“Glad you spotted that.” Flint seemed to relax a little.
Light poured from a nearby pizza parlor, part of a chain that offered arcade games. "Do you give your kids an allowance?"
"If they finish their chores on time," he replied, parking and killing the motor.
Robin had a good idea how they were spending it.
Inside, several families occupied booths, while a man waited at the take-out counter. In the rear, three small figures hunched over an arcade game.
Caitlin occupied the driver's seat. As she twisted the joystick, her brothers whooped and bells rang. Their bodies vibrated with enthusiasm.
In a flash, Robin saw that all the scoldings and punishments in the world would never dissuade these youngsters from treating themselves to a good time. Especially not when what waited at home was a cheerless housekeeper and a politically correct dinner. Yet they had to face consequences for their actions.
As Flint started forward, Robin placed a hand on his arm. "Why don't you let me handle this?" she said.
"I don't know why you think you can succeed where—" He stopped in mid-sentence. "Very well, Miss Lindstrom. This should be interesting."
Interesting indeed, thought Robin. She hoped a plan occurred to her quickly, because she didn't have the slightest idea what to do next..
Chapter Five
"Congratulations," Robin said from behind the children. "You're the big winners."
When the trio swung around, their astonishment was almost comical. Three pairs of eyes swiveled first to her, then to their father, then back to Robin.
"It's her," said the smaller boy, who must be Aaron. "Are you our mother?"
"Nanny," corrected Brick. "He's kind of dumb sometimes."
"Don't call names," Caitlin said primly. "And of course she's going to be our nanny."
"That remains to be seen." No sense getting sidetracked. "Your father's been worried about you. We searched all over."
"We were careful." Caitlin indicated three bicycle helmets awaiting them on a table. "We always follow the rules."
"Which rules?" snapped Flint from behind Robin. "The ones you make up?"
Robin shot him what she hoped was a quelling gaze. "You promised to leave this to me."
He gave a tight nod. "All right."
The children's jaws dropped. Apparently they'd never seen their father squelched before, except perhaps by Aunt Maureen.
Robin pretended an interest in the score flashing on the video screen. "That's impressive," she said. "You kids didn't spend all your money on games, did you?"
Brick pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket. "I've got five dollars left."
Caitlin patted the breast pocket on her denim shirt. "I have seven.”
Aaron took out a worn leather wallet that might once have belonged to his father. "I've got eight!" he crowed.
Robin breathed a sigh of relief as inspiration struck. "Well, I think it's nice of you kids to treat your father and me to pizza."
"In your dreams." Quickly, Caitlin added, "I mean, we're kids. We don't pay for dinner."
"What was your aunt planning to cook tonight?" Robin asked mildly.
"Liver and onions," blurted Aaron. “Ugh!”
"You children fixed it so she couldn't cook dinner," Robin said. "Some parents would make you pay for the stove repair, but I'm afraid that will cost more than twenty dollars. However, we can get a pizza and a pitcher of sodas for that. Maybe a salad, too."
"No salad," said Brick.
"Salad," said Flint.
The children's shoulders sagged. Robin almost felt sorry for them. "I guess so," grumbled Caitlin.
"If there's any change, can I have it?" said Aaron. "I'm putting up the most money."
"Sounds fair to me." Robin had to fight back a grin as the other children grimaced at their brother.
Soon the kids were absorbed in choosing the toppings. Half the pizza had pepperoni and mushrooms, while the other half featured olives and pineapple. After their initial gloom, the children grew excited to be paying for it themselves.
Flint wore a bemused expression as he sent the children to wash their hands. He approved of her disciplinary tactic, Robin could tell. The children weren't sulking, yet they'd learned a lesson.
The challenge of finding a creative way to deal with them reminded Robin of the excitement of teaching. Being a nanny beat waitressing—and she no longer had a waitressing job, anyway. As a temporary position, this might not be bad.
