The Nanny's Secret

He pushed the memory away.

With his linen jacket slung over his arm, he tugged the knot of his tie loose and made for the stairs. Ascending with barely a sound, he reflected that it was a very long time since he’d sensed peace in the place.

And it was peace he needed.

First day back on the job, he’d scrambled to catch up—contacting clients, checking new listings, dealing with an irate couple whose newly purchased condo had sprung a leak just days after they took possession…

He would shower, go down to the kitchen and rustle up a sandwich. And he’d take it—along with a beer—to the lounge, where he’d put up his feet and read the newspaper. Thank the Lord the Fairfax woman was keeping out of his way. He saw, when he reached the landing, that her bedroom door was closed. With a bit of luck, he mused, she was in there and would stay there.

The cat, he hoped, was in there, too.

Mandy’s door was half open, the heavy curtains closed, the night-light on.

He moved the door gently in, and tiptoed to the crib.

She was sound asleep; he could hear her soft breathing.

He leaned over and with a tender hand, touched her fine curly hair.

“Good night, princess,” he whispered. “Daddy loves you, and things are going to be much better from now on. Just don’t go getting too attached to your precious Fizzy again, because I’m going to ease her out of here as soon as I can find someone else to look after you. But don’t worry, honey, I’ll do it in such a way you’ll never even notice she’s gone.”

He stood there a while longer, thinking, listening to her breathe, mulling over his plan.

And then, after blowing her one last little kiss, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

“What an absolute snake!”

Shooting up to a sitting position in Mandy’s single bed, Felicity hissed out the words as she stared, outraged, at his back and the closing door.

Because Mandy hadn’t wanted her to leave after she’d been put down in her crib for the night, Felicity had offered to stay with her till she slept, and had lain on the bed.

But she had fallen asleep herself.

She’d wakened when she’d sensed someone in the room. She’d been drowsy at first, but had come fully awake when she’d heard Jordan Maxwell warn his sleeping daughter not to get too attached to her “precious Fizzy again”—because he was planning to get rid of her.

Well, she wasn’t about to be got rid of.

And forewarned was forearmed.

But what could he have in store for her?

What was his devious plan?

Whatever it was, she’d better get out of Mandy’s room right now in case he came back.

She snuck across the room, peeked out to ensure the coast was clear, and then dashed to her own room.

Once she closed the door, she could hear the sound of water running nearby. His bedroom must be next to hers. Had he just come home? If so, he was probably taking a shower before going down for his evening meal.

She waited, with her ears pricked, and a short while later she heard his bedroom door open. Taking in a deep breath, she opened her own door and casually stepped out.

She almost bumped into him.

“Oh!” She gave him a fake-surprised smile. “You’re home! Your dinner’s in the oven, Jordan. Shepherd’s pie, I hope you like it. I’ll come down with you, and tell you all about the lovely day Mandy and I have had.”

CHAPTER THREE

FELICITY FAIRFAX was the last person he wanted to chat to…if he happened to be in a chatty mood, which he most definitely was not!

But of course he did want to know how Mandy had been.

“Fine.” His tone was gruff, his manner abrupt as he took off across the landing…with her at his heels. “You can talk while I make myself a snack.”

“I said I’d made shepherd’s—”

“I don’t want you cooking for me.” He bounded down the stairs…but she stuck to him like a shadow. “I’m used to looking after myself.”

“Mandy says you fired your housekeeper after your—”

“I’ve never liked strangers around the place.” There, that should knock some of the pep out of her. “When I come home from the office, the last thing I want is to have to make small talk with—”

“That’s you. But what about Mandy? Who’s been making her meals for the past three months?”

“I have.” He leaped down the last few steps in one bound.

She scuttled down after him. “You can cook?”

His heels clicked on the marble foyer as he crossed to the kitchen corridor. The lighter, dainty click of her sandals irritated him. “Sufficiently well to keep us from starving.”

He slid the kitchen door open and stood back to let her enter first. As he followed, he was so taken up with the delicious savoury aroma in the air, he almost tripped over the cat which suddenly scooted out from under the table.

“Sorry,” she said. And obviously sensing his displeasure, added, “I’ll pop him down to the laundry room.”

“Can’t you just put the beast outside?”

“He needs a few days to get his bearings, take over his new territory, before I can give him that freedom. He’d probably rocket away and then not be able to find his way back…and it would break my heart to lose him.”

