“All right. Chicken strips, it is.”
He opened the can and Savannah stood on the step stool and poured the olives into a bowl while he followed Darren’s microwave directions for the chicken strips.
Jared gained hope for their curious alliance during lunch. Savannah, obviously feeling more comfortable, ate well and told him she liked the “big window in the room with all the blue in it.”
“The window seat,” Libby interpreted, the baby asleep in his carrier in the chair beside her.
“There’s a window seat in your room, too,” he told Savannah, mentally reassigning rooms. He’d thought to put her in the smaller room that adjoined his and give Libby the big room opposite. But the big room had the window seat.
“Is it pink?” Savannah asked.
It wasn’t. When he’d repainted the upstairs last year, he’d intended to use that room for an office, but had been too busy to move things over from the workshop. The room had a wall of built-in storage, but he guessed it would serve even better for toys than it would have paperwork.
“No, it’s white,” he replied.
She looked accusatory. “I like pink.”
“Then we’ll paint it.” He was learning to deal with her. Parenthood wasn’t so hard. All you had to do was everything the child wanted.
Libby appeared to disapprove.
He toasted her with the last sip in his coffee cup. “You nanny your way—I’ll parent mine.”
She shook her head at him. “And you’ll be in a straitjacket afore me,” she said, taking a few liberties with the high-road, low-road ditty. “But I know—” she forestalled him when he would have spoken “—it isn’t my concern. I just give you fair warning if you proceed this way, you’ll need the marines to maintain order before she’s twelve.”
“What are you?” he asked. “Twenty-one? Twenty-two?”
She was blushing with the enormity of the compliment, until she remembered she wasn’t thirty-five now, but twenty-five. And that’s what she told him.
“And how long have you been in the nanny business?”
She had to analyze her answer a moment. “Not that long,” she finally replied.
“Then where does all this knowledge about children come from?” The question suggested that she might think she knew more than she did.
“I have a degree in education,” she said, angling her chin a little huffily. “I illustrate children’s books.”
He pushed his coffee cup away and rested an elbow on the back of his chair, studying her with new interest. “You do? Then why are you here?”
She made a production of straightening Zachary’s blanket, though he hadn’t stirred, taking the time to remind herself sharply to be careful. Landing this job wasn’t a direct path to getting the children. She had to keep it until her employer fell apart under the strain. So she had to maintain her story.
She smiled. Her cheeks were red. He had a way of studying her that made her feel he was simply humoring her, that he was onto her performance. But that was impossible. So she tried to pass off the blush as embarrassment.
“That is, I want to be an illustrator of children’s books. I have a manuscript at a publisher’s right now. It’s all very real in my mind. It just hasn’t happened yet. And I have to support myself until it does.”
He eyed her with that look that always made her feel she was a hairbreadth from discovery. “You mean a publisher could offer you a contract at any moment and take you away from us?”
Take you away from us. Us. He sounded very much as though he already considered the children and him a unit. She resented that. But she couldn’t afford to let him think her wishes for the children weren’t the same as his.
“I’m sure I’d have to produce several books before I could hope to support myself from the income,” she assured him quickly. “And by then you’ll probably be so good at parenting, you won’t even need a nanny any longer.”
He smiled dryly. “Right. But until then, we have your complete attention?”
“Of course.”
“Good.”
JARED WAS RELIEVED that Savannah seemed to like her bedroom. From Portland he’d called Justine Potter, who managed his ARCHI-JUNK outlet, and asked her to have the white wrought-iron daybeds moved in from the shop. He saw that she’d covered this one, which he’d originally intended as Libby’s, with a wedding-ring quilt and thrown half a dozen decorative pillows on it.
Savannah ran a hand over the bed, then went straight to the window seat and climbed onto it to peer out. There were pine trees to look at, and a whitecapped ocean rolling out into a foggy horizon. A blurred sun peered out, raying spectacular bars of light in all directions. A small faux porch only about a foot wide but with the same decorative fretwork used in the front, ran the length of the window.
The child put her hands against the small panes of glass, studied the dramatic view and asked gravely, “Is that where heaven is?”
Libby, standing back with the baby carrier at her feet, opened her mouth as though to reply, then seemed to change her mind. Apparently she remembered that just yesterday he’d insisted that he wasn’t expecting her to assume his obligations, but simply to support him. And certainly trying to explain heaven was a parental obligation. The kind that made one want to run the other way.
He went to stand behind Savannah and look out at what she saw. “Heaven is wherever God is,” he said, thinking even as the words were spoken that they sounded like hedging.
She pointed to the broad bands of light. “Is that Him?”
He sorted through his mind for old Sunday-school lessons, for things he hadn’t thought about in years.
“Yes,” he replied. “He’s in the sky and in the ocean, and the trees and the birds and the earth. He’s everywhere. He takes care of everything.”
She turned away from the window to look at him with probing eyes. “How do you know?”
“Because He made everything. And He watches over it.”
“Libby says Mommy and Daddy are with Him.”
“That’s right.”
She put a little hand on his shoulder and raised her foot to pull up her sock. “What do you think they’re doing now?”
