying them on for size, searching for something that would arouse a passion within her, or at least awaken some heretofore dormant potential.

Her parents had been certain that her life’s passion would be the family furniture business. As the firstborn, she’d been groomed for that ever since she was old enough to clutch a briefcase. They and her uncle Andrew had sent her off to college to get a business degree, and after that, an MBA.

The only problem was, Zooey had no desire to acquire a degree—not in business, at any rate.

Her family had made their money designing and selling stylish, affordable furniture. What had once been a small, single-store operation had branched out over the years to include several outlets, both in state and out. Proud as she was of their accomplishments, Zooey couldn’t picture herself as a company executive, or a buyer for the firm, or even a salesperson in one of their seven showrooms. As far as she was concerned, Finnegan’s Fine Furniture was going to have to remain fine without her.

She loved her parents, but she refused to be browbeaten by them into living a life of not-so-quiet desperation. Stating as much had led to “discussions,” which led to arguments that indirectly resulted in her breaking up with Connor Taylor. Her parents felt he was the perfect man for her, being two years older and dedicated to business. What he was perfect for, it turned out, was the company. He’d upbraided Zooey when she’d told him her plans, saying she was crazy to walk away from such a future.

That was when she’d realized Connor was in their relationship strictly for the money, not out of any all-consuming love for her. If it had been the latter, she’d informed him, he would have been willing to hike into the forests of Oregon and subsist on berries and grubs with her. Declaring that she wanted to be mistress of her own destiny, she’d had a huge fight with everyone involved—her parents, her uncle and Connor. When her parents threatened to cut off her funds, she’d done them one better. She’d cut them off and left to find her own way in the world.

So far, her “way” had led her to take up dog walking, to endure a very short stint as a courier, and now waitressing. None of the above proved to be very satisfying or fulfilling. As a dog walker, she’d managed to lose one of her charges. As a courier she’d gotten lost three times in two days, and her first week’s pay as a waitress went to repay Milo for several cups and saucers she’d broken when she’d accidentally tilted her tray.

A lesser woman might have given up and gone home, but Zooey had her pride—and very little else. Cut off from the family and the family money, she was running out of options as well as cash. The rent on her closetlike apartment was due soon, and as of right now, she was still more than a hundred dollars short.

She supposed she should have been worried, but she wasn’t. Zooey was, first and foremost, a diehard, almost terminal, optimist. She refused to be beaten down by circumstances, or a scowling boss who could have doubled as a troll in one of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

Something would come along, she promised herself. After all, she just didn’t have the complexion to be a homeless person.

In the meantime, she still had a job, she reminded herself.

Offering Milo a spasmodic smile, she went back to mechanically filling the sugar containers on each of the small tables and booths scattered throughout the coffee shop. As she worked, Zooey tried not to look toward the door. Or at least, not to appear as if she was looking toward the door.

He was late.

Rubbing away a sticky spot on the table with the damp towel she had hanging from her belt, Zooey couldn’t help wondering if anything was wrong.

Jack Lever, the drop-dead-gorgeous blond criminal lawyer who came in every morning for coffee and a blueberry muffin—and secretly lit her fire—hadn’t turned up yet. It wasn’t like him.

She’d met Jack her first day on the job. He’d been sitting at her station, with an expression that indicated he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Being of the opinion that everyone could use a little friendly chatter and, at times, a shoulder to lean on, she’d struck up a conversation with him.

Or, more accurately, a monologue. She’d talked and he’d listened. Or appeared to. After about a week of relative silence on his part, Jack finally offered more than single-word responses to her questions.

Given something to work with, she let her questions grow lengthier and progressively more personal than just inquiries about how he liked the weather, the Mets, his muffin. Week number two had actually seen the beginnings of a smile on his lips. That was when her heart had fluttered for the first time. That was also when she’d almost spilled coffee on his lap instead of into his cup.

She began to look forward to Jack’s daily stops at the shop. A couple of times, he put in more than one appearance, dropping by around lunchtime the two days he was in the area because of a case. The county courthouse was only two blocks away.

He was a creature of habit as much as she was a free spirit. And he always, always came into the shop around the same time. Eight-thirty. It was almost nine now.

“Maybe Mr. Big Shot’s cheating on you with another coffee shop,” Milo said, chuckling into his two chins as he changed the industrial-size filter for the large steel coffee urn. Steam hissed, sending up a cloud of vapor as he removed the old filter.

