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“I’m sorry?”
“You made it sound like the program’s not important to you. If that’s the case, I don’t understand why you’d go to all this trouble to save it.”
“I’m a numbers guy,” he explained, leaning back in his chair to put a little more distance between them. “But intellectually, I understand the value of creative things.”
“You liked that landscape painting well enough to pay me a lot of money for it,” she pointed out, clearly baffled by his response. “Or were you just being nice to Caitlin’s new teacher?”
In spite of his resolve to treat her professionally, he smiled as he shook his head. “No, I really do like it. As you can see, this office needs something.”
“It needs a lot of somethings,” she corrected him with a cheeky grin. “All these empty beige walls... This must be what the inside of oatmeal looks like.”
Her comment made him laugh out loud, and through his open door he saw a couple of the other managers stop and stare at him. Their amazed expressions told him they didn’t know he had a sense of humor, and in fairness, he hadn’t given them much reason to think otherwise. As far as his coworkers knew, he was a serious, nose-to-the-grindstone kind of person who worked hard and always got the job done flawlessly and ahead of schedule.
Now that he thought about it, he seldom laughed unless he was with his girls. Why that had suddenly changed was beyond him, but he couldn’t deny that his lovely guest had something to do with it. Although the easing of his usual composure felt good to him, he recognized that the effect would by necessity be short-lived.
Once he was finished with the task he’d volunteered for, he and Emma would return to the uncomplicated relationship they’d had since he’d moved to Liberty Creek. She was his daughter’s teacher, and he was her brother’s banker. Simple, straightforward and pleasant.
The realization should have been comforting to him. But as he helped her scoop up the documents she’d brought with her, there was a sinking feeling in his chest. It only got worse as he walked her to the bank’s main entrance door and said goodbye.
Back in his office, he sensed that something had changed. It took him a minute, but then he registered the fact that the perfume she wore had lingered behind her, lacing the air with the scent of a summertime garden. The idea of sharing a picnic in the town’s charming gazebo with her flashed into his head.
At this point in his life, a romantic connection was the furthest thing from his mind, he thought as he resolutely got back to work.
Allowing himself to fall into a relationship with another woman battling cancer was simply out of the question. After two years of unimaginable heartache, he and his daughters had finally begun to recover from losing Sarah. He had no intention of setting them on that path again.
Resilient as they were, he wasn’t sure they’d make it through a second time.
Chapter Three (#uc1a6eb03-5c3f-56c9-9c98-6646baf39379)
“Miss Calhoun is here!” Caitlin sang, sailing down the colonial home’s handcrafted wooden staircase and out the front door before Rick had a chance to respond.
Clearly amused, Mrs. Fields turned and gave him an indulgent smile. “She really loves her new teacher, doesn’t she?”
“Cait’s my little Rembrandt,” he said fondly, reaching out to where Aubrey sat at the kitchen table to flip the complex single French braid he’d finally mastered with a little help from an internet discussion board for dads who needed advice on such things. “Aubrey’s going to be a scientist. Right, honey?”
Munching her apple, she tilted her head with a serious expression. “Or a zookeeper. Or maybe a really good cook, like Mrs. Fields.”
The grandmotherly woman laughed and hugged her from behind. “Whatever you decide, I’m sure you’ll be the best. I’m just glad to know that girls these days have so many choices of what they want to do for a career. In my day, there weren’t nearly as many options.”
Fascinated, Aubrey spun partway around in her chair. “What did you want to be?”
“Oh, it wasn’t very realistic,” the woman responded, waving her hand as if her old dream was something that should be pushed aside and forgotten.
Ordinarily, Rick took people at their word and didn’t pry beneath the surface of what they said to him. For some reason this time he went the other way. “Maybe not, but it sounds like it meant something to you when you were younger. What was it?”
After a moment she shook her head with a wistful look. “I wanted to be a music teacher. I love children, and helping them learn new things makes me happy.”
