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“No, because what he likes and doesn’t like changes day by day. Each meal is an experiment, so to speak.” Charles looked apologetic, waiting for her response.
Melissa merely shrugged. “As I said, we’ll manage.”
Charles nodded uncertainly, turned to go, then turned back.
“Oh, and they don’t take naps, as a rule. Mrs. Butters thinks napping interferes with nighttime sleeping.”
Melissa smiled. “In other words, she likes to maintain an early bedtime.”
“Yes, I guess so.” Charles just stood there. He seemed to be stalling, trying to think of something else to talk about. Then he finally turned to go.
Melissa couldn’t resist. “Charles?”
He turned quickly back. “Yes?”
“By any chance are you a picky eater? Do you have a list of likes and dislikes, and do you hurl food or stuff it down your pants?”
He chuckled. “No to all three questions.”
She grinned. “In that case, why don’t I bring a sandwich to your study when I’ve got lunch ready?”
He grinned back. “That would be nice.” After another pause, he turned abruptly and strode away, presumably to his study.
Melissa breathed a sigh of relief. She knew he was just being protective of the children—and of her, which was a wholly new experience for her, since Brad never worried about anyone but himself. But it was better that Charles kept his distance, for more reasons than one.
“What do you want to do after lunch?” she asked the children.
Sarah shrugged, licking a last, stray piece of pickle off her pinky finger. “We don’t know.”
“I know how to make play dough,” Melissa offered.
The children’s eyes widened.
“All dif’rent colors?” Sarah asked.
Melissa nodded, then motioned with her head in the direction of her nanny bag, sitting on the floor by the refrigerator. “Of course. I brought along some food coloring in my nanny bag. We can make the dough any color you want.”
Christopher eyed the small canvas suitcase with interest.
“What else have you got in there?”
“Oh, lots of things. You’ll find out, little by little as the week goes by. But there’s something in there I want to get out right now.” She retrieved the bag and set it on the counter, high above the children’s eye level. She wanted the insides of her nanny bag to retain a certain mystery for them. She reached in and took out two jars of toddler food.
“What’s that?” Sarah asked.
“It’s food for Daniel,” Melissa answered. “I made it myself.”
“He probably won’t eat it,” Christopher warned her.
“We’ll see.”
Christopher’s brows furrowed, his concerned expression reminding Melissa of Charles. “But will it hurt your feelings if he throws it on the wall or stuffs it down his pants?”
Melissa shook her head. “Not at all. Daniel can be my guinea pig. I’ll try different foods on him every day, and if he likes something more than once, I’ll know it’s really good.”
Sarah laughed. “M’lissa called Daniel a pig.”
“No she didn’t,” Christopher scoffed. “She called him a guinea pig. It’s not the same as a pig pig. It’s like a lab rat or somethin’.”
Melissa scrunched her nose. “I’m not sure that’s much better.”
Christopher stood on tiptoe and tried to see inside the bag.
“Do you have your toothbrush and pajamas in there, too?”
“Oh, no,” Melissa quickly answered. “I’m not an overnight nanny like Mrs. Butters. I go home after dinner.”
“Too bad,” Christopher said with a doleful shake of his head, a gesture that looked too grownup and theatrical on a four-year-old. But, in just the short time she’d spent with Christopher, Melissa had decided he was intelligent and perceptive and curious beyond his years. Probably like his father had been as a child.
“I’ll bet Dad would like it if you stayed and kept him company after we go to bed,” Christopher suggested.
Melissa was surprised by the alarming mental image that instantly sprang to mind, an image brought on by the innocent words of a child. She could see it all too clearly…her and Charles sitting by the fire, eating, drinking, talking, laughing, whispering, cuddling, kissing.
Yep, it was a darn good thing she wasn’t spending the night under Charles’s roof. She barely knew him, really, and she was already fantasizing about him. And knowing he was sleeping right down the hall would only make the fantasies more vivid and more disruptive to her peace of mind.
Melissa supposed that most people considered fantasizing a harmless pastime. But she was opposed to fantasizing, to daydreaming. After all, living in a dream world was what got her married to the wrong man in the first place, and then kept her married to him for far too long.
Yes, fantasizing could be dangerous.
CHARLES WAS HAVING a hard time keeping his mind on his work. He found himself recalling those three weeks thirteen years ago, when he’d tutored Melissa. The way her long blond hair fell over her paper as she did her sums, the way she bit her bottom lip when she was concentrating, the smell of her perfume, the way her face lit up when she finally fathomed that advanced math.
He was daydreaming. He was recalling old fantasies he thought he’d forgotten more than a decade ago.
