Marrying The Virgin Nanny / The Nanny And Me. Teresa Southwick
of keeping busy, didn’t you just take on a new job?” Sister blew on her steaming mug. “Where are you working?”
“Spring Mountain Towers.”
The nun’s eyebrows rose. “That’s some pricey property.”
“No kidding. In the penthouse, no less. The infant is completely adorable. His name is Brady Garrett.”
The nun took a sip of her coffee and studied Maggie over the rim. “And something’s troubling you. What is it, dear?”
“I can’t stop worrying about him when I’m not there.”
“You’ve been coming to Good Shepherd on Saturday since you started working as a nanny and this is the first time you’ve ever expressed concern about the child in your care.”
“This is the first time I’ve left the infant with a father and no mother.”
“Where is his wife?”
“He doesn’t have one.” Maggie remembered him talking about dating and her vision of him with lots of women. The idea was oddly disturbing to her. “Jason—he’s Jason Garrett—”
“The billionaire developer?”
“The very one. He only said that the baby’s mother won’t be an issue.”
“If only,” Sister said.
“Amen.” Lyssa’s bedtime prayer for God to bring her mother back still echoed in Maggie’s heart. Jason had more money than he would ever need and couldn’t give his son the one thing every child wanted most.
“What’s he like?” Sister asked.
How did she describe Jason Garrett? Her pulse fluttered and skipped just thinking about him. “He’s driven. Focused. He loves his son very much.”
“You left out seriously cute,” Sister added, blue eyes twinkling.
“I beg your pardon?” Maggie pretended to be shocked.
“I’ve seen his picture in the paper. And he was in that magazine’s yearly issue of best-looking bachelors.” Sister grinned. “I’m a nun, not dead.”
“Clearly.” Maggie laughed. “You’re right. He’s seriously cute—even better looking in person.”
“So if he’s devoted to his son, why are you worried about the baby?”
“What if Brady is upset and Jason can’t quiet him? I showed him the five S’s—” Sister slid her a blank look and she added, “The five S’s of soothing a baby. I’ve taught the technique to the volunteers here who work with infants. It was developed by Dr. Harvey Karp at UCLA. Swaddling, side lying, swinging, shushing and sucking. You wrap him tightly in a receiving blanket to simulate the security of the womb, hold them on their side in your arms, swing gently back and forth and make a shushing noise.”
“That seems simple enough.”
“Maybe.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “But Jason builds big resorts. He’s not a baby kind of guy. What if he can’t handle it? What if he—”
“Needs you?”
“I know that sounds arrogant—”
Sister reached over and squeezed her hand. “Not at all, Maggie. It just shows how much you care. And I worry you’ll get hurt because of that marshmallow heart of yours. You have to be careful.”
The warning was too late, but Sister didn’t know about that. Now there was no point in making both of them feel bad. “I’m a big girl now.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t still worry about you.” Sister shook her head. “Some children never get over a deep anger and resentment about growing up in an orphanage, present company excepted. You were always a sweet child, loving easily and accepting without question.”
That may have been true when she lived here, but that changed after she fell in love and then lost even more than her heart. She still cared deeply, especially about children, but now she had parameters in place for her own protection. That way she didn’t have to hold part of herself back. But she was already more attached to Brady than she’d ever been to an infant and it had only been a week. That didn’t bode well for her marshmallow heart.
“I’m older and wiser now, Sister.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I just meant that as a working woman of the world I’ve acquired experience.”
“You sound sad.”
“No.” Maggie shrugged. “I guess all the constant moving around in my job is making me restless. Making me yearn for stability.”
Odd. It hadn’t occurred to her when they talked, but that was something she and Jason had in common.
Sister’s eyes filled with sympathy. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
Maggie hadn’t, until very recently.
“It’s just that I haven’t felt like I belonged since I left here at eighteen. When I entered the convent after college—” She ran her index finger around the rim of her mug. “I think I was looking for roots, like I had here at the home.” Maggie saw the worry she’d noticed earlier in the nun’s expression. “What is it, Sister?”
“It’s not your problem—”
“So there is something.”
Sister sighed. “The state has scheduled an inspection of this building.”
“Isn’t that standard procedure?”
“Yes. But we’ve been aware for some time that the home needs extensive and expensive repairs—starting with a roof and the plumbing and it’s not in our operating budget. The diocese doesn’t have the money, either.” She shook her head. “We’re hoping to get by just one more time, but if we don’t, they could shut us down.”
“But where will the children go?” Maggie couldn’t imagine what would have happened to her without the love and support of Sister Margaret and everyone else here at Good Shepherd.
“We’re looking into alternative placements, but the state is already burdened with more children than they can care for.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Maggie asked.
Sister tried to smile. “That’s very sweet of you, dear. But I don’t think so. The Lord provides, and every day I ask Him to provide for us.”
Maggie would pray, too. For Lyssa’s sake, and all the rest of the kids at Good Shepherd, she hoped the volume of prayers would produce a miracle.
In his study, Jason looked at the computer screen to check his e-mail and rubbed his hands over his face, scraping his palms on the scruff of beard he hadn’t had time to shave. He was bone tired. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear a gravel truck had overturned in his eyes. Brady had been up every two hours during the night. The only way he’d napped was while being held and rocked. Jason had always thought building a resort was stressful, but that was before becoming a father. Right now he’d welcome budget woes, a spike in the cost of building materials and labor disputes.
And Maggie.
He’d take her in a heartbeat. As if his son heard that thought, the baby let out a cry. Just one. Just enough to say he’d need something soon.
“Brady,” he groaned, rubbing his hands over his face again. There’d barely been time for a shower, let alone a shave. He looked at the gold clock on his desk. Thirty minutes until noon, when she was due back. If there was a God in heaven she was the punctual type.
He was walking past the foyer on his way to the nursery when the key sounded in the lock just before Maggie walked in. She was better than punctual; she was