Their Instant Baby

“Has she stopped resisting the idea of letting us take care of her permanently?” Amy asked. Although she had few choices, Eleanor had been adamant about not being a burden to her relatives.

Winnifred shook her head, looking distressed. “I’m hoping if Eleanor stays here long enough, she’ll let me take care of her from here on out. But right now,” Winnifred confessed sadly, “she’s only agreed to stay until her ankle heals enough for her to get around on her own again.”

Aunt Winnifred led the way to the servants’ quarters, which were the only bedrooms on the first floor.

The door to one tiny room was open. Harry was seated in a chair next to the narrow bed.

“So this is where you disappeared to,” Amy teased. She’d wondered where Harry had been off to in such a hurry. Usually he hung around to talk a little with her, too.

Harry winked at Amy. “Rude of me, I know, but I had some serious business to attend to.”

“So I see,” Amy murmured back just as playfully, while Winnifred grinned, shaking her head at what was still going on.

Harry was holding a hand of playing cards. Eleanor was propped up against the pillows. Her silver hair coiled atop her head, she was wearing one of Winnifred’s elegant satin bed jackets. Eleanor’s color was better than the last time Amy had stopped by to see her, at the hospital, but you could still tell from the gaunt angles of Eleanor’s face that she had been sick.

Eleanor smiled at Amy and Winnifred, then turned her attention back to Harry. Spreading her cards out in front of her, she announced triumphantly, “Gin!”

Harry shook his head ruefully, then shot Eleanor an admiring glance. “You really must tell me your secret someday.”

Eleanor smiled coyly and remained mum.

Harry stood and looked at Winnifred. “Tea and cookies for three?” he asked formally as he straightened his tie.

“Thank you, Harry.” Winnifred smiled as she pulled up another chair beside the bed and motioned for Amy to sit in the one Harry had vacated. “That would be lovely.”

Once again all business, Harry exited quietly. But Amy wasn’t fooled. She had seen the brief but intimate looks he and her aunt Winnifred had given each other. There was more going on between them than they wanted anyone to know, or she would eat her shoe.

“I’ve asked Amy to help us redecorate your new quarters to your liking,” Winnifred told Eleanor.

Eleanor’s eyes took on a troubled gleam and she held up a staying hand. “My dear Winnifred, I’ve told you that redecorating the carriage house on my behalf isn’t necessary. This room is lovely and I’m not planning to be here that long. Just another few days.”

It was also claustrophic, Amy thought, looking at the windowless walls. So much so that no one had slept in any of the little rooms of the servants’ quarters for years. Even Harry had quarters upstairs on the second floor.

“Where are you going to go?” Winnifred asked plaintively. “You’re supposed to stay off your feet as much as possible until your ankle heals completely, and Gabe said that will be another week at the very least.”

Eleanor was silent. She turned her glance to the wheelchair and walker next to her bed, then looked down at the ice-blue damask coverlet across her lap. “I think I’ve brought enough hardship to this family already, without adding any more,” Eleanor said in her cultured voice.

“If you’re talking about what happened years ago,” Amy returned gently, “everyone in the family has agreed it doesn’t matter to any of us what happened then.”

“I don’t know how you can say that.” Eleanor speared Amy with a troubled gaze. “I was involved in an illicit love affair. I brought shame to the family name and caused the death of someone I loved very much. My entire family was miserable in the wake of the tragedy, and everyone blamed me.”

“If you’re talking about the curse Dolly Lancaster hired a Gypsy to put on you and Captain Nyquist—” Amy said, but was interrupted by Eleanor.

“As well as the entire Deveraux family! There hasn’t been a happy marriage or an enduring relationship since.” Eleanor looked at Winnifred. “Your husband died within a year of your marriage. Grace and Tom divorced.”

“But the streak of bad romantic luck seems to be turning around at long last,” Amy was all too happy to point out as she leaned forward urgently. “Chase married Bridgett, Mitch married Lauren and Gabe married Maggie. I’m the only one of my parents children left unattached.”

“And that is going to change, too,” Eleanor promised.

Amy smiled. Her great-aunt had been encouraging romance—secretly—for years. They had just thought it was either her ghost or someone pretending to be her, who had been doing the matchmaking for the Deveraux heirs. Amy narrowed her eyes at Eleanor. “How do you know?” she asked.

