My Lucky Groom (Summer Grooms Series)

by Baird, Ginny

  “You mean like a company phone?” she queried.

  “You can keep it for personal use as well. We’ll cover the charges as long as you’re employed.”

  “Thanks, that’s very nice.” She looked down at the huge day-planners in her lap, then opened the purple one on top. An enormous spreadsheet accordianed out of its front pocket. “Wow.”

  “Kids need structure,” Richard assured her. “Keeps them busy.”

  “Very,” Ventura said, unable to stop herself, as she opened Elisa’s folder and another enormous spreadsheet tumbled out.

  Richard cleared his throat. “You’re not suggesting the kids are overscheduled?”

  “Not at all,” she said quickly. “It’s just that…” She studied Elisa’s list. “Ballet… Piano… Soccer… Karate…? How old is Elisa again?”

  “Five. Oh, I know!” he said, apparently misreading her look. “She should really be a brown belt by now. I had no clue I was supposed to start her in PeeWee K at age three.”

  Ventura gulped. She had no doubt that Richard loved his children, but it appeared they scarcely had any time to be kids.

  His handsome face took on a touch of melancholy. “Vicky used to handle everything,” he confided. “If it hadn’t been for Jason, I never would have been able to keep things together.”

  Her heart ached for him. It was hard to imagine what that might have been like, being left on his own with two little babies. So maybe he did overschedule them, but was that really his fault? Richard was simply being a good dad in the only way he knew how—by being super organized. “I’m sorry, Richard,” she said sincerely. “That sounds rough.”

  He met her gaze with soulful eyes. “At times, it has been.”

  She wasn’t sure what else to say. Suddenly things between them seemed to have gone from professional to personal. But maybe that’s how it was going to be. It would be difficult not to develop some kind of personal relationship with Richard if they were both working in the interest of the same thing—the benefit of his children.

  “In any case,” he said after a beat, “the system we’ve put together seems to work reasonably well. Jason’s a master at scheduling. Even coordinated both kids’ activities in a way to minimize driving time.”

  Ventura’s heart skipped a beat. “Maybe I should have told you. I don’t own a car.”

  “Wouldn’t expect you to drive your own,” he said, nabbing a set of keys off the holder on his desk.

  Ventura stared out the front window. The shiny blue convertible Jason had picked her up in sat at the curb. “I’m not sure I should drive that.”

  Richard laughed. “That one’s not suited to car seats. You’ll take the Lexus.” He handed over the keychain, and their palms brushed. It was just the slightest touch, but Ventura felt electrified by it just the same. Richard held her gaze, reddening slightly at the temples. “You are a good driver? No accidents?”

  “Not even a parking ticket.”

  “Great, because this baby’s brand new. We wouldn’t want history repeating itself.”

  “What happened to the last one?”

  “The nanny totaled it.”

  There was a loud pounding from upstairs in the hall and then the rising sound of Jason’s voice, “Hey, kids! I said open up!”

  “Uh-oh.” Richard rose from his chair. “I’d better go investigate.”

  Ventura eyed the cage on his desk. “Another frog?”

  He strode quickly from the room. “Another clog’s more like it.”

  Richard and Ventura arrived in the upstairs hall just as Jason prepared to thrust his shoulder into the bathroom door. “Stand back!” he warned the kids. “I’m coming through on three! One… Two… Oomph!” He threw his weight into the door, and it swung open, ricocheting against the claw-foot tub.

  At the opposite end of the room, Ricky and Elisa stood on either side of the commode, their little mouths dropped open. Toilet paper littered the floor along with empty shampoo bottles, several empty cracker boxes and—Ventura could scarcely believe it—an open jar of peanut butter! Elisa stood her with her arms frozen over the toilet in midair, her hands clutching an upside-down potato chip bag. Ricky, who’d been squirting whipped cream around the rim of the bowl, held the can straight out in front of him and pointed it in their direction.

  “Ricky!” Richard commanded. “Put that thing down!”

  “Now, Elisa!” Ricky urged his sister. “Flush it! Flush it fast!”