That explained why she was so wonderful with his girls, Rick thought in admiration. He’d never asked the agency for details on prospective nannies beyond the usual references and salary requirements. It occurred to him that as he’d gotten to know more about her over the past few months, he’d begun to view the cheerful middle-aged woman as more than an employee.
She felt like part of the family. How had that happened? he wondered. Before he had a chance to ponder it, Caitlin joined them in the kitchen, pulling a laughing Emma behind her.
“Miss Calhoun said we can call her Emma when we’re away from school. Isn’t that awesome, Daddy?”
“Very awesome,” he agreed, chuckling as he stood to relieve their visitor of the load she was carrying. Glancing inside the large plastic bin labeled “Art Program,” he looked at her in confusion. “There’s a lot more in here than what you brought to the bank yesterday.”
“More of the kids’ artwork,” she explained before dropping into the chair next to Aubrey. Peering at the preschooler’s book of animals, she pointed to one of the pictures. “I’ve never seen one of these before. What is it?”
Always ready to jump in, Caitlin quickly said, “It’s a—”
Rick cut her off with a shake of his head, and she abruptly fell silent to let her younger sister answer. Aubrey was a little slower to warm up to adults, and he looked for any opportunity to encourage her to interact with people outside her very limited circle.
To his surprise she quietly confided, “I don’t know.”
“Me, neither,” Emma said easily, sliding a little closer. “Why don’t we go through the letters in its name together and see if we can figure out what they spell?”
“Okay.” Aubrey’s small index finger moved from one letter to the next as she recited the letters. If she got stuck, she glanced at Emma, who filled in the alphabetical blank. When they were done, they sounded out the name together, and she sat back with a triumphant grin. “Coatimundi. It’s really cute.”
“Well, how about that?” Emma said, giving her a quick hug. “Thanks to you, now I know what they look like, and that they live in Mexico.”
“And how to spell it,” Caitlin added, patting her sister’s head. “Great job, Froggy.”
She sat down on the other side of Emma, and the three of them leafed through the book, stopping here and there for a closer look at whatever snagged their attention. Seeing Emma with his daughters did something strange to Rick’s heart. He’d grown so accustomed to them being a three-person family that he didn’t often consider what they might be missing out on. He adored them—would lay down his life for theirs without a single thought if it came to that. Their past nannies had been wonderful, and Mrs. Fields brought a steady, compassionate demeanor into their household that he really appreciated.
But he couldn’t deny that his girls needed something more than he could give them, even though he could afford the best caretakers in the area. Even when Sarah’s own health was failing, she’d remained an unwavering presence in their young lives, calm and comforting until the end. That was a mother’s love, he realized. And no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t give them that.
But Emma had an undeniable way with them, and it wasn’t the first time he’d noticed it. Maybe it was because she worked with kids all day and obviously enjoyed being around them. Or maybe she’d formed a bond with Caitlin because of her illness, and Aubrey followed along because she adored her big sister and frequently copied her behavior.
Or maybe that was simply the kind of person Emma was. In his experience, kind, caring strangers were so rare that he could quickly count them on one hand. Having met Emma Calhoun, he had to allow for the possibility that he’d stumbled across another one. If that was the case, he was beginning to get the feeling that they’d all be better off for knowing her.
“Mr. Marshall,” Mrs. Fields interrupted his thoughts in her usual brisk way. “There’s a lasagna in the oven, and it will be ready in about fifteen minutes. If you’re set for tonight, I’ll head home and let you enjoy your evening.”
“I knew I smelled something delicious when I walked in earlier,” he commented.
“Well, it’s Tuesday, and that’s lasagna night. Girls, go wash up so you’re ready when your dinner is.”
Caitlin and Aubrey scrambled for the powder room, and Rick walked their nanny out the way he did every day. After wishing her a good night, he slid the dead bolt and returned to his guest.
When he came back into the kitchen, Emma gave him a curious look, and he chuckled. “Okay, you got me. The girls like lasagna and I’m a creature of habit.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” she pointed out gently. “This is your house, and you can have whatever you want for dinner.”
