Chapter Four

      Jake jerked awake, pushing the covers aside as he scrambled from the bed. His heart raced as memories of the earth shaking while the hotel collapsed around him assaulted his mind. The intense pain that shot through his leg when he tried to put weight on his right foot brought him back to reality. He sank to the edge of the bed, bending forward with his hands on his knees, and took several breaths to clear his head.

      Reliving those last moments of the aftershock had become a recurring nightmare. He and Stacy Smith, Millie’s mother, had never been in love—theirs was a relationship born from close proximity and convenience. But he’d cared about her and still couldn’t accept that he hadn’t been able to save her. Now a little girl—his daughter—was motherless.

      For the hundredth time, he wished it would have been him instead. Sure, his brothers would have mourned him, but there was no one who needed him the way Brooke needed her mother. His daughter had been sad but accepting of her loss, a fact that only made Jake want to change the past even more, as impossible as that was. He was trying his best to honor Stacy’s request that he form a relationship with Brooke even though he continued to feel out of his element at every turn.

      He glanced at the clock, then toward the window at the light peeking through the edge of the curtain. Normally his dreams woke him in the predawn hours and he’d lie awake with his guilt and panic until Brooke came in to start the morning. But if it was really close to eight, he’d slept over an hour longer than normal. Hoisting himself onto his feet, he grabbed a T-shirt from the dresser and made his way to the kitchen.

      “Daddy!” Brooke called when she spotted him in the doorway that separated the back hall from the family room and kitchen. His heart twisted as she ran across the room, a plastic tiara askew on her head despite the fact that she still wore her polka-dot pajamas.

      She grabbed his hand and tugged him through the family room, which was now shockingly clean compared to how it had looked the previous night.

      “Me and Fairy Poppins cleaned,” Brooke said as if she could read his mind.

      “Millie,” a voice called from behind the pantry door. “You know my name is Millie, Brookie-Cookie.”

      His daughter dissolved into a fit of giggles as Millie shut the pantry. This morning his new nanny looked less like a woodland sprite and more like a woodcutter’s fantasy come to life. She wore faded cargo shorts and a soft flannel shirt over a cream-colored tank top. Her chin-length hair was pulled back from her face with a wide headband, showing her delicate features to full advantage. Although she was tiny, the cut of the shorts made her legs look long and trim, and Jake had to shut his eyes to stop his gaze from roaming her body.

      “We made pancakes,” Brooke told him. “The real kind from homemade.”

      “Homemade pancakes?” He crouched down to her eye level. “They smell delicious, sweetie. Thank you for making breakfast.”

      “Thank Fairy—I mean Millie—too.”

      He straightened again and turned to Millie, who was pouring juice into three glasses. “I didn’t even know we had the ingredients to make pancakes.”

      She nodded but didn’t look at him. “The cupboards and refrigerator are well stocked. I was a little surprised, to tell you the truth.”

      “Olivia and Sara keep the groceries coming. I haven’t even used half the stuff they’ve brought.”

      “That makes sense.”

      He watched her set the juice on the kitchen table. Up until this point, all he’d managed was bagels and cereal for breakfast. “Thank you, Millie.”

      “It’s my job,” she answered, and for some reason those three words annoyed the hell out of him. “Do you want coffee?”

      “I’ll get it.” He moved toward the counter at the same time she turned from the table. She ran straight into him then stumbled. Despite the pain that shot through his leg, he reached out to steady her, keeping his fingers on her arms until she looked up at him. “Thank you for breakfast.”

      “You’re welcome,” she said, her voice breathless in a way that made him think she wasn’t totally immune to him.

      Strange how gratifying that felt.

      “I’ll pour the coffee.” Reluctantly, he released his hold on her. “You ladies sit down and start.”

      He joined them a minute later as Millie was spooning fresh fruit onto each of the plates.

      “Daddy, will you cut my pancakes?” Brooke asked, sliding her plate toward him.

      “I can do it,” Millie said, reaching over the table.

      “I want Daddy to cut them.”

      “You bet.” He didn’t look at Millie as he picked up a knife in his right hand. It was awkward with the wrist brace. The truth was he hadn’t cut a damn thing, even food, since before the accident. He forced his stiff fingers to grip the knife and slowly sliced the two pancakes, embarrassed that a trickle of sweat had curled down his back by the time he was finished. “How about syrup?” he asked when he’d finished, making his voice casual.

      “Lots!” Brooke bounced up and down in her seat.

      He poured the syrup, then set the plate down in front of his daughter.

      “Yum,” she said around the first mouthful.

      “How often do you have physical therapy?”

      He quickly put down the knife as he met Millie’s gaze. Was it that obvious how much difficulty he was having?

      “I’m scheduled for three days a week.” He used his fork to carve off a bite of pancakes from his own stack. “I’ve missed a couple of sessions, though, so I’ve been doing the exercises at home.”

      “I don’t like Daddy to leave me,” Brooke announced matter-of-factly.

      “Your daddy has to go to his appointments so he can get better. We’ll have lots of fun together until he’s done.”

      “Can I have my screen time then?”

      He glanced at Millie. “What’s screen time?”

      “You know, the amount of time Brooke has each day to watch television or play games on the computer.”

      “Like PBS Kids,” Brooke clarified for him. “You know, when I play ‘Curious George.’”

      “I thought that was educational.” He stabbed a few more pancake pieces onto his fork. “Isn’t educational a good thing?”

      Millie gave him a gentle smile—a teacher smile, he thought with a spark of irritation. The kind that reminded him that he didn’t know what he was doing as a parent.

      “Educational television is good, but...”

      “Not like the zombies,” Brooke interrupted. She scrunched her face up at the memory.

      Millie’s eyes widened a fraction. “Zombies?”

      Jake blew out a breath. “A commercial for some TV show came on while I was watching SportsCenter. It was graphic... I turned it off as soon as I realized.”

      “It gave me nightmares.” Brooke licked a bit of syrup off the tip of one finger. “Like Daddy has when he thinks of Mommy.”

      He heard Millie suck in a breath but kept his eyes focused on the table, unable to form a coherent response to his daughter’s observation.

      “My