Eleanor lifted one delicate hand. “Lately I’ve just had a knack for predicting such things,” Eleanor said.

“Or a knack for matchmaking,” Winnifred amended dryly. Winnifred looked at Eleanor. “That was you, wasn’t it, who was leaving the notes and sneaking in and out of both my home here and the Gathering Street mansion where you and Douglas Nyquist used to meet.”

Eleanor blushed, looking guilty as charged. “Even though I was no longer part of the family,” she explained sweetly, “I’ve always tried to keep watch over the entire Deveraux clan.”

“I understand why you would want to be close to family,” Amy ventured, figuring now was as good a time as any to get all her queries answered. She looked at her great-aunt closely. “What I don’t understand is why you let everyone believe you were dead all these years.”

Eleanor shrugged and twin spots of color appeared in her cheeks. “It seemed easier for me to disappear and be on my own than to have everyone else linked to the debacle flee Charleston in mortification.” Eleanor paused, tears of remorse glistening in her faded-blue eyes. “I thought my ‘death’ would end the misery, but it didn’t. The scandal only seemed to get worse. And since I made my mistakes, no one connected to me who stayed in Charleston has remained unscathed. That’s why I stayed away from the family all these years. And would have continued to do so, had I not gotten hurt and you not figured out who I was. Because that was how I thought I could best protect the rest of you from the pain I had already suffered.”

Amy thought Eleanor’s motives had been noble, if misguided. “But now the secret’s out,” Amy said pragmatically, “don’t you think you should stay with us from now on?”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” Eleanor said simply as Harry came back into the room carrying a large tray with a silver tea service and several plates of snacks.

“Your money is gone?” Winnifred guessed.

Eleanor nodded reluctantly, the embarrassed color in her cheeks deepening. “I have less than a thousand dollars in the bank, which is why I have to leave as soon as possible.”

“To go where?” Winnifred asked, plainly vexed. “And do what?”

Eleanor shrugged and averted her eyes. “I’ll get by.”

“You need to do more than that,” Winnifred said sternly. “You need a job.”

Amy gaped at her aunt Winnifred. As did Eleanor. What could an eighty-year-old woman with a bum ankle do? But clearly, the fifty-year-old Winnifred had plans.

“I’m in need of a good social secretary,” Winnifred said firmly, apparently not about to take no for an answer. “So, Eleanor, how’s your penmanship?”

IN SHORT ORDER, it was agreed that Eleanor would stay on indefinitely with Winnifred and hand-address the invitations and place cards for Winnifred’s many parties in exchange for her room and board. The long-unused carriage house behind Winnifred’s mansion would provide sleeping quarters and an office for Eleanor.

“I’ve been meaning to make the carriage house into a guest house for years, anyway,” Winnifred said airily as she and Amy entered the old structure, which had been used for storing her antiques.

“Why haven’t you?” Amy asked.

Abruptly Winnifred looked very sad. “Because I didn’t want anyone here. This was where my husband and I stayed when we were newlyweds, before he went off to serve overseas.”

Winnifred’s husband had been killed a year into their marriage. She had lived with her parents in the carriage house until they had died and then moved into the mansion. “But it’s time it became something other than a source of my memories,” Winnifred said thoughtfully.

“Does this mean you’re ready to move on—romantically, too?” Amy asked.

Winnifred’s expression became closed. “I’ll never marry again,” she said. “You know that.”

Except, Amy thought, if she was correct in her observations, her aunt already loved someone—Harry—even if Winnifred wouldn’t yet admit it to herself. “So,” Amy said, getting out her notepad as she realized time was really getting away from her. She was supposed to be back at the cottage in less than an hour, as per her baby-sitting agreement with Nick. She smiled at Winnifred. “What did you have in mind?”

DEXTER WOKE UP grumpy from his nap, and he stayed grumpy, no matter what Nick did. Although Nick had gotten lucky when he’d figured out how Dexter, who was used to being breast-fed, might want to take his bottle, he had no idea what to do with a cranky baby who’d already had a nap, had his diaper changed and had no interest in eating again yet. So Nick tried to remember some of the tips he’d seen on various television shows he’d produced.

