The Texas Billionaire's Bride / The Texas Bodyguard's Proposal: The Texas Billionaire's Bride. Crystal Green
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setting for Melanie. He was dressed in chef’s whites, so she assumed he was the cook.
Without saying anything, he nodded to her, then winked.
Approval. Thank goodness there was someone here who wasn’t giving her the near-silent treatment.
Then he left, but only to bring out a well-balanced meal of meatloaf with broccoli, fruit cocktail and macaroni and cheese.
Livie dug right in after the cook was gone, then slowed down when she saw Melanie’s are-we-at-the-zoo? expression.
She swallowed. “I’m only eating fast because Mrs. Howe said I can play with my new present from Daddy after dinner and study time.”
“Oh?”
The girl nodded, a fork full of mac and cheese halfway to her mouth now. “An American Girl doll. Daddy sends one every week if I’m good.”
Livie chowed down again, but Melanie didn’t touch her food yet. Her stomach roiled a bit at the thought of how Zane Foley couldn’t be bothered to visit his daughter, seemingly buying her off with gifts instead.
And when Livie next spoke, she only confirmed Melanie’s heartsick suspicions.
“I like the dolls,” she said softly, “but they’d be even better if he’d bring them to me.”
Melanie held back a swell of emotion. This little girl needed the love and attention of the only parent she had left.
Why couldn’t he see that?
“I know what you mean, Olivia,” Melanie said, thinking of her own mom. “I know exactly what you mean.”
The child didn’t look up from her plate, but her next words revealed everything, even if her tone was just as subtly guarded as it’d been earlier in the attic.
“My name’s Livie.”
Melanie swallowed back the tightness in her throat, then picked up her fork so they could eat their meal together.
She only wished that Zane Foley could be here, too—for his daughter, of course.
But when an unwelcome, low burn heated her belly, pooling down and down, Melanie admitted that maybe she also wanted him here for a different reason altogether.
Chapter Four
The days sped by with more dolls being delivered to Livie, more meals that Melanie took at the table with her charge and even more instructional hours for the girl.
But to supplement those regular study sessions, Melanie also brought her love of dance into the playroom, where Livie had been allowing her nanny to slowly but surely spend more time.
Still, out of all of those passing days, Zane Foley hadn’t paid a visit to Tall Oaks once, nor sent for Livie to come to Dallas.
Not even one darn time.
Oh, sure, there’d been phone calls to the little girl—about one every few days—but Melanie guessed they were more out of habit than a true need to connect with Livie, because each one left the child looking sadder than ever.
Yet, this only encouraged Melanie to step up her “save Livie” campaign, paying the child as much attention as the girl was open to on any given day. She showed her that someone really did care, even if Livie turned away from Melanie at times, and let those stuffed animals that had protected the playroom on that first day speak for her.
“They want you to leave them alone,” Livie would say sometimes. “They don’t need anyone to pretend they like them.”
Little did she know that Melanie wasn’t pretending; so the newest nanny hung in there, doing her best to give Livie her all.
She just wished she knew how to confront the problem of Zane Foley himself. How to talk some sense into him. How to make him see that he wasn’t doing Livie any favors by staying away.
Melanie wanted to despise him, but then night would come, when the wind thumped branches against the old house, when the moon shined through her window and lulled her to close her eyes and imagine how it had felt to touch him when she shook his hand.
How the contact had shaken her to the core.
And morning would arrive again, and she’d go right back to thinking about what to do about him and Livie.
Today, as the June sun spilled through the attic window, Livie had decided to celebrate summer—and her leaving kindergarten behind—with an impromptu performance for some of the house staff. Accordingly, the audience of two sat on the quilts spread over the floor in front of a makeshift blanket curtain that Livie and Melanie had constructed.
The little girl was behind it now, while Mrs. Howe and Cook waited.
Cook, who was in his chef’s whites, crossed his legs Indian-style and grinned at Melanie, who was just in front of the curtain, ready to open it. His name was Scott, and from that first week forward, he’d encouraged Melanie to call him that.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Howe sat in a ladylike position, her knees to the side, her pale skirt covering her legs. Her name was Sue, but when Melanie had dared use it one time, she’d gotten a raised eyebrow and hadn’t tried it since.
“Is it almost showtime?” Melanie asked Livie.
“Five minutes!” the girl said from behind the curtain.
“Okay.” Melanie smiled at the audience, then walked toward them, sitting on the edge of the quilt while making sure her sundress skirt was in place. “Last-minute rehearsals behind that curtain, I imagine,” she whispered. “Livie’s nervous.”
Scott shrugged, but he was so mellow that Melanie often suspected life was one big “oh, well” for him, anyway.
“It’s her first show,” he said. “The squirt can take her time to give us the premiere.”
Mrs. Howe sighed at the nickname “squirt.” She sighed a lot about Cook’s surfer-in-Texas attitude.
Melanie grinned at Scott. “I guess that’s the beauty of summer—no school to work a schedule around.”
“But,” Mrs. Howe said, “a schedule’s still important.”
During the past weeks, Melanie and the manager had experienced some…philosophical differences…about many things, although Mrs. Howe hadn’t tipped off Zane Foley to the new nanny’s slight adjustments. At least, that’s what Melanie suspected, because her boss hadn’t rung her up yet to give her a talking to or fire her.
“You’re right,” Melanie said, “schedule’s are important, and we still have one. Livie does well with them, so it seemed counterproductive to change her way of life midstream. But there’s room for flexibility when it’s warranted.”
Scott playfully made the sign of the cross, like he was extending Mrs. Howe some help in fighting off Melanie’s words.
“Mrs. Howe,” he said, “would lose her mind without lists and charts and diagrams. Them’s fightin’ words, Mel.”
The manager made a dismissive gesture at him, as if that would cause him to disappear, but she had an air of barely restrained amusement just the same. Melanie had decided that Scott was like Mrs. Howe’s little brother, and their relationship was one long drive in a backseat where they get on each other’s nerves.
Nothing romantic, though, Melanie thought. Mrs. Howe had a husband down the hill in their own cottage, and Scott had mentioned something to Melanie once about a serious girlfriend.
Livie’s voice came from behind the curtain. “Almost ready!”
“Okay,” all the adults answered back.
Scott kept looking toward the performance area, but now there was something pensive about him.
Melanie leaned near so her voice wouldn’t have to carry.