How long did Aunt Maureen plan to stay in Hawaii? A trip like that had to last a couple of weeks, roughly the length of the trial period. Robin didn’t believe the spirits had arranged things this way, but she did appreciate the coincidence.
By staying for two weeks, she’d help Flint and herself at the same time. By then, she might hear from the experimental school or land more interviews from the résumés she'd sent out. If not, she could stay longer if the job proved bearable.
The children needed both supervision and effective discipline, since whatever Flint was doing had produced only rebellion. Robin didn't imagine she could psych them out all the time; they were smart little rascals. Still, she hoped to teach them to regulate their actions instead of trying to outwit authority figures.
The most difficult part would be persuading Flint to see things her way on a daily basis. But could one man really be any harder to manage than a whole classroom full of children?
*
Robin had a gentler manner than any of the other nannies, and the kids seemed to respond, Flint conceded. Clearly, they appreciated a touch of mothering. But all too soon, he felt sure, contempt or defiance would set in.
At home, Robin stayed until bedtime, when her inexperience showed. She averted her eyes in embarrassment as the boys ran around naked, and she didn't inspect their teeth-brushing closely. However, those were minor lapses, to be expected in someone unaccustomed to parenting.
The only problem, from Flint's viewpoint, arose when Robin read the children a Magic School Bus book for bedtime. Aaron crawled onto her lap, Caitlin drooped against her shoulder and Brick curled around her feet. They hadn't acted that way since Kathy died.
He didn't want anyone to take his wife’s place. Already, he worried that the children were forgetting their mother. They took less interest these days in videos of her, and Caitlin had stopped playing the recording of children's songs that Kathy had made, accompanying herself on the guitar.
At the window, Flint stared into the night. He felt as if he should apologize to Kathy for bringing this stranger into their house.
Then, gazing into the darkness, he remembered the fear that had gripped him earlier as he searched for the children. Worse than anything would be to let harm come to his youngsters. Until Maureen returned, he believed Robin would keep them safe. By then the children's usual high jinks would have returned full force, and she’d no doubt throw in the towel.
While he regretted the prospect, Flint wasn’t entirely outraged by the kids’ escapades. The way they flouted their caretakers proved that deep in their hearts, they still missed their mother.
He turned to observe Robin. Lamplight bathed her and the children as they clustered on the couch, creating a bright oasis in the dimness of the family room. Oddly, she and the children resembled each other. Brick's eyes were the same shade of blue. The curve of Caitlin's cheek and the delicate shape of her neck were quite a bit like Robin's, and as for Aaron, his eager expression matched hers twinkle for twinkle.
It must be a trick of the light.
Robin read with animation, varying her voice to stir the children's interest. She didn't look much older than they were.
Images crowded into Flint's mind—Robin leaping for the volleyball, unselfconscious in a bikini. Robin running around in front of her mother's shop, catching clothes and nearly crying in frustration. Robin pressed between him and the trunk of her car, making his breath come fast.
Although living in such close quarters with her
might be tempting, Flint could handle it. That it was the first time in three years he'd experienced such desire only meant he was finally healing. It certainly didn't mean he intended to pursue a relationship with someone as incompatible as Robin Lindstrom.
The story ended, and he went to kiss his children goodnight. Then, before Robin drove home, he drew up a work contract that ensured she would belong to him for the next two weeks.
*
En route to the beach, Robin wondered if she'd done the right thing. The contract had caught her by surprise. There was nothing objectionable about it, simply setting forth the terms of her employment, her wages and day off, and a promise to work for Flint for a two-week trial period.
Once she'd scribbled her name, Flint had handed her a key and instructed her to move in at ten o'clock the following morning. He’d informed Robin that her room was downstairs, away from the other three bedrooms. That would give her a measure of privacy, and having any bedroom to herself was an improvement over living at Gigi's. She’d save on rent, food and her weekly beach parking permit.
The contract called for meal preparation and light cleaning. Twice a month, a service vacuumed, mopped and mucked out the bathrooms, Flint had said.