Break her heart to lose a cat? What kind of a heart did the woman have, that it could be broken so easily!

She went out into the corridor with the mewing animal. He heard her open the door to the basement, then heard her clattering down the basement’s wooden stairs.

He turned to the fridge.

The mouth-watering aroma drifting from the oven seemed to intensify by the moment. Trying to ignore it, he poked about in the fridge and took out a head of lettuce, a large tomato, a wedge of cheddar cheese, and a jar of mayonnaise, and set them on the counter along with a bottle of beer.

Then he reached into the bread bin for the loaf he’d bought at the deli two days ago…and came up with nothing.

What the—

“Are you looking for bread?” The tinkling voice came from behind him. “Mandy loves bread pudding so I—”

He turned to face her. “So you…?”

“I made some. And I’m afraid I used up the last of your loaf. I’d noticed the freezer in the basement, and I just assumed you’d have more loaves down there, but…” She spread out her hands in a “How was I to know?” gesture. “I can pick up some bread and rolls when I go out tonight.”

“You’re going out?”

“I have to finish my packing,” she reminded him. “The movers will be coming in tomorrow.”

“How are you going to get over there? I can’t drive you, can’t leave Mandy—”

“A friend’s coming to pick me up, after I call.”

“Why don’t you phone her now?”

“It’s a him, not a her. OK, I’ll do that. He lives in the area so he’ll be here in a few minutes, I’ll just have time to fill you in on Mandy’s day.” She whirled around, made for the wall phone and picked up the handset.

She made the arrangements, and finished by saying, “Come to the back door, Hugh. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

After putting the phone down, she took the shepherd’s pie from the oven, and set the steaming dish on the island. Next she brought out a smaller casserole. Removing its lid, she revealed piping-hot, chunky-cut carrots and green peas.

Before he could say, “Thanks, but I’ll just make myself a salad,” she spoke first.

“Mandy is so sweet!” She scooped a generous helping of shepherd’s pie onto a plate. “She gave me a tour of the house and grounds.” Adding vegetables to the plate, she prattled on about how much they’d both enjoyed their day, as she set the plate in front of him. “Now what else do you need? Oh, salt and pepper—”

“Miss Fairfax, you and I have to talk. I—”

“Call me Felicity.” She gestured toward the table. “Don’t stand there, sit down and eat your dinner. Here,” she commandeered his bottle of beer, “let me.”

Before he could stop her, she’d taken an opener from the cutlery drawer and levered off the cap. Then she set the bottle and a dimpled glass beer mug on the table.

“There,” she said. “I think that’s everything. Sorry there aren’t any buns or bread. As I said, I’ll get some when I’m out.”

Jordan felt as if he were being rolled over by a runaway train—and he snatched at something to stop it in its tracks. “You were holding that cat—” he looked at her accusingly “—just before you dished up my food!”

“I washed my hands in the laundry room. For heaven’s sake, Jordan, sit down and try not to be so difficult. Since I’m going to be head cook and bottle washer from now on, you’d better get used to—”

“I didn’t hire you as a cook!” He scowled at her. “You’re here to look after Mandy. Period. Don’t include me in your plans to play house!”

“I’m not here to play house.” Exasperation threaded her voice. “This is for real, Jordan. I want to make Mandy happy, and for that, the child needs a warm, secure and loving home. I need to be the next best thing to a mommy to her. And that means doing ‘mommy’ things, like cooking and cleaning and—”

“I don’t need a cook/housekeeper! I can cook for myself, and I hire an excellent cleaning company to—”

“But I don’t want to be your—quote—cook/housekeeper. I know I can never be Mandy’s mother, but I don’t want her to think of me as a servant, either. I want her to experience the things mothers and daughters do together—like dusting, and tidying cupboards, and making cookies, and arranging flowers, and—”

“Point taken.” His own voice sounded dour, churlish. “So,” he said grudgingly after a few moments, “am I to understand you want me to cancel the cleaning company? You’ll do everything yourself?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Look, I know you don’t like me—and to be truthful, I don’t know yet how I feel about you. So far,” her tone was dry, “I have to admit I’m not favorably impressed. But for Mandy’s sake, we must agree to live amicably. She’s had enough stress in her young life without having to experience conflict between the two people who mean most to her—”

She paused as someone knocked on the outside door.