Sitting at his desk, with the door to his study firmly shut, he was getting absolutely nothing done. But at least he was keeping the promise he’d made to himself to remain in the study till six o’clock, the hour Melissa intended to have dinner ready…unless the house was burning down or some other disaster occurred!
Charles shook his head and smiled wryly. What kind of a schmuck still remembered a high-school crush with such vividness? After high school he’d gone to Stanford on a scholarship. He’d gotten rid of his glasses, gained weight on dorm food that he turned into muscle when he joined a gym, took up tennis and marathon running, and, finally, gradually got over his adolescent shyness.
In other words, Charles had enjoyed a full social life at Stanford and had dated numerous women before meeting and marrying Annette. He’d loved her more than he thought possible and was devastated when she was killed in that accident. Yet, even after many relationships and one wonderful marriage, why did he still remember his crush on Melissa with such clarity, the feelings he’d had back then so easily recalled and relived when she unexpectedly showed up on his doorstep?
Well, for whatever reason, it was inappropriate and silly. The woman was still grieving her dead husband! He turned his attention back to the computer screen and forced himself to concentrate. Five minutes later he looked at the clock. It was only two-thirty.
He kept wondering how Melissa was doing with the kids. He hadn’t heard any alarming sounds to indicate that either she or the children were in distress. And he didn’t doubt that Melissa was capable of performing her nanny duties. In high school she’d been the model of efficiency and enthusiasm in everything she undertook.
It’s just that she looked so tired…. And he suspected she’d get the job done, and done well, even if it totally exhausted her. This suspicion of Melissa’s dedication at the risk of her own health made it very difficult for Charles to know she was out there taking care of his kids, fixing meals and doing chores that on some days tired out even Mrs. Butters, who was the most robust, energetic, unpregnant fifty-five-year-old he’d ever met.
But he’d hired Melissa to do exactly what she was doing.
And she obviously was very sure it wasn’t beyond her capabilities.
In fact, she would probably be extremely offended if he suggested she perhaps wasn’t up to the job.
And she probably needed the money.
Hell!
Charles glared at his computer screen. Science had always fascinated him, seduced him, kept him occupied for blissful hours. Why was it failing him now?
BY THE TIME Melissa sent Christopher to fetch his father for dinner at five minutes to six, she was exhausted. They’d had a full day, she and the children. And she needn’t have worried about any awkwardness with Charles, because true to his word he’d stayed in his study all day. She’d only seen him once, when she’d taken him a sandwich at lunchtime.
Now he entered the kitchen on the heels of his son, carrying the empty sandwich plate, glass and soda can. She sat up straighter in her chair and smiled, trying not to look as tired as she felt.
“Get lots of work done?” she asked brightly.
Charles first rested his eyes on her, then the table, which was neatly set and covered with dishes of food, and then the gleaming countertops, which she’d already cleared of the dirty pots and utensils she’d used in preparing dinner.
“Not as much as you got done, evidently,” he murmured.
Melissa waved her hand dismissively. “Hey, it’s my job.”
Charles said nothing and moved to the sink to wash his hands. While his back was turned, Melissa allowed the perky smile to slip away. She didn’t remember getting this tired even as recently as last week, when she’d had her last nanny assignment. She could have really used a nap that afternoon.
Charles sat down at the end of the table and smiled around at his three small children. “Whose turn to say the prayer?”
All three kids raised their hands.
“Me!” Sarah shouted.
“No, it’s my turn,” Christopher argued.
Daniel garbled something around the cracker Melissa had given him to nibble on.
Charles settled it, saying, “I seem to remember it being Sarah’s turn. Christopher, you said the blessing at breakfast.”
“But Daniel was screaming and throwing oatmeal the whole time,” he objected. As if on cue, Daniel threw his cracker and let out a yelp.
“I think God heard you anyway,” Charles observed with a chuckle. “If God only heard us when Daniel wasn’t screaming or throwing food, He wouldn’t hear half our prayers.”
Christopher giggled, and the argument was over. Daniel, pleased with himself for making them laugh, grinned and remained quiet while Sarah recited the simple, memorized prayer that Melissa remembered saying when she was a child.
Along with Charles, Melissa helped the children spoon out their portions, but put only a dab of food on her own plate. She was too tired to eat. She pushed the food around, sampled a bite or two, and hoped no one noticed how little she ate. But Charles was eyeing her from his end of the table, his brow furrowed. Apparently he’d noticed.
CHARLES WAS ALARMED at how tired and flushed Melissa looked when he’d entered the room, and now she wasn’t eating enough to keep a bird alive! He couldn’t admonish her to eat as if she was one of the children, but there was nothing stopping him from making her go home directly after the meal and cleaning up the kitchen himself.
