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Monty didn’t say anything more, but Melanie figured out the rest of it.
Did her new boss fear that history would repeat itself? Was that why he rarely visited Livie, because he thought his daughter would be just like the mother, not only in appearance, but in everything else, too?
Most importantly, had Livie gone through five nannies in six years because she was acting out, missing a dad who found it painful to be around her?
Now the shadows in his gaze made so much sense.
Yet, as the town car purred on toward Austin, all Melanie really knew was that she was on her way to aid a young girl who needed someone to be there, to help her overcome all the anguish.
Even if that someone was a woman who was trying to leave her past behind, too.
Chapter Three
From outside, the Victorian mansion and sweeping lawns of Tall Oaks made it seem as if every single rich-girl fantasy that Melanie had conjured in her life was coming true.
Grand willow and oak trees, majestic wrought iron furniture on the porch under the fine gingerbread woodwork…
But then she stepped foot inside.
As she struggled not to drop either of her suitcases, Mrs. Howe, the estate manager, closed the door behind them, whisking past Melanie on her way to the staircase.
“Ms. Grandy?” the bun-wearing, gray-dressed redhead said, pausing near the faded walnut handrail.
Melanie took a moment to gander at the Spartan foyer, then through the open pocket doors that led to a parlor. The furniture, from a closed rolltop desk set to a loveseat, was what a person would call “bleak.” The wooden herringbone floors were bare of warming rugs. And although the ceilings boasted hand-painted images of angels flying in cloudy harmony, the colors were leeched to almost nothing.
Ghostly, Melanie thought again.
Was it too late to quit?
Her gaze fell to a corner of the parlor, where a tall, unpolished gold cage held a lone canary that stirred on its perch, not even singing.
“That’s Sassy,” Mrs. Howe said. “She’s been in the family for a couple of years. Livie likes to try and persuade her to sing sometimes, but that bird doesn’t always oblige her. She’s a stubborn, quiet little thing.”
Melanie wanted to ask how often a canary like Sassy might want to warble in a place like this, but instead she blinked herself out of her stupor and followed Mrs. Howe, who was already mounting the steps.
Her suitcases seemed to weigh a ton, made all the heavier by the oppression in here, but she had politely refused Monty’s and Mrs. Howe’s help outside, and now she was paying for it as she climbed the stairs.
When they arrived at Melanie’s bedroom, her expectations were already low. And thank goodness, too, because the bed with its circa 1950 turquoise spread, and the muted lamps resting on the dull chests of drawers, didn’t exactly give off any kind of princess vibe.
But she wasn’t here to be royalty, she reminded herself.
Still, she recalled what she’d thought back at Zane Foley’s townhouse, when she’d wondered if she would find Livie stuck in a high-class jail.
She just hadn’t expected to be so right.
Heaving one suitcase, then the other, to the top of the bed, Melanie thanked Mrs. Howe for her welcoming attention.
The manager nodded, continuing the briefing. “Livie’s got some playtime at the moment, then it’s dinner at six, study time afterward, a bit of relaxing time and bed. She wakes up at seven on the dot for you to prepare her, then drive her to school.”
Zane Foley had already gone over all this, even supplying Melanie with directions to the private institution Livie attended for kindergarten.
“Study time?” Melanie asked, still hung up on that one detail. “Livie’s six. What does she have to study?”
Mrs. Howe smiled patiently, and Melanie suddenly saw from up close that the older woman couldn’t have been more than forty, given her smooth skin and the absence of deep wrinkles around her eyes. It was the bun and lack of cosmetics that had made Melanie think Mrs. Howe was even more mature at first.
But, beyond that, she couldn’t read the manager.
“Mr. Foley,” the other woman said, “has Livie read picture books and listen to phonics on her own, applying what she’s learned at school.”
“So much for being a kid,” Melanie said lightly, testing Mrs. Howe, to see just how strict she was.
The woman widened her eyes a tad, and Melanie realized that she might have surprised Mrs. Howe with her spiritedness.
“Sorry,” Melanie said. “It’s only that I got the impression Mr. Foley is rather…”
Okay, how could she put this?
Mrs. Howe helped her out. “A hard case?”
Now Melanie smiled.
But the other woman merely adopted a tolerant grin. “He makes sure Livie toes the line, and we all respect that, because he’s also a good, fair employer.”
The insinuation—Mr. Foley’s way or the highway—was clear.
And that was all she said, although Melanie kept thinking, What about Livie? Is she an employee, too?
Before she could even dare ask, Mrs. Howe’s brown gaze moved to the doorway, focusing on something behind Melanie.
She turned around just in time to see the last of a flowered spring dress flare out of sight in the hallway.
“I believe,” whispered Mrs. Howe, “you’ve drawn some interest.”
Melanie’s heart folded, as if trying to embrace itself.
Livie.
She walked to the door, but when she got there, no darling little girl was in sight.
Frowning, she glanced back at Mrs. Howe, who was fussing with the bedspread, correcting the wrinkles Melanie had already made by putting her suitcases on the cloth.
Oh, dear.
The manager straightened, ran her hands down her gray skirt. Then she walked out the door, saying one last thing to Melanie as she passed.
“You might want to continue up the staircase, Ms. Grandy, to Livie’s playroom.” She smiled once more. “Best of luck to you.”
And as she eased down the hall, Melanie could’ve sworn she heard Mrs. Howe add, “A lot of luck.”
