The Nanny's Secret Baby. Lee Tobin McClain
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leaned forward and kissed the sweaty top of his head as he pushed his stuffed bear back and forth, humming tunelessly.
He glanced back at her as if slightly surprised but didn’t reject the contact. Good. She knew that some kids on the spectrum resisted physical touch, but Sammy didn’t seem to be in that category.
She looked around the living room, noting the bare walls, the end tables devoid of decoration, the shortage of pillows on the couch. Of course, Jack had just moved in. He hadn’t had time to add the small touches that made a house a home.
Would he ever? Was he the kind of man who could do that, could be both mom and dad?
Oh, how she’d like to stay nearby and care for Sammy. But the job situation in the small ranching town of Esperanza Springs was bleak. At most, she might be able to cobble together some part-time gigs, but to support herself...not likely.
She’d find work aplenty in a bigger city, where her education would be valued and her references—which were actually stellar—could help her to get a job.
But she liked Esperanza Springs, had spent a lot of time here as a kid and young adult. Now, with her parents living in Europe and her sister gone, Sammy, plus the aunt and uncle she was staying with, were the only family she had.
And she was the only one who knew the truth about him.
The sound of a vehicle pulling in outside, the slam of a car door, made her jerk to attention. Was Jack back already?
Sammy held his bear to his chest and stared impassively at the door.
It opened.
It was Jack. And his handsome face went from gladness to amazed frustration as he looked around the living room.
Arianna looked around, too, wondering what his expression meant. As she took in the overturned basket of toys, the three sippy cups she’d tried until she’d found the one Sammy would accept, the box of diapers she’d brought down from Sammy’s room and not found time to take back up, she realized what was bothering him.
“I meant to clean up,” she said. Why was she so messy? When was she ever going to get organized? Chloe, thin and disciplined and neat, would never have let her house get into such disarray.
Of course, Chloe would never have let her care for Sammy at all.
“It’s okay.” He walked over to Sammy. He knelt beside the boy, picked him up and swung him high.
Sammy struggled to get down, and Jack let him. Then he sat and rubbed circles on his back.
Sammy went back to his bear, gently bouncing it.
“Up, down. Up, down.” Arianna said the words in rhythm with the bear’s bounces and watched Sammy for any recognition of the words.
“He doesn’t talk,” Jack said, his voice bleak. “I’ve done some reading, listened to some podcasts on autism. I guess that’s part of it.”
“It’s probably a delay, right? Not a life sentence.”
“I hope.”
“When he heard your car, he sat there looking at the door until you came in. And when he wanted water instead of juice, he, um, persisted until I understood. That’s all communication.” If Jack got discouraged, gave up on Sammy, she couldn’t handle it.
“Thanks, Arianna.” He gave her a brief, haggard smile. “And thanks for staying with him on no notice. It was kind of you.” He gave the messy room another glance.
Oh brother. “Let me go clean up the kitchen,” she said. “You stay here with Sammy.”
“No, it’s fine.” Jack stood and followed her. “He plays well by himself.”
She hurried in and knelt by the overturned trash can, stuffing garbage back into the container. When she looked up, Jack had stopped at the doorway, looking stunned.
“I’ll clean it up!” She grabbed paper towels to wipe up the floor where the garbage had spilled, then rinsed her hands and started putting away beverage containers.
“Arianna.” His hand on her shoulder felt big and warm and gentle. She sucked in a breath and went still.
He pulled his hand away. “It’s okay. I can do this.”
“No.” She spun back toward the cracker-scattered counter to hide her discomfort, started brushing crackers and crumbs into the sink. “I made the mess. It’s only fair I clean it up. See, especially for kids with disabilities, low blood sugar is the enemy. But you have all these special requirements—” she gestured toward the laminated sheets “—so it took a little longer.”
“There’s leftover chicken and rice in the fridge. You could have served him that.”
“I didn’t see it.” But another, more practical person—like Chloe—would have looked harder.
“Look,” he said, “I appreciate what you’ve done, more than you know. But right now, I’ll be fine.”
You didn’t have to be a genius to read the subtext. I want to be alone with my son.
“Of course.” She sidled past him out to the living room and found her purse. She knelt down by Sammy, swallowing hard. “Good to hang with you, little man,” she whispered.
Then she went to the door, where Jack stood, no doubt impatient for her to go. “See ya,” she said, aiming for breezy.
He tilted his head to one side. “You okay?”
She nodded quickly, forced a smile.
“Thanks again. Stay in touch.”
Stay in touch. The same thing you’d say to a friend you encountered after some time away, a friend you really didn’t much want to see again.
Her throat tightened, and she coughed harshly as she hurried to her car. She didn’t deserve to cry.
Didn’t deserve a job. Didn’t deserve to spend time with Sammy. Didn’t deserve any kind of warmth from her former brother-in-law, Jack.
She drove carefully down to the ranch’s entrance, glanced back to make sure she was out of sight of Jack’s new house, and then pulled off the road.
She drew deep breaths, trying to get calm, but it was impossible.
She’d just spent time—botched her time, really—with precious Sammy.
Her adopted nephew.
And, unknown to anyone on this earth but her and Sammy’s adoption agency, her own biological son.
The next Thursday, Jack walked out onto his porch with nanny candidate number four, Sammy in his arms. His son’s wails died to a hiccup.
“Aw, he’s such a cute peanut,” the nineteen-year-old said, flicking a long lime-green fingernail under Sammy’s chin, which made him cry again. “Just give me a call about when to start, okay?”
“Um, Mandy,” Jack said to her retreating back. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”
She turned back in the process of extracting a cigarette from her purse. “What do you mean?”
“Sammy didn’t seem to connect with you,” he said. In the course of four nanny interviews, he’d learned to be blunt.
The teenager gave him a disbelieving stare. “He’s autistic,” she said, enunciating the word as if Jack were hard of hearing. “He’s not gonna connect with people.”
“Thanks for your time,” he said, “but I won’t be hiring you.”
She lit her