Her Christmas Wish. Kathryn Springer
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by a family in Richmond and she just found out the children’s father has accepted a transfer to London that is effective immediately. She is returning to Chestnut Grove this afternoon and she, well, she’s available, Mr. Cavanaugh. Isn’t that wonderful news!”
Ben couldn’t believe it. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. The thought chased through his mind that maybe God had intervened, but he shook it away. He knew better.
“Did you hear me, Mr. Cavanaugh? I can set up an interview between you and Miss Paxson tomorrow.”
“She’s well-qualified?” Desperate circumstances or not, he wasn’t going to hire just anyone to look after Olivia. He owed it to both his daughter and to the memory of his wife, Julia, to make sure that Olivia had the best of care while he was at work.
“The family asked Leah to accompany them to London,” the director said. “I know they’ve been extremely happy with her. She’s worked with our agency for five years now and I’ve never heard any negative comments about her. She’s a natural with children.”
A natural. She certainly sounded qualified. Silently, he went through his schedule for the next day and made a few adjustments.
“How does eleven o’clock tomorrow morning sound?” he asked. “I’d like her to come right to the house. My office is here and I think it would be good for her to see where she’ll be living if she accepts the position.”
“I’ll call Miss Paxson back right away, Mr. Cavanaugh. Eleven o’clock tomorrow.”
Ben hung up the phone, relief pouring through him. Mrs. Baker hadn’t wanted to go to Arizona until they’d found a replacement for her, but Ben had insisted, confident that it would be a day or two at the most until Tender Care provided another nanny. He hadn’t considered that a week after her departure, he’d still be waiting. And now it looked as if the wait might finally be over.
Seven years ago, he’d told Mrs. Wallace exactly what qualifications were necessary for the woman who would be Olivia’s nanny. Nanny Baker had fulfilled every one—quiet, sedate and grandmotherly. Ben could only assume that Leah Paxson would be just like her.
Leah Paxson was a firm believer in the adage, “When God closes a door, He opens a window.” She reminded herself of that several times while pacing the length of her tiny studio apartment, praying about the interview that Mrs. Wallace had set up for her the following morning with Mr. Ben Cavanaugh. She was still a bit shell-shocked from the rapid change in her employment situation and although the family she’d been living with had practically begged her to go to England with them, Leah knew she had ties to the States that couldn’t stretch that far.
She knew that God would direct her path, but she was still amazed at how quickly He’d answered! When she’d called Mrs. Wallace to explain what had happened, the director said she actually had a man on the other line who needed a nanny for his daughter. When she’d called back to set up the interview, all she’d told Leah was that Mr. Cavanaugh was a widower whose wife had died when his daughter was an infant. It would be a live-in position, of course, because he owned his own business and he was gone quite a bit. And the little girl—Olivia Cavanaugh—was seven.
Seven. Leah had felt a familiar but painful twist inside. Seven years ago, at the age of seventeen, Leah had given up her baby girl for adoption. After graduating from high school, she’d applied at Tender Care Childcare to be a nanny and discovered that caring for other people’s children actually helped ease the ache in her heart, instead of magnifying it. With every smile or hug she gave, she secretly prayed that her own child was receiving one, too, from loving parents.
“You’ll let me know, won’t You, God, if You want me to take this position?” Leah asked, pausing in front of the window that overlooked the street. In the five years she’d worked for Tender Care, she’d always lived with the families who employed her but she still paid rent on the studio, needing the security of knowing she had a place of her own if necessary.
Flopping down on the futon that doubled as her bed, she closed her eyes, not accustomed to the silence. The family she’d just left had had three preschool aged children, which meant her evenings were filled with activity until the last one fell asleep. Usually by this time at night, she was tired, damp from being splashed with warm sudsy bath water and nursing a sore throat from having read Dr. Seuss at least five times. She didn’t mind—it meant her arms were never empty, either.
Reaching out, Leah grabbed a pillow and hugged it against her middle. Her arms might not be empty now, but she could still feel an empty space in her heart. Maybe Olivia Cavanaugh would fill it, she thought drowsily as she fell asleep.
Ben glanced at his watch. It was only quarter to eleven. He breathed a sigh of relief. For a split second, he was afraid that the young woman, who was practically skipping up the sidewalk to his front door, was Leah Paxson. When he’d heard the slam of a car door, curiosity had drawn him to the window just in time to see a petite, slender woman slide from the driver’s side of a VW New Beetle. A VW New Beetle the shade of a ripe honeydew melon. Its owner was just as unique. She was wearing a white lace shirt, khaki field pants that ended just below the knee…and something on her feet that looked suspiciously like combat boots. He couldn’t quite make out her features until the breeze lifted her glossy brown hair and pushed it away from her face, revealing her profile. He frowned. There was something familiar about her.
He checked his planner again but there were no appointments until late afternoon. Maybe she was looking for Jonah. Jonah Fraser worked for him, and although he didn’t seek female attention, it seemed to find him anyway. It gave Ben something to hassle him about.
The doorbell rang and Ben went to answer it, hoping that whatever business the young woman had with Jonah could be resolved in less than ten minutes. Before the new nanny arrived.
“Mr. Cavanaugh?”
Ben nodded. It was all he could manage. She was at least a foot shorter than he was and the eyes looking up into his were a warm, glowing topaz.
She put out her hand. “I’m Leah Paxson.”
He said the first words that came into his head, something he never did. “You can’t be!”
She grinned. “The last time I looked in the mirror, I was.”
“But…” Words failed him. Again. This wasn’t part of his plan. She wasn’t part of his plan. Desperate times might call for desperate measures, but that didn’t mean he had to hire a college student who looked like she was auditioning for a part on a teen TV show. Hadn’t he told Mrs. Wallace what he wanted? Sedate? Quiet? Dignified? And didn’t those qualifications translate into someone elderly?
“I’m sorry, Miss Paxson. Please come in.” So I can fire you.
He pivoted sharply and heard her fall into step behind him. By the time they reached his office at the end of the hall, his frustration level had tripled. He was already behind on two jobs because of Nanny Baker’s unexpected departure and now he was going to have to spend more time interviewing nannies. Even though Jonah had picked up the slack the past few days, Ben didn’t like the feeling that he was neglecting his clients. And Tiffany, one of the teenagers in Reverend Fraser’s youth group, hadn’t minded watching Olivia in the evenings but she’d been hinting recently that the girls’ basketball season would be starting soon.
“Sit down.” He hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so gruff but Leah Paxson didn’t seem to notice. She was looking around his office with lively interest. In fact, she almost hummed with energy. It reminded him a little of Olivia. Silently, he groaned. Great, his potential nanny reminded him of a seven-year-old!
“You’re a carpenter, aren’t you, Mr. Cavanaugh?” she asked.
He nodded, not wanting to be drawn into pleasant small talk. Brutal honesty was necessary. “Miss Paxson, I have to tell you that I was expecting someone older…much older. Mrs. Baker is in her sixties and she’s brought a lot of stability to Olivia’s—my daughter’s—life. When I spoke with Mrs. Wallace on the phone yesterday,