One

      “What happened to the nanny, Father?”

      For a moment, Blake Boudreaux thought his father wouldn’t answer. Instead Armand Boudreaux adopted the inscrutable, haughty look that matched his perfectly fitted suit, manicured hair and highly polished shoes. All of which said he wasn’t obligated to give excuses to anyone. Then one perfectly trimmed brow slowly lifted and he replied with dead calm, “My traitor of a wife cleaned out her bank account. A sizable amount, I might add. I had to recoup my investment somehow.”

      “By firing the nanny of a sick child? Are you crazy?”

      “You never had a nanny and you were just fine.”

      Blake could say more than a few words on that subject, but this wasn’t the time or place… Not that his father would care anyway. Besides, being back inside the Boudreaux plantation house was making his skin crawl already. This place left him chilled to his core, even after all these years away. “I didn’t have epilepsy. This is a serious illness. Abigail needs to be supervised. Taken care of.”

      “That mess is all in her head. Obviously so, or her mother wouldn’t have flaked off to Europe and left her behind.”

      Wasn’t that sympathetic of him?

      “So the doctors are lying?”

      “They’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Really, they should do what they do best. Give her a pill that will make it all go away. It doesn’t need to be more involved than that, I’m sure. As long as she takes the medicine, she’ll be fine. And more importantly, she will believe its fine. That’s about all its good for.”

      Blake knew a lot of things about his father. He was cold and autocratic, and spent his life tearing holes in the people around him. Sometimes he was subtle about it…sometimes not. But this was the first time he’d known Armand to truly jeopardize someone’s life. Blake truly believed this was not something to play around with.

      Abigail, Blake’s half sister, was seven years old and her symptoms had been severe enough for her “flaky mother” to take her to a specialist. Of course, the minute the diagnosis had been made, she’d packed her bags and headed out to less stressful pastures.

      “The doctors aren’t crazy. This could be dangerous,” he insisted.

      “It’s not as bad as they make it seem. Besides, you sound like someone who honestly cares,” his father pointed out with a smirk. “Considering this is the first time I’ve seen your face since you told me to shove my money and my parental rights seventeen years ago, I guess I should take you seriously.”

      The dig wasn’t unjustified. This was the first time Blake had set foot in his father’s house since he was eighteen years old. If he had never again walked through the doors of the infamous Boudreaux plantation house, he would never have missed it. He could have continued to live in the most luxurious settings in Europe, rather than return to this arctic tundra of a house despite the sultry heat of the Louisiana summer outside.

      He would never have met his father’s much younger second wife, Marisa, and his then five-year-old half sister if said wife hadn’t been on a trip in Germany at the same time Blake had been involved with the princess of a small, nearby principality.

      That’s when he’d discovered that Marisa loved to travel to exotic places and be seen by the most important people. Abigail’s care was relegated to a nanny while her mother spent her days exploring her next big adventure. She’d only taken Abigail along because Armand had refused to let her leave the child at home. Marisa matched his father in narcissism, though she lacked his vindictive streak.

      Blake had never thought he would ever care about children in any capacity that had an impact on his life. His playboy reputation was widely known and accepted by all but those women who tried—and failed—to change him. Children were something that existed and were cute…as long as they belonged to someone else.

      But one charming afternoon with the little girl with soft ringlets, wide brown eyes and a keen curiosity about everything around her had this playboy hooked. Luckily, Marisa had facilitated his attempts to stay in touch with his half sister until a few months ago. Blake would have had no idea about the present situation if his half sister’s former nanny hadn’t called out of the blue two days ago with the distressing news. Blake had rented a private jet and gone to New Orleans immediately.

      Thank goodness he had an inheritance outside of his father’s reach. His mother’s exclusive gift had given him the chance to live a carefree life without a thought to money…or his father’s opinion. The fact that he successfully supplemented that income with an avid interest in producing and distributing art was a bonus known only to him.

      “I do care about Abigail,” Blake finally said. Better to keep it simple than give his father any ammunition to use against him. “Someone should.”

      “She’s weak. Life will toughen her up.”

      His father turned his laser-focused gaze on Blake, studying him in a way that made Blake want to squirm. He resisted the urge, of course. He was long past the point where he would allow his father to direct his actions in any way. Showing any sign of weakness would be seen as a victory by the old man, and Blake wasn’t giving an inch.

      “But since you’re here, I might consider giving you the job.”

      That wasn’t what Blake expected at all. “Excuse me?”

      “The job of looking after her. Though you’re hardly qualified for childcare, now, are you?”

      At least I’m willing to try. Blake simply locked his jaw and waited. If his father was willing to about-face, there would be a price to pay. Might as well wait for the bill.

      “I don’t know,” the older man said, fiddling with his diamond cuff links as he pretended to consider the situation. “I haven’t decided if I’ll let you see her at all.”

      A sudden tiny gasp sounded from behind a chair tucked into the far corner of the room. Unfortunately it echoed off the vaulted ceiling, and was magnified for the listeners nearby. His father’s gaze swung immediately to the shadows.

      “I told you to stay in your room,” he yelled, his booming voice forcing Blake to suppress a wince.

      A little girl slid out from behind the piece of furniture. Despite a little extra height on her, Blake would have said she was unchanged in the last two years. She had the same brown ringlet curls, though they were currently a tangled mess. The same vulnerable gaze. She hesitated before obeying, her brown eyes, flecked with green, seeming to memorize every inch of Blake as if afraid she would never see him again. Blake could certainly relate. His father was just enough of a jerk to forbid him to ever see her if he realized how much it meant to Blake.

      So he hid his own emotions, gave Abigail the barest of smiles and motioned for her to go upstairs…before she heard more from her father about what a problem she was. Blake had grown up with a lifetime of those abusive rants stuck in his brain. He didn’t want that for Abigail.

      While her mother was here, Blake had thought she would be protected from the harsh reality of Armand Boudreaux’s judgments. Now there would be no one in a position to protect her. The housekeeper, Sherry, might be able to check in, but she still had a job to do. Would that be enough?

      Blake hadn’t even had that much. He remembered long, endless days when he barely saw anyone except the cook, who would fix him