He walked Dexter outside. He rocked him inside. He sang to him. He cuddled him. He put him down on a soft blanket on the floor. He waved toys in front of his face. He made silly sounds, even sillier faces. He soothed, he pleaded, he begged until he was up and walking the floors with the baby and close to shedding a few tears himself.

And it was then, Nick noted with resentment and relief, that Amy walked in the front door. She was lugging her canvas briefcase and several large wallpaper and carpet sample books. She looked harried and tired, and it was quickly apparent from the indignant scowl on her face that she blamed Nick for Dexter’s crying spell. Dropping her belongings in a heap, she rushed to Dexter and scooped him out of Nick’s arms.

Dexter quieted immediately as he gazed adoringly into Amy’s face. Nick didn’t know whether to be consoled or annoyed that she so easily did what he had just spent more than an hour trying to accomplish. “Obviously he likes you more,” Nick said with a sigh, recalling—without wanting to—a similar situation in which he had failed a child, badly. Nick clenched his jaw. “So maybe you should take care of him from now on.” Judging by the way his nephew was behaving, it would certainly be better for Dexter.

Amy’s chin jutted out stubbornly. She angled her head at him, looking both pretty and furious. “I don’t think so,” she said.

“You can see I’m lousy at it,” Nick argued, feeling exasperated. For reasons that were both egotistical and familial, he might not want to be honest in his assessment of his abilities regarding child care—but for all concerned, he knew he had to be. He couldn’t afford to let Dexter down, especially with Lola and Chuck both overseas. Giving his nephew the best possible care was the least Nick could do under the circumstances.

“Oh, pshaw. That’s a lame excuse if ever I heard one,” Amy said as she walked Dexter back and forth.

Nick tried not to notice the intuitive way she had cuddled Dexter against the pillowy softness of her breasts, or how gently and tenderly she held him. No doubt about it, Amy would make an excellent—and very loving and caring—mother. With effort he returned his gaze to Amy’s face and struggled to keep his mind on the subject at hand. “I beg your pardon?”

Amy pursed her lips and continued to regard him contentiously. “Guys always say things like that to get out of doing things around the house or with their kids,” she told him disparagingly. “I see it all the time with my married friends, and I have to tell you—” Amy paused and looked him straight in the eye “—it infuriates me.”

Nick braced a shoulder against the wall and returned her steady gaze. “Dexter’s been crying for an hour. I’ve done everything possible to quiet him, with no result. You waltz in—a good forty-five minutes later than you said you would be, by the way—you glare at me, take him from me, and bingo, the kid is happy as can be.” What did she call that if not proof that Nick was not exactly material for Stand in Father of the Year? Never mind husband or father material—for anyone. Pain twisting his gut at the loss he had suffered in the past and the emptiness and loneliness that would no doubt be part of his future, Nick swallowed hard and forced himself to stand up to the quiet accusation in Amy Deveraux’s turquoise eyes. “My nephew knows what he wants and what he wants is you,” Nick said gruffly, irritated at finding himself failing so completely and unexpectedly again. He looked at Dexter’s tearstained face. “Believe me, he couldn’t have been clearer about that.” And that hurt, too. Because even though the two of them hadn’t yet spent much time together, Nick loved his nephew, Dexter, as much as he loved his sister, Lola. He hadn’t expected to be so summarily rejected the first chance the two of them had been alone together. But he had been, Nick thought, discouraged and exhausted. There was no denying that.

“Nonsense. He’s simply confused and missing his mommy.” Amy cuddled Dexter close and smoothed Dexter’s down hair with gentle, maternal strokes. “All he wanted was to be comforted.”

“I did comfort him!”

Amy merely lifted a brow. Nick could see she didn’t believe him.

“Honestly—” Nick lowered his voice with effort and put the overwhelming emotion he felt aside “—I did my best. And it wasn’t good enough.”

Nick looked at Amy sternly, knowing she was probably going to fight him on this, but knowing also there was no other choice, he laid down the law. “No more going our separate ways. You’re going to have to stay with me and Dexter from now on. At least until Dexter adjusts to his mother’s absence.”

Chapter Four

Amy would have thought Nick was just trying to wriggle out of the promise he had made to his sister to look after her son had she not seen the anguish on Nick’s face. He truly was out of his league here—or so he thought. And a man like Nick did not want to be in a situation where he could possibly fail.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she said in no uncertain terms.