Milo had caught her looking again, she realized, averting her eyes from the door and back to the sugar container in her hand. Zooey shrugged, her thin shoulders moving beneath the stiff, scratchy white cotton uniform. It chafed her neck a little.

She saw no point in pretending she didn’t know what her boss was talking about. “Maybe he took a vacation day.”

“Or maybe his wife did,” Milo commented.

Zooey was about to tell the man that Jack was a widower. It was the latest bit of personal information he’d shared with her. Eighteen months ago, his wife had been killed in a hit-and-run car accident, leaving him with two small children to raise: a girl, Emily, who was about seven now, and a little boy, Jack Jr., still in diapers. The boy was almost two.

But the information never reached her lips. Milo was nodding toward the door.

Zooey turned around in time to see Jack Lever walking in. He was herding a little girl before him, while holding tightly on to a boy who looked as if he was ready to explode in three different directions at once. Jack was also trying to hang on to his briefcase.

Zooey’s heart went out to him immediately. The man was obviously struggling, and while she would have bet even money that Jack Lever was a formidable opponent on the courtroom floor, he looked as if he was in over his head at the moment.

Kids did that to you, she thought. She had a younger brother who’d been a pistol when he was around Jack Jr.’s age.

Abandoning the sugar dispenser, Zooey made her way over to Jack and his lively crew. She flashed her brightest smile at him, the one her father had once said could melt the frown off Satan.

“Hi. Table for three?” she asked, her glance sweeping over the two children before returning to Jack.

“More like a cage for two,” he murmured wearily under his breath.

Zooey’s eyes met his. He would have looked more refreshed wrestling alligators. “Tough morning?”

He gazed at her as if he thought she had a gift for severe understatement. “You might say that.” Jackie tried to dart under a table, but Jack held fast, pulling him back. “My nanny quit.”

“You don’t have a nanny, Daddy.” Emily giggled shyly, covering her small, pink mouth with both hands.

The sigh that escaped his lips measured 5.1 on the Richter scale. “And as of seven this morning, neither do you.”

Zooey deliberately led the three to a booth, feeling that the enclosed space might make it easier for Jack to restrict the movements of his children. Just before she turned to indicate that they should take a seat, she grabbed hold of two booster seats stacked in the corner and slid one on each side of the table. Then, because Jack seemed to be having more trouble with the boy, she took him by the waist and lifted him in the air.

“Up you go, young man.”

Because she added a little bounce to the descent, Jack Jr. laughed gleefully, his eyes lighting up. He clapped his hands together. “Again,” he cried.

Zooey winked at him, leaning over to make sure that he was securely seated. “Maybe when you leave.”

The little girl was tugging on the short apron Zooey wore. When she looked at her quizzically, Emily said shyly, “You’re pretty.”

Straightening, Zooey beamed. “Well, thank you, honey.”

The smile on Emily’s lips faded just a little as sadness set in. “My mommy was pretty, too,” she added quietly.

Poor baby, Zooey couldn’t help thinking. She deliberately avoided looking at Jack, feeling that the moment had to be awkward for him.

“She would have had to have been,” Zooey told her, running a hand over the girl’s vivid blond hair. “Because you are.”

Jack saw his daughter all but sparkle in response.

It suddenly hit him. For the first time since they’d opened their eyes this morning, his children were quiet. Both of them. At the same time.

Stunned, he looked at the young woman he’d been exchanging conversation with for the last six weeks, seeing her in a brand-new light. That of a sorceress. “How did you do that?”

Looking up from the children, Zooey smiled at him beatifically. “Do what?”

“Get them to quiet down like that. They’ve been making noise nonstop all morning.” Even Emily, whom he could usually count on to behave herself in his company, had been more than a handful today. When it rained…

The waitress’s green eyes were smiling as she looked at the two children again. “Maybe they’re just worn-out,” she suggested modestly.

The truth of it was she had a way with kids. She always had, having gotten her training early in life while learning to keep her brothers and sisters in line. The fact that it had resembled more of a conga line than anything drawn using a straight edge was the secret of her success.

Zooey raised her eyes to Jack’s. He was, after all, the customer. And undoubtedly running late. “The usual?” she asked.