He wasn’t sure how long he could continue to think in her terms. “Well…probably the same thing you’re doing. They probably just had lunch, and maybe they’re going to put their things away and take a walk.”
She frowned at him. “I don’t think so.”
Oh-oh. “Why not?” he asked, thinking he’d erred in some major way.
She put both hands on his shoulders and told him patiently, “People in heaven fly. They have wings.”
“I see.” He swung her down to the carpet.
Libby was looking at him as though he’d done something seriously wrong. He knew his theology was shaky, but then, sharing it with children certainly should allow for variations.
Savannah ran to the bed and threw herself into the nest of pillows.
“What?” Jared asked Libby. “How would you have explained?”
“You explained beautifully,” she said in a cool tone that seemed to suggest the opposite. “I couldn’t have done any better.”
“Then why are you glaring at me?”
“I’m not glaring,” she denied, even as she continued to do so.
She made a production of putting one of Savannah’s suitcases on the bed. He suspected it was simply so she didn’t have to look at him.
“Libby,” he said quietly. “We’re going to have to work together.”
She glanced up at him then, blue eyes distressed but still cool. “I thought we had a definite division of duties. You’re the parent—I’m just the nanny.”
“You’re not just the nanny,” he heard himself retort, amazed that this quietly quarrelsome conversation was taking place. Where had it come from? Where the hell was it going? And why was he engaged in it, he who never succumbed to a woman’s manipulative behavior? “I know you’re important to the childr
en.”
He watched in amazement as tears formed in her eyes. She looked about to burst with some hot retort, but she finally just drew a deep breath. Her small bosom swelled several inches, completely distracting him, then she tossed her head and brushed the tears away. She suddenly seemed very quiet.
“If you’ll show me my room now,” she suggested, “maybe Savannah and I can both take a nap. I didn’t sleep very well last night and Savannah’s had a long morning.”
“Right.” He led her across the hall to the small greenand-cream room that adjoined his. It, too, contained a white wrought-iron daybed, only this one had a coverlet patterned with zoo animals and clowns.
He explained when Libby raised a questioning eyebrow. “It’ll be simple enough to change the bedspreads,” he said.
She opened the wide wardrobe doors and said ironically, “I can fill only about six inches of that.” Then she went to the other door and opened it.
She glanced at the beige-and-brown room Justine had tidied to make it almost unrecognizable as his, then closed the door and asked calmly, “Yours?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very neat.”
“The young woman who runs my shop comes in a few hours a week to try to keep me that way. She’s a friend of the family.” He glanced around Libby’s room. “As I said, I’d intended this room for Savannah, but she has a thing for window seats. You can lock it from this side if you’d feel more comfortable.”
She sat on the bed and bounced a little. “I don’t think that will be necessary. His lordship seducing the nanny is an archaic practice, isn’t it?”
He leaned a shoulder in the open doorway and folded his arms. “Probably depends on the seductive qualities of the nanny.”
She stopped bouncing and looked up at him, blue eyes startled. “Or the lasciviousness of the lord.”
“Takes two to minuet.” And that was as far as he was going with that. He had no idea why he’d started it anyway, except that she behaved like such a little knowit-all—except for that brief and curious interlude a few moments ago when she’d seemed more like a little lostit-all. He wanted her to remember that some things couldn’t be predicted.
In fact, he thought he’d be wise to remember it himself.
He turned to leave. “I’ll bring your bags up,” he called over his shoulder, “and you girls can nap.”
Chapter Three
Libby rounded the corner into the kitchen, a justawakened Zachary in her arms, and muttered a little gasp of alarm when she almost collided with…it took her a moment to identify the object. A cradle? It was being carried on its side, so she found it difficult to tell. It was made of wicker and appeared antique.
Then she noticed the woman carrying it. She was average in height, and wore jeans and a Seattle Mariners sweatshirt. Shoulder-length dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, revealing a pretty, heart-shaped face.
Dark-brown eyes smiled warmly as she put the cradle down and offered her hand. “Hi!” she said. “I’m Justine—Justy—Potter. I work for Jared. I’m sorry I frightened you. You’re the nanny?”
Libby held the baby to her with her left arm and shook hands. “Yes. Elizabeth Madison. But everyone calls me ‘Libby.’ And this is Zachary.” She turned him so that Justine could see him.
“Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing.” She took Zachary from her while launching into a long string of baby-talk words.
Zachary watched her with wide blue eyes, his plump arms moving excitedly as she carried on.
“Well, I was dusting off this cradle in the shop today and thought it was just made for you,” she crooned as she placed the baby in it.
He launched into loud screams.
“Well,” she said with a frown, pulling him out again. “Maybe not.”
“No, it’s wonderful,” Libby said, picking it up and carrying it toward the table as Justine followed, bouncing the squalling baby. “He just got up from a nap. I think he doesn’t want to lie down again until he’s sure he’s going to get something to eat.”
She took a bottle from the refrigerator, ran it under hot water, then pointed to the cradle. “Now put him in it.” She sat in the chair near the cradle and leaned down to support the bottle, while Justine sat on the other side and gently rocked.