“Look, Amy, I wish it were otherwise, but the bottom line is I don’t have the instinct for something like this. Never have had and never will.”

He wasn’t as bad at it as he thought. After all, she had seen Nick change Dexter’s diaper and hold him earlier without any problem. Initially Dexter had snuggled against Nick’s broad, sinewy chest every bit as readily as he had cuddled against the softness of her breasts. But apparently Nick had gained no confidence from that.

“So what are you saying?” Amy asked, doing her best not to let how handsome Nick looked in the fading afternoon light distract her. While she had been gone, he had changed into faded jeans and a dark-gray polo shirt that made the most of his tall, muscular frame. His hair was mussed, as if he’d run his hands through it, and the hint of evening beard gave him a mesmerizingly sexy I’m-in-charge-here look. Swallowing hard around the sudden tightness in her throat, she stepped back. “That you’re not willing to do your part in taking care of Dexter from here on out?”

“No.” Nick’s glance drifted over her in a decidedly sensual appraisal, lingering on the close fit of the sleeveless rose-colored blouse and matching tea-length skirt she had changed into before going over to her aunt’s, then returning to her face. His voice lowered to a hushed, seductive murmur that did nothing to disturb the drowsy baby in her arms. “I’m telling you that until Dexter adjusts to the two of us taking care of him, you should be close enough to comfort him if he needs it—just like you’re doing now.”

His plan sounded practical. Romantic even, if Amy contemplated the notion of being tucked away in decidedly intimate and cozy surroundings with a baby she was fast coming to adore and a handsome man. There was only one problem, she thought, aside from her very physical attraction to Nick and the fact that she wasn’t the type of woman who would ever have a fling.

“What about my work?” Amy said seriously. And although she didn’t want to let Dexter, Nick or Lola down, she had professional commitments. Her word was her bond. She couldn’t just walk away from that.

He regarded her seriously, suddenly looking as enamored of her as she was of him. “I respect that,” he said with a persuasive smile, “but I’m sure with some judicious planning, the two of us can both manage to get our jobs done and care for Dexter. Even if that means, in the short run, that Dexter and I go where you go.”

Amy contemplated that as a sizzle of awareness swept through her slender five-foot-seven frame. She wasn’t sure how much she could actually accomplish with Nick Everton underfoot—his sexy presence was a pretty potent distraction. On the other hand, she didn’t want Dexter to be crying inconsolably again just because he’d awoken from a nap and didn’t have either his mommy or a similarly female presence there to comfort him. Plus, she could see Nick was just trying to do what was best for his nephew, even if that meant he had to admit his inadequacy, something she figured the successful executive did not have an easy time doing. Nick was the kind of man who wanted to succeed at literally everything.

“All right,” Amy said after a moment, figuring this really was for the best. “I’ll make sure I’m with the two of you until we know Dexter has adjusted to us being here, instead of Lola.”

“Thanks,” Nick said with a relieved smile.

Aware of how easy it would be to get intimately involved here—with both Dexter and Nick—Amy looked down and saw that Dexter had gone to sleep again. Knowing she had to get the infant settled, Amy put Dexter down in his crib, covered him with a blanket and went back to the living room. “I promised my aunt I’d have a proposal ready for her by tomorrow morning, so I’ve got to get busy on it while Dexter is sleeping,” she said.

Nick nodded. “I’ll run to the grocery for us while you’re working. And pick up some dinner and anything else you’d like while I’m out.” He paused. “Do you need anything?”

“No,” Amy said, figuring the time apart would do them good, help her stop having these…thoughts. “Thanks.”

Amy waited until Nick had left, then sighed and went back out to her car. She brought in the card table, printer, digital camera, her laptop computer, a ream of paper and a corkboard and stand. She set up quickly and quietly, then kicked off her sandals and got down to work. To her relief, Dexter continued sleeping and was still sleeping when Nick returned, a little over an hour later. He came in carrying two bags of groceries in one arm and a big sack of Sticky Fingers carry-out in the other. Amy couldn’t suppress a delighted smile as she inhaled the delicious flavors of her favorite South Carolina barbecue. Maybe, she thought, sharing quarters with Nick and the baby wouldn’t be so difficult, after all.