  Ventura’s eyes traveled to the gold-plated toilet paper holder, seeing sheets from the roll had been pulled long—and deposited in the toilet with everything else.

  “Don’t do it,” Richard grated between clenched teeth.

  Elisa laid one finger on the handle and met Ventura square in the eye.

  “Elisa, no!” Jason called.

  Without a hint of emotion, she flushed, sending the rest of the toilet paper on the holder spiraling into the already overloaded bowl. The commode gurgled to life, then erupted in a wild spray that momentarily blinded Richard. Jason beat back the stream with his hands and fell to his knees, wrestling with the water valve on the wall. The kids wailed, apparently terrified by their own horrific doings. Little Ricky blubbered as filthy water repeatedly lapped at his face, while Elisa screamed and shook her soaking hair as tears streamed from her eyes. Ventura lunged forward to pull the kids out of the fray, but her shoe caught on a slick piece of paper. “Ahhh!” she cried, stumbling forward and barely breaking her fall by clutching the toilet’s rim. But it was too late—gravity had already taken hold, and her face was set on a downward trajectory—straight into the center of the nasty bowl.

  Richard sat in the front seat of his car beside Ventura in awkward silence as he drove her back across the Potomac. He’d been so mortified by the bathroom fiasco, he must have apologized for his children a hundred times. Ventura hadn’t said much since she’d pulled her head out of that murky mess and he’d handed her that face towel. He hoped she wasn’t planning to sue, but wouldn’t necessarily blame her for having those thoughts. He didn’t know why his little angels morphed into devils half of the time, but they certainly appeared to have a wild streak. Richard had long wondered if it was because they’d missed a mother’s touch.

  At first, he thought having a nanny around might help fix that. Of course, it wouldn’t be nearly as nice for them as having a real mom, but the right sort of nanny might provide a suitable substitute. But finding the perfect caretaker for Ricky and Elisa had proved more difficult than Richard had imagined. Even the fairly good ones had possessed some kind of quirk, like Jasmine, who’d been great in every way apart from her penchant for listening to rap music. He’d only learned about it by accident when little Elisa and Ricky began spouting ghetto talk peppered with four-letter words. That was the trouble with nannies. You had to trust them implicitly and believe that their judgment was sound, even when it came to picking out radio stations around the five-year-old twins.

  Richard glanced at Ventura with her wild wet hair, still flecked by tiny pieces of toilet paper, knowing she’d never make that kind of mistake. Ventura was bright and had a good head on her shoulders. She was educated and articulate too. She would make a fabulous role model for the kids and appeared to be really even tempered. Any of his previous nannies would have gone ballistic over the bathroom escapade, but Ventura had merely turned beet red yet kept her cool. She hadn’t once raised her voice or said a negative word against the children. She’d just accepted that towel from him, wiped her face, and dabbed her hair, saying something about that being quite an introduction to Old Town plumbing. Ventura had a calm way about her and a great sense of humor. She was perfect in every way. The sad thing was, after today, he was sure she wouldn’t stay. Richard pulled up to the curb beside her Capitol Hill townhouse, feeling down. This was it. Another nanny was about to quit.

  “Ventura,” he told her quietly. “I want you to know you’ll still get your full month’s pay.”

  She shot him a pain
ed look. “You’re firing me?”

  “Firing you?” Richard stumbled on the words. “Not at all.” Then the clarity of her words hit him. He turned to her, stunned. “You mean, you don’t quit?”

  “Quit?” Her cheeks colored sweetly. “I was just getting my feet wet.” She smiled wryly and flipped back her hair. “And other things too, apparently.”

  Richard laughed with relief, unable to believe her. How could she be so incredibly good-natured in the face of such calamity? “Ventura,” he said with a sigh. “You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that.”

  “I’m sure it was a freak thing,” she told him. “Surely, every day won’t be that bad.”