It was the meal preparation part that bothered Robin, but why worry? What could be hard about tossing a few dishes on the table, in an age of frozen chicken nuggets and instant mashed potatoes?
Robin debated about retrieving some clothes from her trunk, but decided to sleep in one of Gigi's caftans. Her mother could hardly object, and she still had a few items left at her mom’s to wear tomorrow.
"Well?" Gigi challenged when she entered the apartment. The older woman, wearing a brightly printed nightgown, sat at the table eating ice cream.
"You’ll be happy to learn I start work tomorrow morning." Robin tossed her purse aside and began opening the couch into a bed.
"I knew it!" Gigi crowed. "Want some ice cream?"
"No, thanks."
"You always sleep better on a full stomach," her mother said.
"I have a full stomach. Mom, about that stunt with my clothes ..." Robin wasn't sure what to say next. She knew her mother had meant well. But it was the sort of trick she would expect children to play, not a woman approaching sixty. "Anyway, I hope you're not matchmaking, because you'll be disappointed."
"Matchmaking?" said Gigi. "Not at all. I'm thinking of Frederick."
"The ghost?" Robin retrieved her pillow from a closet.
"He wants you in this position, " Gigi went on blithely. "I'm sure we can find that woman he's seeking if we search the neighborhood. We should check out the children's friends and their families, too.”
Robin hadn't expected her mother to poke her nose into in Flint's household. "No way. My new boss runs a tight ship."
"Sounds like he'll be good for you," Gigi observed. "I've always said you lack discipline."
This remark was so far out of sync with reality that Robin was stumped for a response. Ever since her father left them when she was twelve, she'd practically raised herself. Robin had worked part-time during high school, then put herself through college by working long hours. If anything, she'd had too much self-discipline for a girl so young.
However, her mother could be counted on to do or say the unexpected. That was what concerned Robin.
"Frederick or no Frederick, you're not going to camp out at Flint's house," she told Gigi. "The kids and I need to get acquainted."
And Flint needed to see that Robin could manage the job, she reflected. The man might even learn a few things about how to work with children.
"Don't worry." Gigi waved a hand dismissively, splattering drops of chocolate against the wall. "I'll leave you alone while you get your feet wet." She peered into the ice cream container. "There's hardly enough here to save, but I'm full."
While Robin hadn't intended to eat any, she considered it a sin to waste ice cream. "All right," she said, and fetched a spoon along with a paper towel to wipe up the mess.
Only when Robin caught the grin on her mother's face did it sink in that she had been manipulated. Again. How was she going to prevent her mom from meddling in the Harris household?
The idea of Gigi invading Flint's turf gave Robin the cold shivers. Or that might be the effects of the ice cream, she supposed as she finished the carton.
*
Flint was channel surfing from bed when he halted at a local news clip that made him sit up. It was the demonstration at City Hall from several weeks ago. The programmers must be in the summer doldrums, he reflected, if they were rerunning boring news in case anyone missed it the first time.
But to Flint, the scene wasn't boring at all. The camera lingered on Robin, who’d thrown a wraparound skirt over her leotard. The woman moved like a dancer, even during a protest march, and the camera admired every inch. The cameraman must have developed an instant crush, because the picture zeroed in for a close-up of Robin’s throat, dwelling on the soft swell of her breasts beneath the stretch fabric.
Flint was about to make a protesting phone call to the station about such sexist exploitation when he realized the cameraman had been focusing on Robin's necklace. From it dangled silver letters that spelled out, Save Us.
No slogan had ever received so flattering a display.
Flint lay back against the pillow, trying to tell himself that having Robin living in the house wasn't going to bother him. She might be pretty, but he could resist her impish grin and the way she lifted her chin defiantly, and her tenderness with the children, and her well-toned dancer's body....