“Excuse me,” she said. “That’ll be Hugh.” Crossing the kitchen, she unlocked the door and opened it.

On the stoop stood a very tall young man wearing a baseball cap, a striped sports shirt, and peacock blue Bermuda shorts. His grin was as wide as his shoulders.

“Hey, Fliss,” he said. “You ready?”

“Come in,” she said. “Meet my employer. I just have to pop upstairs and get my bag.” She turned to Jordan. “This is Hugh Andrews, Jordan, an old friend. Hugh, this is Jordan Maxwell. I’ll be right back…”

Jordan nodded curtly.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Hugh said, waving a hand towards the shepherd’s pie. “Don’t let your dinner get cold. Sit down, man.”

“It’ll wait.” Jordan shoved his hands into his pockets. “So…” he searched for something to say “…you’ve known Ms. Fairfax for some years?”

“I knew her brother first, actually. He was the one who introduced us.”

“Denny.” The name grated on Jordan’s ears. It seemed as if he was fated to meet people connected to—

“No, not Denny. He was older. It was the other brother, the younger one. Felicity’s twin.”

“She has a twin?” Good Lord, another Fairfax.

“Had.” Hugh’s face sobered. “Todd. He was a fisherman—died two years ago when his boat capsized in a storm.”

As Jordan took this in, he heard steps approaching.

“Don’t say anything about it,” Hugh murmured quickly. “It devastated Fliss. She never talks about it.”

When Felicity came into the kitchen, Jordan found himself looking at her in a new light. Looking at her properly, for the first time.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” she said. “Could you give me a house key?”

All he’d seen previously, because he’d never wanted to let his eyes linger on her longer than absolutely necessary, was that she had a long blond braid, a generous mouth and wide-set gray eyes. Now, as he met those rather lovely gray eyes, he saw a hint of sadness there, which was in direct contradiction to her pleasant, questioning smile.

“Jordan?” She waved a hand before him. “Do you have a spare key?”

“Sure.” He crossed to the desk under the wall phone and opening a drawer, fumbled around till he found the key he was looking for. He walked over to her. “There you are.”

She held out a hand, and he saw a fretwork of faint lines on the palm. He also saw delicate blue veins at her wrist. How fragile she was. That surprised him, because although she was slim and slightly built, he had not thought of her as “fragile.” She gave off such an aura of determination and self-confidence and energy.

He dropped the key onto her palm and she closed slender fingers around it. Her nails were neatly manicured, and buffed to a shine. Pretty hands. Feminine.

She smelled of wildflowers and citrus, romantic and energetic, a tantalizing and intriguing blend.

“When you’ve finished your shepherd’s pie,” she said, “you’ll find some bread pudding in the oven.”

With that, she followed Hugh outside, leaving him feeling confused and off balance, and unable to pin down the unsettling new emotions she’d stirred up inside him.

Felicity didn’t get back to Deerhaven till almost two in the morning, but though sleepy and bone-tired, when Hugh dropped her off she had that satisfied feeling of a job well done.

“Thanks, Hugh, I owe you,” she told him through his open window of his van. “I do appreciate all your help!”

“No problem.” He looked up at the house. “Lights are all out.”

Felicity yawned. “I’ll have to be quiet.”

“Have you got the bread and buns?”

“Right here.”

“Don’t forget to set your alarm!”

“It’s going to be a short night!”

She watched him leave, and then went around to the back door.

Once inside, she put on the kitchen light, and after putting the bakeries away, noticed a note on the island. Expecting that Jordan might have written a few words to thank her for making dinner, she flicked it up and with a feeling of anticipation, she read what he’d written:

Don’t forget to let that *&%$* cat out. He’s been yowling like a banshee all night.

Ungrateful wretch! she muttered.

And screwing the paper into a hard little ball, she flung it, in a fit of pique, across the room.

Jordan cautiously opened the kitchen door just before seven next morning, half expecting to see the cat throwing up again. But there was no sign of him.

The only thing on the kitchen floor was a wad of paper.

He picked it up, unrolled it.

And saw the note he’d written the night before.

Remorse stabbed him. She must have been exhausted when she got back—he’d heard the car arrive, around two o’clock. She’d have come into the kitchen, feet dragging, glad to be home…only to be greeted by his bad-tempered complaint.

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