Above the clamor and conversation of the children, who were excited to have access to Daddy again after he’d been shut away all day, an adult conversation would have been difficult, and Melissa looked too tired to keep up her end of it, anyway. So Charles ate and enjoyed the food Melissa had prepared while listening to the children’s detailed description of all they’d done that day.
No wonder she was tired! They’d done a lot. They’d made play dough, then shaped it into animals, made a zoo fence out of popsicle sticks and glue, colored and sprinkled glitter on cards for Mrs. Butters’s eventual return, practiced writing their names on the little chalk board in Christopher’s room, and gone swimming in the blow-up pool on the shaded patio.
Charles gazed at Melissa with wonder as he listened to this amazing chronology. On top of all that, she’d cooked and cleaned and done some laundry, too…he could hear the dryer going.
As soon as the children were done, Charles gave them permission to watch a video and put Christopher in charge of inserting the tape and turning on the television. He left the kitchen with his chest puffed out importantly, his little brother and sister in tow. Daniel was sucking his thumb, a sure sign he was already getting sleepy.
“The meal was delicious,” Charles said, as soon as he and Melissa were alone in the kitchen. “Just thought I’d tell you, since you couldn’t possibly know from your own sampling of the food.”
Melissa blushed and looked disconcerted. “Oh no. You’re wrong. I eat while I cook. I was full before I even sat down.”
Charles propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I don’t believe you. Annette ate as much as I did while she was pregnant…sometimes more. She was always hungry. She said food just tasted better and it was obvious she enjoyed every bite. I loved watching her eat.”
Melissa stared at Charles. Now it was her turn not to believe him. Brad would never have encouraged her to eat or have enjoyed watching her. He was too paranoid about her getting fat.
“I’m just not hungry tonight,” she said finally.
“Why don’t you just admit you’re too tired to eat?” Charles suggested.
Melissa stared at her plate, anxiety welling up in her. He was right, but if she admitted he was right, would he think she was too pregnant for this job? She needed the money, but more than that, despite the physical work involved, she loved taking care of Charles’s children.
“I’m not going to fire you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Charles continued. “Or maybe I should say, I won’t fire you under one condition.”
Melissa’s gaze flew to his face. “What condition?”
“I want you to take a nap every afternoon.”
Melissa was speechless for a moment, then asked the obvious question. “What about the children? You said they normally don’t nap. What will they be doing while I’m sleeping?”
“I’ll watch them for an hour every afternoon.”
“But your—”
“I’ll get my paper done. Don’t worry. You kept them so busy today, they’ll probably fall asleep before the sun goes down and I’ll have all this evening to work on the paper.”
Melissa shook her head. “You’re being very considerate,” she said quietly. She wasn’t used to that.
“Annette was pregnant three times. I know how tired women can get at this stage of a pregnancy. I really don’t mind helping out.” He slapped his hands on the table and stood up. “Which is also why I’m going to do these dishes and you’re going to go straight home.”
Melissa sprang to her feet. Or at least she was in the process of springing to her feet, but found herself still sitting in the chair by the time Charles had risen and walked around to her end of the table. “I can’t let you do that!” she objected, peering up at him and marveling that he appeared even taller from this vantage point, which was on a level with his belt buckle. “Come on, Charles! I’m perfectly capable of washing a few dishes!”
“Tomorrow you can wash dishes because you will have had your nap and have a little energy left by this time of the day. Tonight, Melissa, just go home.”
Charles’s hands rested lightly on his hips, drawing Melissa’s gaze most reluctantly to the slim perfection of those hips. She also couldn’t help but notice his stomach, flat as a pancake even after a meal. Brad had been a physical marvel in high school and maintained his fitness as long as he played football in college, but after he was dropped from the team at the University of Utah for not keeping up his grades, he quickly developed a gut. Too much armchair football and beer.
Melissa dropped her gaze to her hands, the fingers puffy and pink from dishwater and pregnancy-related water retention. She was indeed tired and there was no reason not to take Charles up on his offer. She was touched by his consideration, but also conflicted. She wanted to prove she could do the job, eight-and-a-half months pregnant or not!
She had a stubborn streak that was sometimes a good thing, and sometimes not such a good thing. It was probably stubborn pride, along with a hefty portion of denial, that had kept her in her marriage for so long. She just didn’t like giving up.
“Charles, it will only take a few minutes for me to do these dishes, so—”
Melissa stood up, took a step, promptly tripped on something and fell into Charles’s arms. It was the only physical contact Melissa had had with a man in several months…except for hugs from her dad and her two brothers. But this was different. Very different.
Charles grabbed her shoulders and gently returned her to her seat. “Whoa! You’re not fainting on me, are you?”