Amy set the table while Nick put the milk, orange juice, eggs, bacon, bread, coffee and disposable diapers away. Together they opened up the barbecue sacks. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a little of everything,” he said.

He sure had, Amy noted happily. There were containers of hickory-smoked barbecued pork ribs, smoked turkey and rotisserie chicken. Barbecued baked beans, homemade coleslaw and potato salad, cinnamon baked apples, dirty rice, even some frogmore stew. His expression perplexed, Nick pointed to the container. “I wasn’t quite sure what this was,” he said, taking the lid off the spicy mixture. “But they assured me it had no frog in it. Just potatoes, peppers, onions, corn, sausage, shrimp and their special blend of spices.”

“It’s actually pretty good. Rich, though. Here, try a little.” Amy spooned up some and offered it to him. He regarded the concoction a tad suspiciously, but looking game nevertheless, closed his lips around the bite. He nodded agreeably as it melted on his tongue. “You’re right,” he said, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of pleasure and surprise. “It is good.”

Amy smiled with the pride of a Charleston native showing off her city, then asked as the two of them sat down at the small round breakfast table, “So how’d you know to go there?”

Nick’s knees bumped hers as he tried rather unsuccessfully to get his large frame settled comfortably at the cozy table. “I followed my nose. I figured anything that smelled that good had to taste pretty darn good, too.”

And it did, Amy thought as she dipped a piece of tender pork into her favorite Sticky’s condiment, the mustard-based barbecue sauce.

Nick added the “Hot” barbecue sauce to his. He inclined his head at the cardboard table and corkboard she’d set up in a corner of the living room. “What are you doing over there?” he asked.

Briefly, Amy explained to Nick about finding her long-lost great-aunt Eleanor and the nature of the job. “Anyway, when I was over at my aunt Winnifred’s this afternoon, I took pictures of the carriage house with my digital camera.”

“How long do you have to complete the job?” Nick asked.

Amy forked up some potato salad. “She wants it done as soon as possible—in two or three days.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

Amy regarded Nick confidently. “I think it’ll be fine if I can get her to approve the overall design tomorrow morning.”

Nick took a long thirsty drink of his iced tea. “What are you going to do about furniture?”

That, Amy thought, as she took a bite of cinnamon apple, was a lot easier. She looked at Nick, noting he was as famished as she was. “The carriage house is filled with antiques. I took photos of those, too. And that’ll help me decide what pieces we’re going to use when we redecorate.”

“I’m surprised she doesn’t want to start from scratch and buy everything she needs, rather than recycle what she already has,” Nick said as he ladled more of everything onto his plate. At Amy’s look, he shrugged affably. “People of her stature usually do.”

“Actually she did want to do that,” Amy said, surprised and pleased by Nick’s intuitive understanding of her business. “I’m the one who vetoed it.”

“Why? Wouldn’t there be more commission for you if she did buy all new?” he asked casually as he finished the rest of his frogmore stew and dirty rice. “Assuming she’s paying you for the work and it’s not gratis because she’s family.”

Amy ate a bite of the tangy coleslaw. “Aunt Winnifred is paying me—although I tried to get her to accept it as a gift. But she would have none of it.”

“Good for her.” Nick’s eyes met and held Amy’s. “People shouldn’t take advantage of family.”

Amy agreed about that. Family was important, which was why she wanted one of her own so badly.

“So back to what you plan to do for the carriage house,” Nick prodded. Finished with their meal, they rose and carried their plates to the sink.

“Basically, what I do for everyone else,” Amy said as she rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, while Nick put the leftover food in the refrigerator. “I go in, look at what they have, assess what they want and what they need to make that happen.”

Nick shut the refrigerator door and came back to stand beside her. “You make it sound easy.”

Amy wiped down the table, while he took the plastic bag out of the kitchen garbage container, tied it shut and replaced it with another. Amazed at how easily and effortlessly they were able to work together, Amy smiled at Nick as they walked onto the screened-in back porch and out into the yard. Almost wishing it had taken them longer to get their dinner mess cleaned up—she was enjoying Nick so much she didn’t want their time together to end, didn’t want to have to go back to work that evening at all—Amy said, “Redecorating is easy—for me, anyway.”