  Richard pursed his lips and tried not to recall the string of disasters that had befallen the other nannies. Clearly, none of that would happen to Ventura. She was better than that. Primed for the challenge. Just look at her sitting there with whipped cream behind her ear, oblivious to how ridiculously cute she looked. Richard swallowed hard, stopping himself. He was not supposed to be thinking about “cute” and “nanny” together. If he wanted Ventura to stay on, theirs would need to be a professional relationship. Richard was sure that wouldn’t be hard at all. There’d never been any lines crossed with any of the other girls. He hadn’t even entertained the thought. Come to think of it, Richard hadn’t really entertained the thought of becoming involved with any woman in quite some time. And that was just how he would keep things. “I’m sure you’re right,” he told her with growing confidence. “Tomorrow’s bound to be better.”

  “What monsters!” Mary proclaimed. People stared in their direction, and she lowered her voice. “I can’t believe they did all that in one day.”

  They stood in line at Zen’s Chinese Take-Out. Ventura had been so unnerved, she hadn’t even wanted to shower first. Nothing could calm her nerves like an order of pork fried rice. “I know,” Ventura answered. “If I’d been watching it instead of living it, it might even have seemed funny.”

  “Ha-ha,” Mary deadpanned. “Bet you’re laughing all the way to the bank.”

  “What do you mean?” Ventura asked as the line inched forward.

  “Come on, Richard’s got ca-ching. Loads of it, from what I hear. So why not crank it up a notch and ask for a raise?”

  “A raise?” Ventura hadn’t even considered it. She was just grateful she still had a job. As bad as it seemed, first days were bound to be rocky. Truth was, things could only go up from there. “I don’t know, Mary. I don’t want to push it.”

  “Push what? The guy’s lucky you’re not pressing charges!”

  “Against two five-year-olds?” Ventura asked in shock.

  “Well, yeah. Okay. I kind of see your point.”

  Ventura felt a tap on her shoulder and turned with a start to see—oh no, not today—Charles! He flashed each of them a pleasant grin. “I thought I saw you girls talking up here.”

  “Hey! No butting in line!” an angry woman called.

  Charles nodded deferentially. “Just passing through,” he told the woman, who watched him with an eagle eye just the same.

  Charles met Ventura’s gaze. “I’ve been thinking about you. Thinking of calling.”

  She self-consciously fingered her hair, her nail catching on a dried piece of toilet paper. “Really?”

  “Our first date ended so badly.”

  “Through no fault of yours,” she added hastily.

  “Accidents happen.” He tilted his head to the side. “Did you change your hair?”

  “Order up!” the cook called from the front.

  The woman behind them loudly cleared her throat.

  “Five more seconds,” Charles told her, before turning his attention back to Ventura. “In any case, I was thinking we might try it again. This time, away from the water?”

  Ventura laughed lightly, thinking what a good guy he was. What harm would it be? One little date? Ventura didn’t have many friends in Washington. It never hurt to make more. “I’d like that.”

  Charles shot her a big, bold grin. “That’s great. Just great! I’ll call you.” Then he strode to the back of the line before the disgruntled older woman could shoot daggers in his back with her eyes.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, Mary opened the door to Nanette’s townhouse to find an incredibly dapper guy standing outside. His pale pink button-down was pressed, light starch, and his navy slacks were pleated to a tee. Even his boat shoes looked brand-new.

  “Um… I’m here for Ventura?”

  Mary met bright blue eyes, and her heart beat faster. Who was this fashion god, and why hadn’t he come calling sooner? Hang on! For Ventura? For a gal in constant need of a makeover, she certainly seemed to be having all the luck.

  “I’m Jason,” he said, extending a hand. “Richard’s personal assistant.” Of course he was. How else would one explain Richard’s impeccable wardrobe and the high-class way he dressed his children? He had a built-in fashion consultant.

  “Coming, Jason!” Ventura called, nearly stumbling up the basement stairs. She dropped her purse to the floor and a roll of mints spilled out, spiraling toward Jason’s shoe. He bent low to pick it up, and Mary gasped with delight. That was no fifteen-dollar haircut, she thought, studying the perfectly tapered lines of his short blond hair. This was high couture!

  Mary’s face pinched as she wiggled her nose at an itch.

