Serenity Harbor. RaeAnne Thayne
Any relation to Mike, who runs the auto body shop?”
“That’s my uncle—and my stepfather. It’s a long story.”
He held out a hand. “Bowie Callahan. You’ve met my brother, Milo.”
She shook his hand, not bothering to hide the surprise in her expression. “Your brother.”
“Half brother. That’s an even longer story.”
“Well, Bowie and Milo, it was nice to meet you. I should go finish my shopping.”
He didn’t want her to leave suddenly. “Thank you for stepping in. Milo can be...difficult.” That was an understatement that didn’t begin to describe his obstinate sibling.
“No problem. Welcome to Haven Point.”
She started to push her cart away, but Milo raced after her and held out the tangled twist tie.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it with a soft smile toward the boy. “Goodbye.”
Milo didn’t return her smile—Bowie would have been shocked if he had, since he rarely did—but he wiggled his fingers in return, which Katrina Bailey seemed to find charming.
She pushed her cart away, reaching for a bag of green onions on her way. As she did, Bowie’s brain sifted through the information he had just learned from and about her, and he realized in an instant that she could be exactly what they needed.
If he were the churchgoing sort, he would have called her the answer to his prayers.
“Wait,” he exclaimed.
Katrina turned at his overloud call. “Yes?”
“Did I just hear you’re only in town for a month?”
“That’s right,” she said warily. “My sister is getting married in a few weeks.”
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you might be looking for a temporary job while you’re in Haven Point.”
She stared at him. “A job.”
“I’m in the market for a temporary nanny.” He turned around, away from Milo, and lowered his voice. “As you probably figured out, my brother has some issues. He’s autistic.”
“He has autism.”
Right. People first, then the condition. He was working on remembering the correct PC terminology. “That’s right. He’s on the spectrum, apparently moderate to severe.”
“Apparently?” As he might have expected, she keyed in on that single word.
“That’s what the test results say, anyway.” He didn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of the produce section of the grocery store, but here they were and he felt he needed to be honest with her. “I only met Milo less than a month ago and don’t know anything about his previous history. He has no medical records, no school records. Nothing.”
Her eyebrows rose in clear skepticism. “That’s impossible. Was he raised in the jungle?”
“Close enough.” How else would a person describe Stella’s alternative, nonconformist, substance-loving lifestyle?
“Impossible or not, that’s the situation. Though his hearing is fine, Milo is mostly nonverbal, at least as far as we can tell. He can say no, but that’s it.” He didn’t tell her no was Milo’s favorite word and he employed it hundreds of times a day.
“He has obvious behavioral challenges,” Bowie went on. “We’ve seen a couple of specialists over the last three weeks and they place him somewhere on the spectrum, but exactly where is tough to say. I only know he’s a difficult kid. I’ve been through three nannies in three weeks. The last one quit yesterday.”
That was why Bowie found himself in the supermarket, dealing with a meltdown he couldn’t handle.
“I’m sorry. But I don’t see how it concerns me. I’m only home to visit my family.”
“I’ve hired a new nanny who is an autism specialist and is supposed to be the top of her field, but she can’t be here for three weeks. I’ll be honest with you, Miss Bailey. I can’t take three weeks off work right now, and I’m desperate to find someone to help with him.”
She arched one of those expressive eyebrows. “So you decided to accost stray women in the supermarket and offer the job to them?”
He had the oddest feeling Katrina Bailey didn’t like him, though he couldn’t figure out exactly what he had done. “Not just any stranger,” he pointed out. “A woman who instinctively knew the right thing to do with Milo, where everyone else seems to flounder—and a schoolteacher who has already been vetted by the school system.”
“I haven’t taught in the last year,” she replied. “How do you know I haven’t been in prison during that time?”
“Have you?”
She made a face. “No. But you just met me five minutes ago and have no way of knowing that.”
“I saw the way you interacted with that girl. Hannah. She said you were her favorite teacher. Besides, I watched you with Milo. You’re obviously well trained and more patient with him than I can ever be. You knew just what to do during one of his tantrums.”
If he hoped to flatter her into taking the job, he was doomed to disappointment. At his words, her features seemed to tighten. “Dealing with a child in the midst of a meltdown can be challenging, but really, you only need a compassionate heart and a willingness to focus on the best interests of the child.”
Was she implying he didn’t have either of those things? Bowie might have been offended if he wasn’t afraid she was right.
He was trying, Bowie reminded himself. Hadn’t he immediately flown to Portland, brought the boy back to Haven Point, spent time away from Caine Tech he could ill afford in order to find the best care provider for him?
He didn’t need one more thing to feel guilty about.
“I do want the best for Milo. You’re the first person in three weeks who instinctively seems to know how to manage him.”
“He’s a child,” she retorted, pitching her voice low, presumably so Milo didn’t overhear. He could have told her his brother wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to them. He had pulled more twist ties off the roll and was forming them into tangled shapes.
“He’s a child,” she repeated. “Not some new product under development at Caine Tech. He doesn’t need to be managed.”
He wasn’t sure how she knew he worked at Caine Tech or why she reacted so strongly to that particular choice of words. Right now, it didn’t matter. The only thing he cared about was convincing her to help him.
“It was only a figure of speech,” he said. “Look, I’m desperate here. What am I supposed to do? I can’t keep missing work and I also can’t take Milo to the office with me. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
She didn’t look convinced by his plea. If anything, her features turned even frostier. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
He felt as if someone had just opened the doorway offering a light at the end of the tunnel and then slammed it shut again in his face.
“Not even for ten thousand dollars?”
She stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar. “Ten thousand dollars? You’re willing to pay ten thousand dollars for three weeks’ work?”
It probably wouldn’t be considered good business practice to admit he would be willing to pay much more than that, if only he could regain some semblance of control in his life.
“Okay. Twelve. But that’s my final offer.”
She looked dumbfounded, and for a moment he clung to a tiny sliver