The Single Dad's Virgin Wife. Susan Crosby
“I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun together. The children and I, I mean.”
“I know you’re used to kindergarteners, who mostly just play.”
“Please don’t insult me,” she responded. “You won’t find their education lacking because of my teaching skills.”
“I didn’t mean—” He stopped, took a step back. “Good night.”
As she climbed the stairs, she watched him walk toward his office. Sympathy rose inside her. For all that he was successful in his work and had four beautiful children, he was not a happy man. And not just because he still grieved for his wife, she decided. Maybe he’d never been happy. Obviously his childhood hadn’t been good, his father no kind of role model, although Noah didn’t seem to be anything like his own father.
Tricia shut her bedroom door and leaned against it. She was in a tough spot. Three months to help them as a family—because that had become her primary goal now that she’d met them—and still be able to walk away.
Get out now, she told herself.
The shouting in her head got louder and louder. She should heed it. She knew she should. But superimposed over it were the faces of the children, who needed her.
And Noah. Who perhaps needed her even more.
Life’s short. Make it an adventure. Her brand-new mantra began shouting even louder, reminding her of her own needs, which she’d promised herself she wouldn’t forget. She was entitled, too.
But for the moment, she needed to be here, with this family.
Having an adventure.
Chapter Five
Noah pulled into the driveway the next night at six-thirty. He hadn’t called when he left the office, and he could’ve called from his cell phone at any time, yet he hadn’t.
He didn’t know why. He wasn’t rude, generally. Oblivious, maybe at times, but not intentionally rude. And it hadn’t slipped his mind, because she hadn’t slipped his mind. Tricia. He hadn’t even been working, but reading trade magazines so that he wouldn’t get home until a half hour after the usual dinnertime, although it was two hours earlier than his norm for the past year.
If he really wanted to figure out why he’d deliberately stalled, he could call his brother Gideon, who wasn’t a psychologist but understood human nature better than most people.
Noah didn’t want to know why.
He made the long walk from the garage to the house. No one opened the back door to greet him, although the dining room lights were on, and they all would’ve seen his car turn into the driveway, his headlights arcing across the window. Maybe they were done eating.
Margie would have had the kids racing to the back door to greet him.
He reached for the door handle, then stopped and reminded himself that his world had changed forever. There was no Margie. No wife. Even though the At Your Service agency where David had found Tricia was nicknamed “Wives for Hire,” Tricia wasn’t his wife. Except she was doing an admirable job of filling many of Margie’s roles….
But no sex, of course. That was in the contract they both signed, although he wouldn’t have gotten involved with an employee, anyway. It hadn’t been an issue with any of the other nannies, contract or not. Tricia was the first one to even tempt him.
Noah entered the kitchen just as they were carrying their dirty dishes in, Ashley leading the way. Accusation and disappointment hit him full force from her expression alone. Why? He hadn’t made it home on time for at least a year.
“Hi,” he said, setting his briefcase on the counter.
“Hello.” She turned on the faucet and rinsed her plate. She opened the dishwasher and slid her dishes inside then left the room.
“Dinner was good,” Adam said. He put his dishes in the dishwasher without rinsing.
Zoe followed suit. “Beef stew,” she said in way of greeting.
Then Zach, whose expression was even more accusatory than Ashley’s. Why? What had he done?
Zach took his time rinsing his plate, using a cloth to get every bit off the plate and silverware, then loaded them. Finally he looked at Noah. “You promised to be nice,” he said, then left.
Ah. So part of being nice was being home for dinner. Okay. Noah understood now.
“Hello, Noah. Did you have a good day?” Tricia said as she brought her own dishes in.
He was not in the mood to be chastised, directly or indirectly, and her tone indicated she was doing exactly that. He was especially annoyed because she’d been intruding into his thoughts all day already. “This is your doing, I assume.”
“My doing?” She rinsed her dishes, avoiding looking at him. “Your children seemed to think things were going to change. I have no idea what or why. All I know is, you didn’t call to say you were on your way home, so we ate without you. What’s wrong with that?”
“I meant having the children doing dishes.”
She looked startled. “That’s what you’re mad about?”
No. He was angry that his children were barely speaking to him, but he couldn’t blame Tricia for that. “I don’t want them doing chores.”
“Why not?” She propped a hip against the counter and crossed her arms.
“Because you only get to be kids once.”
“Home is where we are prepared for life. Doing chores is part of life.”
“Not in my house.”
“Noah,” she said quietly, “the children want chores. They want responsibility.”
“How do you know that?”
“They told me.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. He’d only meant to save them from the kind of childhood he’d had—babysitting his two younger brothers while his father and one stepmother, then another, worked full time. He was ten years old when he was first put in charge of seven-year-old Gideon and three-year-old David. As the years passed, Noah had supervised homework and cleaned the house, including doing laundry. The only way he’d gotten out of cooking duty was to be really bad at it, on purpose.
“I assume they didn’t tell you without prompting?” he asked, heading to the dining room to eat.
She followed. “Not exactly.” She made a move to grab the pot of stew. “I can heat this for you.”
“It’s fine.” He served himself the remainder of the salad, rolls and stew, then glanced up as she hovered. “Not exactly?” he repeated.
“One of the things we did today was discuss their schedules, not just their academics but extracurricular activities. In the grand scheme of things, we talked about responsibility. I sort of tossed out the idea that they could make their own beds and do their own dishes rather than letting them sit in the sink all night.”
He gestured she should sit. “And they jumped at the chance to assume that responsibility?”
She hesitated. “Not all of them.”
“Let me guess. Ashley and Zach were gung ho. Zoe got huffy. And Adam…”
“Said they’d be putting Cora out of work, and how could we live with that?”
Noah laughed, which made Tricia laugh, too. “That’s my boy.”
“Is he the most like you, out of all of them?”
The stew was lukewarm but tasty, the