Mother in Training. Marie Ferrarella
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made it to the general vicinity. Neither child seemed the slightest bit confused by the fact that she had golden-blond hair instead of auburn. “I undyed it.” Raising her eyes from the circle of love around her, she’d looked at him. “It just seemed like the thing to do, that’s all.” She couldn’t explain it to him any better than that. “This is my natural hair color.”
Jack had nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as if the change in color was a serious matter that required consideration before comment.
And then he’d said something unexpected. And very nice. “I like it.” It was the first personal comment he had addressed to her.
Hard to believe, she thought now, as she threw on cutoff jeans beneath the football jersey she always wore to bed and slipped her bare feet into sandals, that nearly ten whole months had gone by since then. Ten months in which she’d discovered that each day was a completely new adventure.
She’d also discovered that she liked what she was doing. Not that her life’s ambition had suddenly become to be the best nanny ever created since Mary Poppins. But Zooey did like the day-to-day life of being part of a family—a very important part. Of caring for children and seeing to the needs of a man who went through life thinking of himself as the last word in self-sufficiency and independence.
The very thought made Zooey laugh softly under her breath. She had no doubt that Jack Lever was probably hell on wheels in a courtroom, but the man was definitely not self-sufficient. That would have taken a great deal more effort on his part than just walking through the door and sinking into a chair. Which was practically all he ever did whenever he did show up at the house.
There were days when he never made it back at all, calling to say that he was pulling an all-nighter. There was a leather sofa in the office that he used for catnaps.
She knew this because the first time he’d called to say that, she’d placed dinner in a picnic basket and driven down to his office with the children. He’d been rendered speechless by her unexpected appearance. She and the kids had stayed long enough for her to put out his dinner, and then left. He was still dumbstruck when she’d closed the door.
Zooey wondered absently if her employer thought the house ran itself, or if he even realized that she was not only “the nanny,” but had taken on all the duties of housekeeper as well.
It was either that, she thought, or watch the children go hungry, running through a messy house, searching for a clean glass in order to get a drink of water. Taking the initiative, she did the cooking, the cleaning, the shopping and the laundry, when she wasn’t busy playing with the children.
She was, in effect, a wife and mom—without the fringe benefits.
As far as she knew, no other woman was on the receiving end of those fringe benefits. Jack Lever was all about work.
So much so that his children were not getting nearly enough of his company.
She’d mentioned that fact to him more than once. The first time, he’d looked at her in surprise, as if she’d crossed some invisible line in the sand. It was obvious he wasn’t accustomed to having his shortcomings pointed out to him, especially by someone whose paychecks he signed. But Zooey was nothing if not honest. There was no way she would have been able to keep working for him if she had to hold her tongue about something as important as Emily and Jackie’s emotional well-being.
“Kids need a father,” she’d told him outright, pulling no punches after he’d said he wasn’t going to be home that night. That made four out of the previous five nights that he’d missed having dinner with Emily and Jackie.
He’d scowled at her. “They need to eat and have a roof over their heads as well.”
Men probably trembled when he took that tone with them, Zooey remembered thinking. But she’d stood up to her father, reclaiming her life, and if she could survive that, she reasoned that she could face anything.
“And the food and roof will disappear if you come home one night early enough to read them a story before bedtime?” she’d challenged.
He’d looked as if he would leave at any second. She was mildly surprised that he remained to argue the point. “Listen, I hired you to be their nanny, not my conscience.”
She’d gazed at him for a long moment, taking his full measure. Wondering if she’d been mistaken about Jack. Then decided that he was worth fixing. And he needed fixing badly. “Seems like there might be a need for both.”
Her nerve caught him off guard. But then, he was becoming increasingly aware that there was a great deal about the woman that kept catching him off guard, not the least of which was that he found himself attracted to her. “If there is, I’ll tell you.”
“If there is,” she countered, “you might not know it. Takes an outsider to see the whole picture,” she added before he could protest.
Jack blew out a breath. “You take an awful lot on yourself, Zooey.”
In other words, “back off,” she thought, amused. “Sorry, it’s in my nature. Never do anything by half measures.”
He’d made a noise that she couldn’t properly break down into any kind of intelligible word, and then left for work.
He’d come home earlier than planned that night. But not the night that followed or any of the nights for the next two weeks.
Still, she continued to hope she’d get through to him, for Emily and Jackie’s sake.
Jack was a good man, Zooey knew. And he did love his kids in his own fashion. The problem was, he seemed to think money was a substitute for love, and any kid with a heart knew that it clearly wasn’t.
Someone, she thought, heading out of her bedroom toward the kitchen, had given the man a very screwed up sense of values. There was no price tag on a warm hug. That was because it was priceless.
She smelled coffee. Zooey knew for a fact that she hadn’t left the coffee machine on last night.
Walking into the kitchen, she was surprised to see that Jack was already there. Not only had he beaten her downstairs, he was dressed for the office and holding a piece of burned toast in one hand, a half glass of orange juice in the other.
Not for the first time, she saw why he’d always come into the shop for coffee and a muffin. The man was the type to burn water. From the smell of it, he’d done something bad to the coffee.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully, crossing to the counter and the struggling coffeemaker. Taking the decanter, she poured out what resembled burned sludge—she’d never seen solid coffee before—and started to clean out the pot. “Sit down,” she instructed, “and I’ll make you a proper breakfast.”
He surprised her by shaking his head as he consumed the rest of the burned offering in his hand, trying not to grimace. “No time. I’m due in early.”
She glanced at her wristwatch; this was way ahead of his usual schedule. “How early?”
He didn’t bother looking at his own watch. He could feel the time. “Half an hour from now.” He washed down the inedible toast with the rest of his orange juice and set the glass on the counter. “Traffic being what it is, I should already be on my way.”
“Without saying goodbye to the kids?” This was a new all-time low. She thought that pointing it out to him might halt him in his tracks.
Instead, he picked up his briefcase. “Can’t be helped.”
Zooey abandoned the coffee she was making. “Yes, it can,” she insisted. Grabbing a towel, she dried her hands, then tossed the towel on the back of a chair. “I can get them up now.” She saw impatience cross his face, and made a stab at trying to get through to him. “They go to sleep without you, they shouldn’t have to wake up with you already gone as well.”
An exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he told her, “Zooey, I appreciate what you’re doing—”