Zachary ate noisily, little hands waving his delight with the arrangements.
“Isn’t there another child?” Justine asked.
“Savannah. She’s four, and in the middle of a nap.”
“Quite a life-style change for Jared.” Justine straightened, crossed her legs and pushed on the cradle with the toe of her suede boot. “Have you met the rest of the family?”
“No, but I’ve eaten Darren’s chicken strips. I understand he has a restaurant.”
Justine heaved a sigh and grimaced. “On the bay side of the peninsula. Very posh, trendy spot. I used to work for him. He’s a pain in the posterior. Their mother’s a total nut, but very wonderful.”
“Mr. Ransom,” Libby said, probing carefully, “is pretty remarkable to take in two children.”
Justy played with the baby’s fingers and gave Libby a significant glance. “Well, they are Mandy’s children, after all.”
“Yes. They were good friends, weren’t they?”
Justy straightened, her smile thinning. “They were going to be married until she met Frank. Maybe people can’t help whom they fall in love with.” She uttered a small, rueful laugh that seemed suddenly very personal. Then she shook her head and refocused on Libby. “At least that’s how Jared chose to look at it—but he really loved Mandy. I think for her, loving Frank was less demanding than loving Jared.”
“So you knew her?”
“Not very well. I was seeing a lot of Darren at the time, and we went to Connecticut to visit Jared for his birthday. Frank had come to spend time with Jared between jobs and…” She indicated the baby. “Well, the rest of the story is now living under this roof. And quite beautiful.” She leaned over Zachary and smoothed his pink cheek. “They’ll be happy here.”
Libby didn’t want to hear that. She wanted to know the children would be happy, of course, but she wanted them to be happy with her. The selfishness of that thought troubled her.
Justy straightened abruptly. “Well. What would you like for dinner? I usually get it started.”
“Oh…I’m sure Jared should make that decision.” Libby was having difficulty following from subject to subject.
The back door opened and Jared walked in carrying what appeared to be a large, flat table. Until he kicked the door closed and walked across the kitchen and she saw that it was a folded drafting table.
“Can you use this?” he asked Libby, easing it to the floor and balancing it there with one hand.
She looked from him to it in amazement. She’d left hers at home, not sure there’d be room here to set one up.
“Ah…yes. Of course. I’d love it.”
“Good. I picked it up at an estate sale months ago and held on to it, thinking I’d use it sometime, but it’s just sat around in the back of the workshop.” His eyes fell on Zachary, his bottle being held by one woman while his cradle was rocked by another, and he grinned. “He looks starved for attention. Good use for that cradle. Way to go, Zach. Get your women working for you.”
Justine gave Zachary’s toes a gentle pinch and stood. “I could have a baby just like him, if Darren wasn’t so selfish.”
Jared shook his head at Justy, obviously exasperated. “Darren isn’t selfish. He just doesn’t believe in distributing children around the countryside without benefit of marriage to their mother.”
“I explained that.” Justine folded her arms. “We’d be a family. Just not a married one.”
“That’s crazy.”
“It’s contemporary. And the sanest solution for a woman who doesn’t believe in marriage but wants children.”
Jared shook his head and picked up the table again. “You’re nuts, Potter. I’ve said it before and I’ll
say it again. You need a shrink.”
Justine fixed him with a look that was both affectionate and frustrated. “And you need to stop thinking like an antiquarian and come into the new millenium. What do you want for dinner?”
He turned to Libby and she met his gaze with amusement in her eyes. She was fascinated that the issue of making babies could be discussed in the same breath as what to have for dinner.
“Do you have a preference?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Your choice. Savannah had a big lunch, so I doubt she’ll do more than just pick.”
“Chicken and noodles?” Justine suggested. “Kids usually like noodles.”
“All right,” Jared said approvingly. “Libby, can you come up with me for a minute and tell me where you want this?”
“Of course.” She began to scoop up the baby, but Justine shooed her away. “I’ll watch him. Take your time.”
Libby followed Jared up the narrow back stairs, then he stood aside to let her precede him into her room. She went to the window where a small wicker chair sat and moved it aside to make room.
“Right here,” she said.
He unfolded the legs and set the table down. “Facing the window, or turned to the side to get the light from it?”
“Turned,” she said, picking up one side to give him help he didn’t need in moving it. “This is north light. It’ll be perfect.”
She felt a stirring of excitement at the touch of the laminated board under her hands. Illustration wasn’t her priority right now, but the need to make art was in her blood and wouldn’t be denied for long. She knew she’d be able to work it smoothly into her life with the children once they were hers.
“What else do you need?” he asked, frowning over the table looking rather naked in the gray light of late afternoon.
“Grounding!” she thought desperately, experiencing a strange and sudden disconnection from her surroundings.
It was all so immediate—the touch of the board under her fingertips, the bright intelligence and interest in Jared’s dark eyes.
But this was her past—or a second chance at her past—with everything she’d ever wanted in it.
The Comeback Mom Page 5