It took him a second to get his mind in gear. And then he nodded. “Yes, sure.”

Emily cocked her head, trying to understand. “What’s the usual, Daddy?”

“Coffee and a blueberry muffin,” Zooey answered before he had the chance. The little girl made a face. Zooey laughed. “How does hot chocolate with marshmallows bobbing up and down sound to you?”

The grimace vanished instantly, replaced by a wide grin. “Good!” Emily enthused.

“Messy,” Jack countered.

“The nice thing about messy,” Zooey told him, giving the towel hooked on her belt a tug, “is it can always be cleaned up.” And then she looked from one child to the other. “But you guys aren’t going to be messy, are you?”

Emily shook her head solemnly from side to side. Watching her, Jack Jr. imitated the movement.

Zooey nodded, trying hard to match the children’s solemnity. “I didn’t think so. By the way, my name’s Zooey.” She held her hand out to Emily.

The little girl stared at it, stunned, before finally putting her own hand into it. “Emily,” she said with the kind of pride and awe a child felt when she suddenly realized she was being treated like an adult.

“Jackie,” the little boy announced loudly, sticking his hand out as if he was gleefully poking a snake with a stick.

Zooey shook the little boy’s hand and never let on that the simple gesture made her own hand sticky. Without missing a beat, she took her towel and wiped off his fingers.

“Pleased to meet you, Jackie. You, too, Emily. I’ll be right back with your hot chocolates,” she promised, backing away. “And the usual,” she added, looking at Jack before she turned on her heel to hurry to the kitchen.

Jack leaned back in the booth, blowing out a long breath. Trying to get his bearings. And focus.

He didn’t often believe in miracles. Actually, he didn’t believe in them at all. They weren’t real and, contrary to popular belief, they just didn’t happen. Miracles belonged in legends, something for the desperate to cling to in times of strife.

And then he smiled to himself at the irony of it. God knew he certainly fit the desperate criteria today. More so than usual.

At exactly five minutes after seven this morning, just as he was preparing to call her to ask why she was running late, the children’s latest nanny had called to tell him that she wasn’t coming back. Ever. And then she’d hung up.

He could only assume that the soured old woman had spent the night mulling over this declaration of abandonment, brought on by the disagreement they’d had yesterday evening regarding her strict treatment of the children. Emily had tearfully told him she’d been punished that morning because she’d accidentally spilled her glass of milk at the table. Since there wasn’t a single truly willful bone in the little girl’s petite body, he knew Emily hadn’t done it on purpose.

But apparently Agnes Phillips did not tolerate anything less than perfection. This wasn’t the first time she and Jack had locked horns over her uptight behavior. He’d taken her to task on at least two other occasions. And she’d only been in his employ a little over two months.

Obviously, the third time was not the charm, he thought cynically. He’d been planning on replacing the woman as soon as he could get around to it. Agnes had undoubtedly sensed it and, reject from a military camp though she was, had beaten him to the punch by calling up and quitting.

Leaving him in a hell of a bind.

He felt like a man in the middle of the ocean, trying to survive by clinging to a life raft that had just sprung a leak.

Jack had a case due in court today and he didn’t think that Alice, the receptionist at his law firm, was going to be overly thrilled about his need to turn her into a babysitter for a few hours.

But observing the way both his children seemed to light up the moment the young waitress returned with their hot chocolates gave him food for thought.

“Zooey?”

She placed his coffee and muffin down on the table and very carefully pushed the plate before him. She raised her eyes to his, wishing she could clear her throat, hoping she wouldn’t sound as if something had just fluttered around her navel at the sound of his deep voice saying her name. “Hmm?”

He leaned forward across the table, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’d like to offer you a bribe.”

“Excuse me?” Zooey withdrew the tray from its resting spot on the table and held it to her like a bulletproof shield that could protect her from everything, including handsome lawyers with drop-dead-gorgeous brown eyes.

“Maybe I’d better backtrack.”

“Maybe,” she agreed firmly.

He slanted a glance at his children. Jackie was already wearing a hot chocolate mustache on his cheeks. “Look, I told you their nanny quit this morning.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Zooey saw several other customers come through the door and take seats. She knew that she should be easing away from Jack, turning a deaf ear to his problems. But the kids looked as if they were about to drive him over the edge.