After wondering if her ears were just playing tricks on her, Melanie went to the staircase again, traveling up to a dead end, where a closed door bled light from around its edges.
Lest she doubt that this was Livie’s playroom, she saw a sign written in the tremulous letters of a dark purple crayon.
LIVIE.
Somehow, the name felt like a territorial statement, and Melanie hesitated to knock. After all, with the structure put on Livie, didn’t she deserve a private place that allowed her some time alone when it was actually scheduled?
After knocking, she waited a moment, listening for a muffled “Come in” that never came.
She put her ear to the wood. Nothing.
“Livie?” she said. “Remember me from the other day? I’m Ms. Grandy, your new nanny. I’d like to say hello to you.”
Still no response.
Was the girl even in there?
Cautiously, Melanie tested the doorknob, finding it unlocked. It wasn’t a shock, since she doubted that Zane Foley would stand for being shut out of anything.
She thought of her own room in the quiet of night. Her own door creaking open. Mr. Foley paying a surprise visit…
A quiver ran through her, but she chased it away as she pushed at the door.
At first she only saw an austere attic, clean and ordered, with a couple of low, wood tables and several closed chests amongst shelves of toys.
Then, as she looked down, she found herself blocked by an army of stuffed animals that had been hastily tossed in a semi-circle.
A little voice came from the left.
“They don’t want you in here.”
Melanie glanced toward the sound, finding Livie sitting in a miniature rocking chair, her hands folded in her lap. She was wearing Mary Jane shoes with ankle socks, and her dark hair was held back by a lacy band, the bridge of her nose lightly freckled, just as the portrait in Zane Foley’s study had shown.
All that was missing was the stuffed lamb in her hands, but there was something Melanie saw in Livie that the painting hadn’t captured sufficiently at all.
The sadness in the girl’s big eyes.
It dug into Melanie’s chest.
“I thought the room might be empty.” She used her smile in a peacemaking fashion, gesturing toward the animals. “You’ve got a real collection.”
The little girl just kept serenely assessing her new nanny, and Melanie thought of how pretty she was, how pretty her mom must’ve been, too, although she hadn’t come across any published pictures of her to know for sure.
Livie glanced at her stuffed menagerie. “Daddy had them sent for my birthday this year. He couldn’t visit me this time.”
Owie.
Melanie only wished she had a huge bandage that would cover Livie’s heart from the damage done to her. She herself knew what it felt like to have a special time like a birthday fall to the wayside. It had happened every year with her own mom, until Leigh would suddenly remember after the fact and try to make it up to Melanie with day-old cake on sale at the bakery.
“So what are the animals doing right now?” she gently asked Livie, even though she knew they’d been set there to bar Melanie from intruding.
The girl stood up from her chair, and the rocker stirred, creaking, adding an odd level of discomfort. She went to a toy shelf, her back to Melanie. “It’s their room, and they want you to know that.”
And the gauntlet hits the floor, Melanie thought.
“Excellent,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll agree that there are other ground rules we’ll need to establish besides that, Livie. Why don’t we sit down to talk about them? I didn’t get much of a chance to do that the other day with you, and I’d really like to.”
Even with her back to Melanie, it was obvious that the child was crossing her arms. “My name is Olivia.”
“All right.” Melanie wasn’t going to lose even an iota of patience—not with what this child had gone through with her mother. “Olivia, maybe you’d enjoy lemonade on the back porch with me. How about it?”
“Lemonade has sugar. Sugar makes me hyper. Daddy says so.”
Melanie came this close to rolling her eyes, but she refrained. Zane Foley wasn’t even here, and he was still being a pain.
“Then if you can’t have sugar,” Melanie said, “perhaps I can wrangle up some ice tea without sweetener.”
Livie sighed, as if exasperated, and went about picking through her toys and ignoring Melanie altogether.
But the new nanny didn’t go anywhere. Nope. She just stood there and memorized the details of the room, the display of toys that would tell her something about Livie, whether or not the child wanted her to know.
Stuffed animals—dogs, sheep, dolphins. All gentle creatures.
Puzzle boxes nearer to the doorway that looked to have never even been opened.
Dolls—especially Barbies.
Melanie grinned to herself, then retreated down the stairs, but only because she had a secret weapon that had also served to disarm her first charge in those initial days with her.
She went to her room, to one of the suitcases, and pulled out a smaller bag that was filled with sewing materials and doll dresses. She’d taken up this hobby early, back in her babysitting days, because she’d found that Barbie clothes were catnip for ninety-nine percent of all little girls.
Then she went back to Livie’s domain.
There, she sat within the semicircle of sentinel animals and took out the most exquisite wee bridal dress. She began to fluff the airy sleeves and spread the sheer, belled skirt.
She didn’t call attention to herself, but then again, she didn’t have to.
Over the course of the next few minutes, Livie gravitated from one shelf to the other, closer to Melanie, although she wasn’t obvious about it.
Melanie lay the bride’s frock on her knee, smoothed it out, then reached into her bag for a long, splashy pink satin party dress that always made Barbie look like even more of a knock-out.
As she traced a finger over its sleekness, the glitz took her back to neon and jangling slot machines, and she shoved the memory of her old casino life away, just as if it were baggage she would keep in her own attic.
Soon, Livie was near Melanie, although still on the other side of the animals. Melanie glanced up, as if surprised to see her.
She casually offered the wedding dress, and Livie touched it with her fingers, then drew them away.
“It’s okay,” Melanie said. “Why don’t you get one of your dolls and see how she looks in it?”