He knew that, but something had prompted him to clarify their routine for her. It was none of her business, as she’d told him, but he didn’t want her thinking that he was some kind of rigid financial type with no imagination. Why her opinion mattered to him, he couldn’t say, but it did.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner,” she went on, heading for the back door. “When you’re finished, just give me a call and I’ll come back.”
“Would you like to join us?” he blurted without thinking. That was unusual for him, a guy who normally considered every angle of a situation before deciding how to respond. But this sweet, soft-spoken artist had gotten to him on a level he didn’t quite understand, and he was definitely off his game.
“Are you sure? I mean, this is family time for you.”
“Oh, please stay, Emma!” Caitlin begged, tugging one of her hands while Aubrey latched onto the other. “Daddy told us about your project, and I want to help.”
“Me, too,” Aubrey chimed in. “But I’m not allowed to use the big scissors. They’re too sharp.”
“Then we’ll find you some smaller ones,” Emma assured her, leaning down to pull them into an adorable group hug. “It’s a big job, and your daddy and I can use all the hands we can get.”
“That’s settled, then,” Rick announced just as the oven timer rang. Stepping back, he motioned them into the dining room, where the table was neatly set for three. “Ladies, if you’ll make yourselves comfortable, I’ll bring in our dinner.”
“And an extra plate for Emma,” Caitlin reminded him in a tone that was far too grown up for his taste. He had a feeling that before he could blink, his six-year-old would be sixteen and he’d be meeting her potential boyfriends at the door, casually holding his nine-iron in a not-so-subtle warning.
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, swallowing a laugh as he got to work.
The three of them normally occupied half of the round cherry dining table so they could more easily talk and pass the dishes. To accommodate their visitor, they sat more evenly spaced, chatting about their days as if the four of them ate together every night. To anyone out on the sidewalk passing by the large bay window, they’d look like any other family sharing a meal at the end of the day. It struck him again that while he’d taken over Sarah’s care of the girls, he couldn’t ever take her place.
Not that he hadn’t tried, he mused with a frown. It just wasn’t possible.
“Daddy?”
Aubrey’s voice dragged him back to their dinner, and he looked over at her. “Yes?”
“You look sad.”
“I’m fine, baby,” he assured her, forcing a smile. “How’s your lasagna?”
“Yummy. Mrs. Fields let me help her put the noodles in the pan. They were all slippery, and she let me eat some of the broken ones. It was fun.”
“Aw, I wish I could’ve done that,” Caitlin complained.
“You were at school, working on your painting with me,” Emma reminded her. “You had your fun, and Aubrey had hers. That makes a nice day for everyone.”
“Yeah, I guess. I just wish I could’ve done both.”
“I know, but we can’t be in two places at once,” Emma said with an understanding smile. “Some other time, Aubrey can be the artist and you can be the cook.”
Caitlin absorbed that and nodded. “Okay. That sounds good.”
The young teacher’s quick defusing of a potentially difficult situation was impressive, to say the least. “Emma, do you work for the UN in your spare time?”
Tilting her head, she gave him a quizzical look. “I’m sorry?”
“That was very diplomatic of you. I had no idea you were such a good mediator.”
“Oh, that’s nothing.” She laughed, waving away the compliment. “Try negotiating a truce between two kindergarteners who both want to use the same purple crayon. That’s a challenge.” Beaming from one of his daughters to the other, she added, “You two are wonderful by comparison.”
Rick thought so. But to hear that kind of comment from someone who’d witnessed them at less than their best behavior was comforting. He often worried that his hectic schedule prompted him to be too lenient with them as a way to make up for the hours that he was away from home. It was nice to know that Emma didn’t see it that way.
After dinner they each took responsibility for a part of the cleaning-up process. There was a lot of laughter and teasing, especially when Aubrey’s hair ribbon somehow found its way into the dishwasher. Once the kitchen was back to its usual state, Emma brought her bin in from the kitchen and set in on the dining room table. Rick fetched his laptop, and after a bit of wrangling around the girls, they all got to work.
