The Comeback Mom

by Muriel Jensen

  Inside she bristled, but struggled frantically to regain lost ground.

  “I thought you’d want me to think of them as mine,” she said, sounding miffed. It was half pretense, half truth. “I don’t think halfhearted care would be good for any child. Particularly two who’ve just suffered a great loss.”

  “I think a good nanny,” he said, running a knuckle down the baby’s cheek when he fretted, apparently reacting to the tones of their voices, “would be able to accomplish that without getting in my way—or spying on me.”

  “The service provides a week’s trial period,” she lied—convincingly, she thought. “If you’re unhappy with me, the agency will pay my wages and you won’t have to.”

  He frowned. “Mrs. Grover told me I could call for a replacement at any time if I was unhappy,” he said.

  Oh, boy. “Well…Mrs. Grover’s our substitute supervisor. Mrs. Baldwin’s had knee-replacement surgery. An old ice-skating injury.” She smiled amiably. “Competed for Canada in the Olympics in her youth.” He didn’t react. “Ice dancing, I believe. Doubles.” His expression remained reproachful. “Grover’s a career nanny. Spent most of her time in private care before she came to…to us.”

  Her fabrication was becoming more and more lame, and she wanted to get off the subject before he began to ask for details she wouldn’t be able to supply.

  “Anyway, you have me until next Wednesday, free of charge.” She knew good form—and the success of her mission here—required that she apologize. “I will do my best to try not to interfere with your role as—” it was so hard for her to say it “—parent…if you bear in mind that my role is awkward, and try not to be so sensitive.”

  He looked at her as though he were no longer entirely sure who or what he was dealing with. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone still defensive, “but when I’m spied on, or when I’m suspected of harboring abusive tendencies, I tend to get sensitive.”

  The baby began to howl.

  Libby held her hand out to take him. “Want me to try to quiet him down?”

  Jared ignored her and stood, turning the baby onto his stomach as she’d done the day before. “No, thanks,” he said. “As of seven, you’re off the clock. The rest of the evening’s yours. Good night.” And he headed for the kitchen.

  Libby went to her room, closed the door and leaned against it with a groan of exasperation. It wasn’t hard to conclude that she was becoming her own worst enemy here. She had to calm down, settle down, pipe down.

  She was not behaving like a nanny at all, but like a woman who was stark, raving mad. If she didn’t pull it together, he was going to figure out that she was serving her own agenda and not his, and then he would figure out why. And she could kiss the children goodbye—literally.

  And she hadn’t retraced ten years in time to let that happen.

  Tomorrow, she resolved, dropping her clothes around her in a puddle in her private bath, she would be the epitome of decorum and cooperation.

  She stepped under the hot shower, vowing that she would not question him under any circumstances, and she would definitely never eavesdrop on him again. He was bound to tire of the novelty of parenthood eventually, then she would have the children mostly to herself. At that point, she could employ her own strategies to get them away from him.

  JARED LAY on the carpet in front of the fireplace with Zachary and laughed when he laughed as they played a game of peekaboo with a blanket.

  This was good, he thought. They were building a rapport. The only problem was it was after midnight and this baby showed no sign of slowing down.

  Savannah, at least, was sleeping soundly. He’d gone upstairs several times to check on her.

  And things were quiet from the nanny’s room. He wondered what her game was. He was smart enough to be sure she had one.

  Maybe her overzealousness came from a desire to make a name for herself. Maybe she had big dreams of serving as a nanny to a political family, or an entertainment one. Wasn’t that how many young women met wealthy, powerful husbands?

  But how would that fit in with her career as an illustrator? Unless finding a wealthy, powerful husband would allow her to devote full time to her art. She’d said it would be years before the art could support itself.

  The baby yawned and rubbed his eyes, and Jared scooped him up and sat with him in the rocker before he could perk up again. He wrapped the blanket around him and patted his back in the way he’d seen Libby do.

  Libby. The woman was a mystery, all right; but he allowed no mysteries in his life. He prided himself on being able to trace the history and origin of everything he found in his architectural salvage explorations. And he would figure her out, too.

  She was obviously skilled with children, though she’d admitted to a short time in the nanny service. That truth was borne out more by her inability to be unobtrusive in her work, than in the work itself.

