A Nanny Under the Mistletoe. Raye Morgan
or his? she wondered.
“You must be hungry,” she said.
“Why?”
“Besides the plate of food in your hand?”
He glanced at it and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I missed dinner.”
“We noticed.”
“Oh?” He removed the plastic over the meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans, then set it in the microwave and pressed the reheat button.
“Yeah, what with your chair at the table being empty and all.”
He twisted the top off his beer and took a long swallow, then looked at her. “What’s on your mind, Libby?”
“Funny, that’s just what I said to Morgan when I tucked her in bed. I could tell there was something bothering her. She tends to share what’s on her mind at bedtime.”
“Do I need to know what it is?”
Of course, you nit, she wanted to say. Struggling for patience, she said, “You’re her guardian.”
“And I pay you to make sure she has everything she needs.”
She walked over to the granite-covered island and kept it between them as she met his gaze. “It’s also in my job description to make sure you’re aware of what’s going on with her emotionally. I thought you should know that she’s noticed you don’t come home for dinner.”
“I see.”
That’s all he could say? Libby rubbed her palms over the black-and-beige granite countertop, but the smooth coolness did little to ease the heat trickling through her. Heat that was part attraction and part annoyance. Just breathing the same air with him raised her pulse when she most needed calm rationality.
In her college speech class there had been discussion of techniques for calming nerves in public speaking. The one about picturing your audience naked came to mind, but with Jess in the same room that only throttled up her quivering nerve endings. Her best bet was to say what she had to and leave.
“Morgan thinks you don’t like her.”
“That’s ridiculous. She’s a kid. Of course I like her. How did she get an idea like that?”
“Besides the fact that you work really hard at not being around her?” Libby struggled to keep accusation from her tone.
“I’ll cop to the working hard, but it has nothing to do with avoiding her.”
“Really?”
“What’s this really about?” he asked.
Apparently she’d been unsuccessful in maintaining a neutral expression. She might as well say what had been on her mind.
“Was weather the real reason you couldn’t be at Ben and Charity’s memorial service? Or was it about dodging the hard stuff? The part where you’re Morgan’s guardian?”
Stark pain etched itself on his face and looked even darker for the scruff of beard that was three hours past his five o’clock shadow.
“I’ll admit to being grateful that weather grounded my plane. But it had nothing to do with the kid and everything to do with the fact that a memorial service meant facing the truth that my friend was gone and he wasn’t coming back.”
“If anyone knows how you feel, it’s me.” Missing Charity was still a raw and ragged wound inside her. She was probably the only person on the planet who knew exactly how Jess felt. And she sympathized with him. “I didn’t want to go either.”
He took another long drink of his beer and pulled the plate out of the microwave. “I’d have been there if weather hadn’t shut down the airport.”
She believed him and that realization made her feel all gooey inside. Under the circumstances that was the wrong way to feel.
“The fact is,” she said, “Ben and Charity made you Morgan’s guardian. The designation implies making an effort to be involved with her. Just like Ben would have been if he were here.”
A muscle jerked in Jess’s jaw as he stared her down. “Define involved.”
Libby tapped an index finger against her lips as she thought about the question. “Think of her as a resort development. Periodic reports from a project manager. That would be me. Intermittent on-site social interaction with said project. That would be—”
“Dinner?” he guessed.
“Go to the head of the class,” she said.
He ran his fingers through his hair, then nodded. “I’ll make it a point to be home for dinner tomorrow night.”
“Promise?”
“Is that really necessary?”
“I don’t want to tell Morgan you’ll be here unless it’s going to happen,” Libby said. Life was full of disappointments and she didn’t want more than necessary for a little girl who was dealing with the worst one of all.
“Promise.” He made a cross over his heart and held up two fingers.
“Okay, then. It’s a date.”
Almost instantly she regretted her phrasing. That made it sound too personal, which was so the wrong tone. She wanted him to take an interest in Morgan, not herself. Mostly.
And so she felt the same conflict of smart women throughout time. How could she want him so intensely when she wasn’t sure she liked him at all?
Chapter Three
The next night Jess walked into the penthouse and heard Libby’s voice, the smoke-and-whiskey huskiness that skipped over his skin and made him hot. Now was no exception. When she stopped talking, a little-girl giggle filled the silence. This was the first time he’d ever heard that sound in his home and it made him smile. Amusement faded fast when he remembered why he was here.
To get involved with Morgan. Libby’s words came back to him—like Ben would have been if he’d lived.
“I’m trying, buddy,” Jess whispered. “Man, I wish you were here. I’m already screwing this up.”
Libby had figured out that he worked late to avoid the situation at home. She’d nailed him and he didn’t like it. He also wasn’t sure how he felt about her coming up with the idea of being the nanny. On one hand, he was glad to have someone caring for Morgan that she knew and felt comfortable with. Someone who could make her giggle, he thought when the sound came to him again.
On the other hand, Libby had also guessed that he hadn’t wanted to go to the memorial service and seemed to share the feeling. She’d gone soft when they discussed it, unlike the harsh way she’d reviewed his home as it related to being kid-friendly. But he could tell that she didn’t particularly like him and he didn’t particularly care. At least he tried not to because that was a slippery slope straight to hell.
Jess set his briefcase down by the front door, took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen. Every light in the room was on, including the under-the-cabinet fluorescents. Morgan was sitting on one of the six tall, padded wrought-iron stools arranged in a semi-circle around the island. Libby was across from her putting something on a cookie sheet. The glass-topped dinette was set with three woven placemats, plates, eating utensils and glasses. Until the last week, he’d always come home to a dark, silent penthouse. All this light and activity made him feel as if he’d stepped into an alternate universe.
Libby looked up and saw him standing there. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He lifted a hand when Morgan turned in his direction. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she said, not quite looking at him.
Until he made his presence known, Libby and Morgan had been talking