The Texas Billionaire's Bride / The Texas Bodyguard's Proposal: The Texas Billionaire's Bride. Crystal Green
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but she had politely refused Monty’s and Mrs. Howe’s help outside, and now she was paying for it as she climbed the stairs.
When they arrived at Melanie’s bedroom, her expectations were already low. And thank goodness, too, because the bed with its circa 1950 turquoise spread, and the muted lamps resting on the dull chests of drawers, didn’t exactly give off any kind of princess vibe.
But she wasn’t here to be royalty, she reminded herself.
Still, she recalled what she’d thought back at Zane Foley’s townhouse, when she’d wondered if she would find Livie stuck in a high-class jail.
She just hadn’t expected to be so right.
Heaving one suitcase, then the other, to the top of the bed, Melanie thanked Mrs. Howe for her welcoming attention.
The manager nodded, continuing the briefing. “Livie’s got some playtime at the moment, then it’s dinner at six, study time afterward, a bit of relaxing time and bed. She wakes up at seven on the dot for you to prepare her, then drive her to school.”
Zane Foley had already gone over all this, even supplying Melanie with directions to the private institution Livie attended for kindergarten.
“Study time?” Melanie asked, still hung up on that one detail. “Livie’s six. What does she have to study?”
Mrs. Howe smiled patiently, and Melanie suddenly saw from up close that the older woman couldn’t have been more than forty, given her smooth skin and the absence of deep wrinkles around her eyes. It was the bun and lack of cosmetics that had made Melanie think Mrs. Howe was even more mature at first.
But, beyond that, she couldn’t read the manager.
“Mr. Foley,” the other woman said, “has Livie read picture books and listen to phonics on her own, applying what she’s learned at school.”
“So much for being a kid,” Melanie said lightly, testing Mrs. Howe, to see just how strict she was.
The woman widened her eyes a tad, and Melanie realized that she might have surprised Mrs. Howe with her spiritedness.
“Sorry,” Melanie said. “It’s only that I got the impression Mr. Foley is rather…”
Okay, how could she put this?
Mrs. Howe helped her out. “A hard case?”
Now Melanie smiled.
But the other woman merely adopted a tolerant grin. “He makes sure Livie toes the line, and we all respect that, because he’s also a good, fair employer.”
The insinuation—Mr. Foley’s way or the highway—was clear.
And that was all she said, although Melanie kept thinking, What about Livie? Is she an employee, too?
Before she could even dare ask, Mrs. Howe’s brown gaze moved to the doorway, focusing on something behind Melanie.
She turned around just in time to see the last of a flowered spring dress flare out of sight in the hallway.
“I believe,” whispered Mrs. Howe, “you’ve drawn some interest.”
Melanie’s heart folded, as if trying to embrace itself.
Livie.
She walked to the door, but when she got there, no darling little girl was in sight.
Frowning, she glanced back at Mrs. Howe, who was fussing with the bedspread, correcting the wrinkles Melanie had already made by putting her suitcases on the cloth.
Oh, dear.
The manager straightened, ran her hands down her gray skirt. Then she walked out the door, saying one last thing to Melanie as she passed.
“You might want to continue up the staircase, Ms. Grandy, to Livie’s playroom.” She smiled once more. “Best of luck to you.”
And as she eased down the hall, Melanie could’ve sworn she heard Mrs. Howe add, “A lot of luck.”
After wondering if her ears were just playing tricks on her, Melanie went to the staircase again, traveling up to a dead end, where a closed door bled light from around its edges.
Lest she doubt that this was Livie’s playroom, she saw a sign written in the tremulous letters of a dark purple crayon.
LIVIE.
Somehow, the name felt like a territorial statement, and Melanie hesitated to knock. After all, with the structure put on Livie, didn’t she deserve a private place that allowed her some time alone when it was actually scheduled?
After knocking, she waited a moment, listening for a muffled “Come in” that never came.
She put her ear to the wood. Nothing.
“Livie?” she said. “Remember me from the other day? I’m Ms. Grandy, your new nanny. I’d like to say hello to you.”
Still no response.
Was the girl even in there?
Cautiously, Melanie tested the doorknob, finding it unlocked. It wasn’t a shock, since she doubted that Zane Foley would stand for being shut out of anything.
She thought of her own room in the quiet of night. Her own door creaking open. Mr. Foley paying a surprise visit…
A quiver ran through her, but she chased it away as she pushed at the door.
At first she only saw an austere attic, clean and ordered, with a couple of low, wood tables and several closed chests amongst shelves of toys.
Then, as she looked down, she found herself blocked by an army of stuffed animals that had been hastily tossed in a semi-circle.
A little voice came from the left.
“They don’t want you in here.”
Melanie glanced toward the sound, finding Livie sitting in a miniature rocking chair, her hands folded in her lap. She was wearing Mary Jane shoes with ankle socks, and her dark hair was held back by a lacy band, the bridge of her nose lightly freckled, just as the portrait in Zane Foley’s study had shown.
All that was missing was the stuffed lamb in her hands, but there was something Melanie saw in Livie that the painting hadn’t captured sufficiently at all.
The sadness in the girl’s big eyes.
It dug into Melanie’s chest.
“I thought the room might be empty.” She used her smile in a peacemaking fashion, gesturing toward the animals. “You’ve got a real collection.”
The little girl just kept serenely assessing her new nanny, and Melanie thought of how pretty she was, how pretty her mom must’ve been, too, although she hadn’t come across any published pictures of her to know for sure.
Livie glanced at her stuffed menagerie. “Daddy had them sent for my birthday this year. He couldn’t visit me this time.”
Owie.
Melanie only wished she had a huge bandage that would cover Livie’s heart from the damage done to her. She herself knew what it felt like to have a special time like a birthday fall to the wayside. It had happened every year with her own mom, until Leigh would suddenly remember after the fact and try to make it up to Melanie with day-old cake on sale at the bakery.
“So what are the animals doing right now?” she gently asked Livie, even though she knew they’d been set there to bar Melanie from intruding.
The girl stood up from her chair, and the rocker stirred, creaking, adding an odd level of discomfort. She went to a toy shelf, her back to Melanie. “It’s their room, and they want you to know that.”
And the gauntlet hits the floor, Melanie thought.
“Excellent,” she said.