  He guessed her skill resulted from the research she did for her work, and what appeared to be a natural affinity for entering a child’s mysterious places and being able to function there.

  That was what terrified him most. The fear that he wouldn’t be able to find his way into the children’s confidence because he couldn’t remember what it was like to think like a child.

  Life as an adult was so complex. And his relationship with their parents had been so complicated even he hadn’t understood it. All he’d known was that—and this had astounded him—the pain they’d caused him had not erased the love he felt for them.

  Zachary finally asleep in his arms, Jared got carefully out of the chair, turned off the lights and headed upstairs. He was too tired to try to untangle philosophical mysteries tonight.

  He put the baby in the crib in Savannah’s room and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t wake up.

  Savannah’s covers were down to her waist and he pulled them up, tucked them in, then drew the door half-closed behind him as he left.

  He went quietly across the hall, shed his clothes and climbed into bed, thinking he hadn’t been this tired since boot camp.

  He glanced at the door that connected his room to Libby’s, then turned deliberately away from it. He needed peaceful dreams tonight.

  Chapter Four

  “When’s he gonna get up?” Savannah asked, following Libby around the kitchen as she warmed a bottle for Zachary and looked for something to take the edge off the little girl’s hunger while she fed the baby.

  Libby glanced out the window at the incredible view of a long stretch of sand merging with gentle breakers under a lightening sky. “Probably pretty soon. Zachary kept him up for a long time last night.”

  She’d heard the faint sounds of his laughter into the night, and halfway hoped he’d come to knock on her door and plead for her help in getting the baby to sleep.

  But he hadn’t. Then she’d finally heard him come upstairs, heard him detour into the children’s room before going into his. Then the house had been silent.

  She’d told herself comfortingly that anyone could be patient one time. But when he was awakened night after night, certainly his patience would wane.

  So she’d gotten up this morning, determined to be the quintessential nanny. He would find no fault with her if she could help it.

  But she wouldn’t mind looking a little smug and superior when he awoke to find that she’d already fed the children and gotten a start on the day.

  She put Zachary’s cereal in the microwave, then took a banana from a fruit bowl on the edge of the counter and gave half of it to Savannah.

  Adding cold milk to the cereal to cool it, she turned on cartoons on the small kitchen television and sat in one of the kitchen chairs to feed Zachary.

  He was nearly finished, when she heard the sudden sound of dogs barking outside. Before she could get up to investigate, she heard a key in the lock and saw the knob turn. She gasped, uncertain whether or not to be alarmed, then the door opened. She was assailed instantly by what appeared to be the total occ
upancy of the local pound.

  A small black-and-white dog she guessed to be a terrier ran at her, claws clicking on the kitchen tile. The last two inches of his black tail were white and traveled behind him like a battle flag. He trailed a red fabric leash attached to his red collar.

  He put his forelegs on her knee, sniffed her and the baby, then turned to Savannah’s delighted squeals.

  A smaller and very hairy white dog came at her, yipping wildly. He barked several times, whether in warning, disapproval or greeting she wasn’t certain. Then he followed the black-and-white dog to Savannah.

  A big golden retriever with a slow gait and a gray muzzle that betrayed age wandered in, long, plumy tail swishing as it spotted her and came to investigate.

  Libby was wondering which dog had unlocked the door, when a tall man dressed in a tuxedo walked in, carrying two bags of groceries.

  Okay. Dogs and men in tuxedos at seven o’clock in the morning. She could handle going back in time, but she’d be darned if she’d allow the past to go Salvador Dali on her. She began to stand up.

  Then the man turned to her and she saw that he was blond, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, and smiling apologetically in her direction.

  “No, don’t let us disturb you,” he said as he dropped the bags on the counter. “You’re the nanny? Lizzie?”

  “Libby,” she corrected.

  “Glad to meet you. Hope we didn’t alarm you. I often come over uninvited—mostly because I never get invited. I’m Darren Ransom, Jared’s brother.”

  Of course. She smiled as he came to look down on the baby. “The chicken strips,” she said, then remembered what Justine had said about him and decided she could certainly see why she’d wanted him to father her children. He was as tall as Jared, but more slender, more elegantly featured. He would have fathered beautiful offspring.

