The Nanny's Secret. Elizabeth Lane
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give me a call.”
“Got it.” She tucked the card in her purse, pulled out her keys and walked away without a backward glance. He watched her go, her deliberate strides punctuating the sway of her hips. Her clicking heels tapped out a subtle code of annoyance. Could she be upset with him?
Wyatt watched the station wagon shudder to a start, spitting gravel as it pulled into the street. No, he hadn’t read her wrong. The woman was in a snit about something.
Maybe she thought he’d pushed her too hard, giving her orders right out of the starting gate. But since he was paying her salary, it made sense to let her know what he expected. After all, he was her employer, not her lover.
And that, he mused, was too damned bad.
Returning to his vehicle, he pulled into traffic and headed toward the road that would take him out of town. He’d gone less than two blocks when he saw something ahead that hadn’t been there earlier. City workers were digging up the asphalt to fix what looked like a broken water main. Neon orange barricades blocked the roadway. A flashing detour sign pointed drivers to the right, down a narrow side street.
He’d made the right turn and was following a blue Pontiac toward the next intersection before he realized where he was. A vague nausea congealed in the pit of his stomach. He never drove this street if he could help it. There were too many memories here—most of them bad.
Most of those memories centered around the house partway down the block, on the left. With its peeling paint and weed-choked yard, it looked much the same as when he’d lived there growing up. Wyatt willed himself to look away as he passed it, but he’d seen enough to trigger a memory—one of the worst.
He’d been twelve at the time, coming home one summer night after his first real job—sweeping up at the corner grocery. The owner, Mr. Papanikolas, had paid him two dollars and given him some expired milk and a loaf of bread to take home to his mother. It wasn’t much, but every little bit helped.
His mouth had gone dry when he’d spotted his father’s old Ranchero parked at the curb. Pops had come by, most likely wanting money for the cheap whiskey he drank. He didn’t spend much time at home, but he knew when his wife got paid at the motel. If she gave him the cash, there’d be nothing to live on for the next two weeks.
Wyatt was tempted to stay outside, especially when he heard his father’s cursing voice. But he couldn’t leave his mother alone. Pops would be less apt to hurt her if he was there to see.
Leaving the bread and milk by the porch, he mounted the creaking steps and pushed open the door. By the light of the single bulb he saw his mother cowering on the ragged sofa. Her thin face was splotched with red, her eye swollen with a fresh bruise. His father, a hulking man in a dirty undershirt, loomed over her, his hands clenched into fists.
“Give me the money, bitch!” he snarled. “Give it to me now or you won’t walk out of this house!”
“Don’t hurt her!” Wyatt sprang between them, pulling the two rumpled bills out of his pocket. “Here, I’ve got money! Take it and go!”
“Out of my way, brat!” Cuffing Wyatt aside, he raised a fist to punch his wife again. Wyatt seized a light wooden chair. Swinging it with all his twelve-year-old strength, he struck his father on the side of the head.
The blow couldn’t have done much damage. But it hurt enough to turn the man’s rage in a new direction. One kick from a heavy boot sent the boy sprawling. The last thing Wyatt remembered was the blistering whack of a belt on his body, and his mother’s screams....
Forcing the images from his mind, Wyatt turned left at the intersection and followed the detour signs back to the main road. His father had taken the money that night. And while his mother rubbed salve on his welts, he’d vowed to her that he would change their lives. One day he’d be rich enough to buy her all the things she didn’t have now. And she would never have to change another bed or scrub another toilet again.
He’d accomplished his goals and more. But his mother hadn’t lived to see his Olympic triumph or the successes that followed. She’d died of cancer while he was still in high school.
His father had gone to prison for killing a man in a bar fight. Years later, still behind bars, he’d dropped dead from a heart attack.
Wyatt had not attended the burial service.
He’d put that whole life behind him—had made himself into a new man who was nothing at all like his dad.
So why did he feel so lost when it came to dealing with his daughter?
Not that he didn’t love Chloe. He’d never denied the girl anything that might make her happy. He’d been the best provider a man could be and not once—not ever—had he raised a hand against her. But now it slammed home that in spite of all the work he’d done and the things he’d bought, he still didn’t know the first thing about being a father.
Three
Turning onto the unmarked side road, Leigh switched her headlights on high beam. Until now, she hadn’t been worried about finding Wyatt’s house. But the moonless night was pitch-black, the thick-growing pines a solid wall that shut off the view on both sides.
She hadn’t planned on arriving so late. But everything back in town had taken longer than she’d expected. When the clerk at Baby Mart had helped her make a list of furniture and supplies, Leigh had been staggered at how much it took to keep one little baby in comfort—and how long it took to choose each item. By the time she’d left the store her head was pounding, her feet throbbing in her high-heeled pumps.
She’d stopped at the paper to tell her boss she was quitting, then headed home. Kevin and her mother had hovered around her bed as she threw clothes and toiletries into her suitcase. They’d demanded to know what was going on. Leigh had mumbled something about a secret assignment, assuring them that she’d be fine, she’d keep in touch, and they could always reach her on her cell phone. They probably suspected she’d gone to work for the CIA, or maybe that she was running from the Mafia.
She hated keeping secrets from her family. But there was no other way to make this work. Kevin’s baby son needed her help; whatever it took, she would be there for little Mikey.
A large, pale shape bounded into her headlights. Her foot slammed the brake. The station wagon squealed to a stop, just missing the deer that zigzagged across the road and vanished into the trees.
Shaken, she sagged over the steering wheel. What was she doing, driving up a dark mountain road to move in with a man she barely knew—a man who made her pulse race every time his riveting indigo eyes looked her way?
The memory of that afternoon’s encounter, when she’d tumbled out of the SUV and into his arms, was still simmering. The clumsy accident must have been no more than a simple embarrassment for Wyatt. But the brief intimate contact had flamed through her like fire through spilled gasoline. Wyatt Richardson was a good fifteen years her senior. But never mind that—the man exuded an aura that charged the air around him like summer lightning. How was she going to keep her mind on work if her pulse ratcheted up every time he came within ten feet of her?
Right now Wyatt should be the least of her worries. Tucked into her purse was the one item she’d bought with her own cash at Baby Mart—a thick paperback on infant care. Truth be told, her experience with babies consisted of a few bottles and diaper changes. What she didn’t know about umbilical cords, fontanels, bathing and burping would fill...a book.
Once the nursery was set up, she planned to spend the rest of the night reading. She’d always been a quick study. This time she would have to be. She couldn’t fake it with a baby—it was become an expert before tomorrow or risk doing something wrong and possibly harming the child.
Braking for the deer had killed the engine and left her badly spooked. Starting the car again, she drove at a cautious pace up the winding road. An eternity seemed to pass before the trees parted and she found herself looking up a rocky slope. From its top, light