  It was only then that she remembered she wore her damp hair in a towel turban-style and that she had a Salt of the Earth mud mask drying on her face! Jason stepped aside and Ventura scurried out the door, then met Mary’s gaze with a smile. “Nice meeting you…?” She blinked twice, hoping this was all some horrid dream and that it would poof away. But it didn’t. He just stood there, waiting for her to give him her name.

  “Mary,” she filled in with a squeak.

  A few seconds later, Ventura sat behind the wheel of the huge SUV. When Richard said she’d be driving the Lexus, she’d envisioned a sedan, not something this enormous.

  Jason glanced back toward the house. “Mary seems nice.”

  “She’s a great roommate,” Ventura assured him. “She’s probably really embarrassed you saw her that way.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “You don’t know, Mary. She’s always gorgeously dressed. Perfectly put together from head to toe.”

  Jason raised his brow, intrigued. “Really?”

  Ventura fumbled with the keys in the ignition.

  “Just go ahead and get it started. We’re going to run a few practice rounds before heading back to the ranch.”

  “Practice rounds?”

  “Richard thought it would be good for you to get the feel of the SUV before driving with the kids on board.”

  She nodded and cranked the engine with trembling fingers. “Where to?”

  “We can take a few spins around the block, then maybe head down to the Mall.”

  Ventura swallowed hard, knowing the area that housed the Smithsonian museums was always jam-packed with tourists. Pedestrian tourists. Especially in summertime.

  “But first,” he said with a smile, “we’re going to have to get out of this parallel parking spot.”

  Sweat beaded on Ventura’s forehead as she attempted to maneuver the beast of a vehicle for what seemed like the hundredth time. She’d inched back and forth, and back and forth…but didn’t seem be getting anywhere nearer to extracting them from this tight space between the minivan up ahead and the tiny red sports car behind them.

  Jason checked his cell for the time, comparing it to the clock on the dash. “Maybe I should do this part.”

  “Nope, I’ve got it.” Ventura sent the car’s rear tire into the curve with a lurch, then rammed the pedal. She sharply yanked the wheel to the left and they bolted forward. A taxi blew its horn, its driver yelling an insult in some foreign tongue.

  Jason drew a breath, his eyes wide. “Well, don’t stop in the middle of the street. Keep going!”

 
And she did, taking off with a squeal as Jason clung to his shoulder harness.

  Later that afternoon, Ventura drove the kids to their lessons. She checked her rearview mirror, spying them nestled in matching car seats. Little Ricky held his violin case, while Elisa clutched a soccer ball. Ventura’s eyes flitted to the GPS, thinking things weren’t going too badly. They were nearly to their first destination and hadn’t had a mishap yet. Not only that, the kids appeared to be finally warming up to her.

  “We want Jason!” Ricky whined suddenly out of nowhere. She checked her mirror to see his little lips pushed out in a pout.

  “Jason’s writing a business proposal,” she said evenly. “I already told you.”

  “What about us?” Ricky asked combatively.

  Ventura spoke in an effort to reassure him as well as herself. “Your dad thinks I can handle that,” she said, bringing their vehicle to a halt at a traffic light.

  Seconds later, Ricky yelped. “Stop!”

  Ventura glanced in the backseat to see Elisa grabbing Ricky’s violin case.

  “Elisa, be nice.”

  She defiantly met Ventura’s eyes, then bopped Ricky over the head with her soccer ball.

  The boy hollered, “Ow!”

  “Elisa!”

  A horn blared behind her, and Ventura saw the light had turned green. She drove forward just as the SUV’s wireless phone began ringing. She pressed a button to answer it, thinking it might be Richard or Jason.

  “He pinched me!” Elisa yelled.

  “Ricky!” Ventura said.

  “Ventura?” It was Charles on the other end of the line. “Is this a bad time?”

  “She’s a meanie!” Ricky hollered from the back. “Meanie-Meanie Jelly-Beanie!”

  Just then, several more horns blared, and Ventura rammed her foot on the brake. The SUV skidded forward and dragged to a stop, inches shy of hitting another car’s bumper. “The worst,” Ventura told Charles, breathless with fright. “I’ll have to call you back.”