His Potential Wife. Grace Green
had—with such tragic consequences—mistaken teenage infatuation for true love.
He was speaking again, and drawing in a shivery breath, she dragged her thoughts from the past and forced herself to concentrate.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Since you seem so averse to giving me your measurements, I’ll set you up at my computer and you can input your order yourself.” He started toward his desk. “Would you find that acceptable?”
“No.”
He halted and regarded her with a surprised expression.
“You don’t want to input the info yourself?” he asked.
“I’d…prefer not to wear a uniform.”
“Why not?”
“It would come between me and the children.”
“Ms. Tyler, they’re accustomed to their nannies being in uniform. If anything, it would give them a feeling of continuity, which could only be good.”
“Granted, but it would also set me apart, which could only be bad.”
“It would give you an aura of authority,” he argued, “which would help you to establish control.”
“From what you’ve told me,” she said, “wearing a uniform didn’t help the previous nannies in that regard! Besides,” she added, “a uniform might be appropriate in a city setting but here…”
“Yes?”
“I can’t see myself in a uniform while I splash around in the creek with the children, or while we play hide-and-seek in the woods. Can you?”
He stared at her with a perplexed expression, as if she’d posed a highly complex problem.
“I’ll order a couple of uniforms,” he said finally. “And you’ll give it your best shot. If after one week, you find it too…cumbersome…for certain activities, then we’ll discuss the matter again and come up with a compromise that satisfies us both. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes,” she said, but without any great enthusiasm. “That would be acceptable.”
“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” He took his seat at the desk, in front of the computer.
She should have been watching the screen as he accessed the Web site, instead she found herself looking down at the top of his head…and noticing how rich his black hair was, and how much silkier it seemed, up close—
He rose from his chair. “Sit down.”
She did, and felt his warmth lingering on the padded leather seat. There was an intimacy about it that she found disconcerting. Wriggling impatiently, she shifted her mind to a higher plane as he crossed to the window and stood with his back to her.
After she’d input her info, she rolled back the swivel chair and got to her feet.
She said, to the back of his head and his impressively wide shoulders, “It seems a bit stupid now…”
He turned. “What does?”
“That I made such a fuss about giving out my measurements.” She gave an ironic chuckle and added, almost to herself, “It’s not as if I’ve that much to hide!”
As soon as she’d spoken, she wished the words unsaid. Thanks to her strip-show at the creek, her employer knew exactly how much—or, rather, how little!—she had to hide. And she knew, by the shadow darkening his blue eyes, that reminding him of it had not been one of her better ideas.
He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and she heard the impatient jingle of coins or keys. The sound was as dismissive as the ring of a school bell.
“Will that be all?” she asked.
“Just one more thing. This morning I drove to Crestville to visit my in-laws and I’ve invited them here for dinner. On Friday. That’ll give Mrs. Caird time to get used to my kitchen before she has to cook for guests, and it will give you the best part of a week to lick my children into some kind of shape so they don’t disgrace me too deplorably. Do you think you can do that?”
Willow hadn’t been aware that his in-laws lived in Crestville, a town about fifty miles up the highway. “I’ll certainly do my best.”
“That’s all I can ask. But,” he added, and flashed her another of his debilitating smiles, “I can hope for a miracle!”
A series of warm tingles fluttered Willow’s senses as she was exposed to the full force of his charm. Did Scott Galbraith have any idea what a heartbreaker he was?
But even as she asked herself the question, she recalled what Ida Trent had said about the man believing himself to be “devilishly attractive” to the opposite sex. The memory frosted the warm glow that had suffused her skin. And instead of fainting at his feet as she’d momentarily felt prone to do, she returned crisply,
“Hope, as they say, springs eternal! Now, will that be all?”
“Yes, that will be all. Good night, Ms. Tyler.”
“Good night, Dr. Galbraith.”
As she drew the door closed behind her, she heard him add, very softly, “Try to get to bed early, Ms. Tyler. We wouldn’t want your sleeping in to become a habit.”
Next morning, Willow’s alarm went off at seven.
Yawning, she flicked it off and got up. Then she wansdered sleepily across the plush pink carpet to the window and drew back the luxuriously heavy pink drapes.
It was dreary outside. A wild gale was blowing and rain lashed the countryside in gunmetal-gray sheets. Unless the storm eased up later, it would be too wet to take the children out. She’d be cooped up in the house with the little monsters. The prospect made her shudder.
But as she padded toward the en suite bathroom—past the bed with its pink-sprigged duvet and past the elegant white wicker furniture—she experienced a sudden rush of pleasure. How lucky she was to have such beautiful quarters. Quite a change from home, where space was at a premium—and walking barefoot over toy-littered floors was as risk-fraught as crossing a minefield!
After showering, she dressed in jeans and an aqua sweatshirt and then set out to check on her charges.
She was almost at Mikey’s room, which was next door to her own, when she heard a fretful cry.
She pushed the door open and switched on the light.
The sudden brightness took the child aback, and his cry stopped in midstream. As Willow entered the room, she saw him standing up in his crib, his cheeks scarlet, his eyes pearled with tears, his hands clutching the crib rail.
He stared at her for ten long seconds, then he released the crib rail and plumped down onto his bottom. Lower lip jutting, he watched warily as she approached the crib.
Willow set her hands on the top rail and looked down at him with a smile. “Hi,” she said. “Good morning!”
He scowled. “Not!”
She laughed. “You’re right. Actually it’s not. It’s raining and it looks as if it might be on for the duration!
Now,” she said, “let’s get your diaper changed and—”
“Dry!”
She lowered the side of the crib and leaning over, checked his diaper and found it was, indeed, dry. “What a good boy!” She looked at him admiringly. “Aren’t you clever!”
His face creased in a delighted smile. “I clever!”
He was so like his father! He had the same electric-blue eyes, the same heart-stealing smile. What a cute little guy he was. And of course he wasn’t a monster. How could she ever have thought he was!
“Up!” he demanded. “Potty!”