Jack delivered the final, hopefully winning, salvo. “And I’m due in court today.”

More customers came in. Zooey caught the eye of Debi, the other waitress, mouthing, “Can you get those tables?”

“And there’s no room for short assistants?” she asked out loud, turning back toward Jack.

He didn’t crack a smile at her comment. “None.”

Zooey paused, thinking. But it was a foregone conclusion as to what she’d come up with: nothing. “I’d like to help you out,” she told him apologetically, “but I don’t know of anybody who could watch them.”

He hadn’t wanted a substitute. “I was thinking of you.”

“Me?” She glanced toward Milo. He was behind the counter, pretending not to listen. She knew better. The man had ears like a bat on steroids. “I’ve already got a job. Such as it is,” she couldn’t help adding.

Her lack of enthusiasm about her job was all the encouragement Jack needed. “I’ll pay you double whatever he’s giving you.”

That still didn’t amount to all that much, she thought. But this really wasn’t about money. It was about time. “Double? I don’t th—”

“Okay.” He cut in, not letting her finish. “Triple. I’m a desperate man, Zooey.”

And gorgeous. Don’t forget gorgeous, she added silently. And triple her pay would go a long way toward helping her with her bills.

Jack could see that he had her. All he needed was to reel her in. “It’d only be for the day,” he assured her. “You could take them to the park, the mall, wherever—”

Something suddenly hit her. She put her hand up to stop him before he could get any further.

“Mr. Lever. Jack. You’re talking about leaving your kids with me. Your children,” she emphasized. “And you don’t even know me.” What kind of a father did that make him—besides desperate?

He knew all he really needed to know about the young woman, he thought. It wasn’t as if she had kept to herself. She’d been open and forthright even when all he’d wanted with his coffee and muffin was a side order of silence.

“We’ve talked for six weeks.” He picked another point at random. “And I know you like jazz. And,” he added, his voice growing in authority, “you’re conscientious enough to point out that I don’t know you.”

A smile crept over her lips, even as she stooped to pick up the spoon Jackie had dropped. “Isn’t that like a catch-22?”

Jack nodded. “And you’re intelligent,” he added, then played his ace. “And I’m desperate.”

Zooey couldn’t help the laugh that rose to her lips. “Intelligent and Desperate. Sounds like a law firm in an Abbott and Costello routine.”

Jack looked mildly surprised. He didn’t expect a twenty-something woman to be even remotely familiar with the comedy duo from the forties and fifties. “Anyone who knows things like that is above reproach,” he told her.

He didn’t need to flatter her, Zooey thought. The man had her at “hello.”

“Okay, if I’m going to do this, I’m going to need some information,” she told him, mentally rolling up her sleeves. “Like where you work, where you live, how to reach you in case of an emergency, where and when to meet you so that you can take your children home….”

She was thorough; he liked that. She was asking all the right questions, questions he would have given her the answers to even if they’d been unspoken. “I knew I wasn’t wrong about you.”

“The day is young,” she deadpanned. Then, because she’d never been able to keep a straight face for long, she grinned. “Just give me a few minutes to clear it with my boss.”

Jack was aware of every second ticking by as he automatically glanced at his watch.

“I’ll make it fast,” she promised, already backing away from the table.

“I like her, Daddy,” Emily told him in a stage whisper that would have carried to the last row in Carnegie Hall.

“Lucky for us, she feels the same way,” he told his daughter.

Zooey returned to their table faster than he’d anticipated. Jack rose to his feet, scanning her face. Looking for an unspoken apology. To his relief, there was none.

“All set,” she announced.

He glanced toward the counter. The man behind it was scowling and sending him what could only be referred to as a dark look. “Your boss is all right with this?”

“He’s fine with this,” she replied. Jack noticed she was carrying her jacket and that she was now slipping it on. “He doesn’t care what I do.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. And then it hit him. “He fired you.”

Zooey shrugged dismissively. She wasn’t going to miss the itchy uniform. “Something like that.”

Jack hadn’t meant for this to happen. “Look, I’m sorry. Let me talk to him.”

But Zooey shook her head. “You’re running late, and besides, I was thinking of leaving soon, anyway. This is just a little sooner than I’d originally planned,” she admitted. And then she smiled down at the two eager faces turned to her. The children had been following every word, trying to understand what was going on. “You two ready to have fun?”