As the camera shifted to other marchers and the announcer droned on about increasing citizen involvement in local governments, a dream slipped beneath Flint’s eyelids. It was one of those reveries that almost passes for reality. He and Robin were standing in a grove of trees, alone on the school grounds, and she was showing him her necklace close up.
The silver letters kept falling beneath the scooped neck of her leotard, so he pulled the cloth down, revealing full breasts tipped in pink. For some reason, neither of them seemed to think there was anything odd about Flint examining Robin's bosom along with her necklace.
He was about to bend down for a better view when music interrupted his concentration. Startled, Flint heard "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" and was debating its meaning in the context of Robin's breasts when he realized the TV picture had changed. The shots of the demonstration had been replaced by changing placards announcing upcoming city events, accompanied by the music from an oldies radio station.
Damn it, he'd been dreaming about Robin like a schoolboy. Disgusted with himself, Flint switched to a sports channel and fell asleep to highlights of a Dodgers game.
*
The mail arrived early at Gigi's place. When Robin heard the creak of the mailbox, she hurried downstairs, hoping to find a response to a résumé or some of the rebates she’d sent away for. Every dollar counted.
Her mother was finishing a breakfast of Pop Tarts and coffee when Robin returned, sorting through bills and circulars. "Anything interesting?" Gigi asked.
Robin handed her a copy of ESP Today and a catalogue of products about the occult. At the bottom of the stack, a thick manila envelope bore the return address of the fertility clinic. Robin glanced at it, realized that it contained her medical records and set it aside.
"Mom." She wanted her mother's full attention, so she sat next to Gigi and fixed her with a stare. "I did some thinking last night. Very hard thinking."
"Did you eat breakfast?" Gigi asked. "I didn't see a dirty plate. It's the most important meal of the day."
"I'm not hungry." Robin refused to be distracted. "Listen. It's about Flint Harris and that ghost of yours."
"Not mine," her mother protested. "Horatio brought him."
"Horatio, Mortimer Snerd or anybody else, I don't care," Robin said. "I don't believe in ghosts. If you do, that's your privilege. But there is no way I'm letting you disrupt my new job. I have a responsibility
to Flint.”
"Last night you referred to him as Dr. Harris,” Gigi teased.
"I don't care if I referred to him as Count Dracula," Robin said. "The point is, I don't want you visiting his house. It's inappropriate."
"I can't visit my daughter in her own home?" Gigi squeaked, looking genuinely distressed. However, Robin knew her mother possessed considerable acting abilities. How else did she transform into Horatio at the séances?
"It isn't my home, it's my place of employment," Robin said. "I don't recall you feeling the need to observe me at school. You can call me if there's an emergency, and I’ll see you on Sundays. Otherwise, Mom, I mean it. No pestering Dr. Harris or his kids with this ghost nonsense."
"From the very beginning, you've been a skeptic." Gigi rested her pointy chin in the palm of her hand. "You haven’t given ghosts a chance."
"I think I've been remarkably tolerant." Not for the first time, Robin felt as if their roles were reversed and that she, not Gigi, was the parent.
"I didn't invent Horatio," her mother went on. "He simply pops up inside me. Maybe there's a scientific explanation that we just haven't discovered yet. But the ghosts are real."
Robin clasped her hands, hanging onto her patience. "I can tell you're sincere. And as long as you're dealing with people who share your beliefs, that's fine. But Flint doesn't. I won't let you disrupt his household, interview his neighbors and interrogate his children's friends. And I refuse to do it for you."
Gigi's mouth twisted in disappointment. Robin’s mother might not take no for an answer, not for long, but maybe she'd keep her distance for a few weeks. "If you insist."
"I do insist, Mom," Robin said. "Now I'm going to pack the few items you didn't toss out the window."
"Not me. The spirits," Gigi corrected.
"Whatever."
Her mother tapped her fingers rapid fire on the table but apparently couldn't think of anything to say that might change Robin's mind. "I'll go open the store a little early. I have a feeling that's what I ought to do."
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