“How about this one?” Caitlin asked Emma, showing her a picture a first-grader had sketched of her new kitten.
“Hmm...” Emma responded, tilting it toward Aubrey. “What do you think?”
Clearly pleased to be included in such a grown-up endeavor, his youngest studied it closely before declaring, “It’s nice. I like cats.”
“I like dogs,” Caitlin said.
“I like both,” Emma told them, spreading the artwork out so they could see it better. “Let’s see if we can find a puppy picture in here somewhere, to balance it out. That way people who prefer one or the other will be happy.”
Rick tapped away on his computer, glancing up now and then to see how things were going in the art department. He’d done so many presentations, he could probably compose them in his sleep by now. This one was about as simple as it got, so he was able to look busy while he kept an eye on the ladies’ progress.
Usually, the girls clamped on to him the moment he got home and didn’t let go until bedtime. Tonight they seemed perfectly content with Emma’s attention, and it was interesting to watch them interact with her in such a warm, easygoing way. She was calm by nature, and she treated them more like short adults who deserved respect than like children to be coddled. He liked that.
More than that, he realized suddenly, he liked her. Emma’s kindness and generosity had swept effortlessly through his little family, bringing them a friend at a time when they desperately needed one.
She’d been so good to them, and now he knew that helping her save the art program that was so dear to her was the ideal way to thank her. So he put his head down and got to work.
* * *
Emma had never been so nervous in her life.
Not even her first day of student teaching had caused her this much stress, and she was at a loss to explain why. Waiting on the front landing of the high school for Rick, she reminded herself that she’d handled evenings like this before all by herself and they’d gone perfectly fine. She’d started attending the board meetings a couple of years ago when she’d first pitched her idea of transforming her impromptu art club into a bona fide after-school program, free of charge for any student who wanted to come. Some of the high schoolers who came in functioned as her assistants, helping the younger ones when they needed attention and she was occupied elsewhere. She suspected that the mentor role benefited the older students as much as the younger ones, and it was rewarding for her to know that she’d had a hand in helping these talented young people grow.
As promised, Rick’s sedan pulled into the parking lot fifteen minutes before seven, and some of her anxiety receded. Because of his coaching and encouragement, she was confident that the concise, logical presentation they’d prepared was top-notch. It was her delivery she wasn’t so sure of, but she swallowed her fear and plastered a smile on her face as she went to meet him.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she blurted, cringing at the desperate note in her voice. She sounded like a teenager dreading a speech she had to make for English class rather than a competent adult. “I’m sorry—I guess I’m more on edge than I realized.”
“Totally understandable,” he assured her with a smile that looked as if he’d practiced it in a mirror. “This program is important to you, and it’s natural to be a little anxious about tonight. That’s why we put so much effort into refining the bullet points you’re going to present to the board. Remember?”
“Yes, but you left the slides of the kids’ projects mixed in, right? I think those are just as important as proving the monetary value of them having access to an extra art class.”
“Of course I did,” he said, patting his laptop case as if to prove to her that he hadn’t forgotten anything. “This is your show, Emma. I’m just your support staff.”
“I’m not used to having staff,” she confided. “I kind of like it.”
She also liked that he’d finally started calling her by her first name. Maybe just a little too much, she mused, concerned about their brief alliance becoming more than she was prepared to fend off. Now that she knew he was single, it definitely put a different spin on things.
Silently chiding herself for worrying about nothing, she pushed the bizarre reaction to him aside and led him into the school.
As they took their seats in the classroom where the meeting was taking place, he said, “I’ve enjoyed helping out. Tomorrow I have to go back to my oatmeal office and catch up on paperwork.”
Her smile told him that she recognized her own description of his work space from the afternoon they’d first started working on this project.
“I like my paperwork better,” she said, tapping the watercolor sketch of her class that adorned the front of her very organized new binder.
He gave her a long look, then leaned closer. “Don’t repeat this to anyone at the bank, but so do I.”
“Don’t worry,” she replied with a grin. “I won’t tell a soul.”
“No one would believe it, anyway.”