  He nodded as he caught the baby’s flailing hand between his thumb and forefinger and grinned at him. “I often bring Jared leftovers, but I thought he’d need stuff off the children’s menu, too, this time. Where is he?”

  “The baby kept him up late,” she replied. “I think he’s still sleeping.”

  Darren shook his head. “God. I can’t believe he’s doing this.” He straightened and turned at the sound of hilarious giggles. Savannah had the little white dog in her lap and was being thoroughly kissed. He smiled indulgently. “Georgia?” he asked.

  She laughed lightly. “Close. Savannah.”

  He shook his head again. “Two of them. I can’t believe it. Of course, I’m sure hiring you will make it possible for him to cope.”

  She returned his kind smile, thinking that she soon hoped to make it unnecessary for Jared even to try.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Fine. Leave your old mother to carry ten pounds of apples, twenty pounds of potatoes and the world’s largest pumpkin.” That complaint was accompanied into the room by a short, rotund woman in a bright-red coat and matching short-brimmed hat.

  Her hair was very white and blunt-cut to just below her ears, with the very contemporary shaved nape visible under the hat. On her feet were attractive but serviceable wedge-heeled shoes.

  Darren turned quickly to remove the bag of apples she carried in one arm. He placed it on the counter, then took the sack of potatoes she dragged with the other hand.

  “What did you do with the pumpkin?” he asked.

  She jerked a thumb behind her, presumably in the direction of the car in which they’d come. “It was big enough to turn into a coach. I figured it could get into the house on its own.”

  Darren cast Libby a rolling-eyed glance at the joke. “Libby, this is Jared and my mother, Carlotta Ransom. Mom, this is Libby, the nanny. In her arms is Zachary. And that’s Savannah, being ravaged by your brat pack.”

  Savannah was now on the floor, giggles turning to shrieks of laughter as the little dogs pinned her with kisses. Even the retriever ambled over to investigate, her tail swishing.

  The woman went toward the little girl, a hand pressed over her heart as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. A small smile formed on her lips. Her face glowed as if from some deep satisfaction.

  “Grandchildren,” she murmured. “At last. Savannah?”

  Loud yipping and her own giggles prevented Savannah from hearing her.

  “Spike! Tippy!” Carlotta said firmly. “Stop terrorizing that child! Scarlett, come to Mama.”

  Spike and Tippy didn’t seem to hear her, either. The retriever looked up at her, but didn’t move.

  Carlotta turned to her son. “Darren!” she ordered.

  He stopped in the act of removing groceries from the bag and went to brush the dogs aside and lift Savannah onto his hip. Tippy, the terrier, took off around the table, with Spike in pursuit. Scarlett sat down beside Darren’s feet, her tail still wagging.

  “Hi, Savannah,” he said, smiling into her suddenly uncertain expression. “I’m your uncle Darren. And this is Grandma Carlie.”

  Carlie put a hand up to the child’s cheek and studied her.

  Savannah returned her scrutiny, brown eyes wide. “Hi,” she said.

  “Guess what I brought you,” Carlie challenged, holding up a shopping bag in her left hand.

  Savannah leaned out of Darren’s arms to peer into it. “What?”

  Carlie reached into the bag and produced a soft stuffed rabbit in a flowered dress. The ears of three baby bunnies protruded from the pockets of an apron.

  Savannah squealed with delight and hugged it to her. A friendship was made.

  Libby smiled and felt the bite of emotion in her throat at their obvious pleasure in each other. Then it occurred to her that this charming little scene was completely counterproductive to the end result she was after.

  And for the first time since she’d let Jared believe the nanny agency had sent her, she realized there were other feelings involved here besides her own. Jared’s could be ignored because he was far less qualified than she was to be a parent.

  But Carlie appeared to be great grandmother material. And Darren had taken the time to see that his brother’s freezer contained food that would appeal to a child.

  “Where is your daddy?” Carlie asked.

  Savannah looked back at her with the fatalistic acceptance of a child powerless to change her fate. “In heaven,” she said. “And Mommy, too.”

  Carlie closed her eyes for an instant, then brought the girl’s little hand to her lips. “I know, sweetie. I’m sorry. But where’s Jared?”

  “Sleeping,” Savannah replied.

  Carlie cleared her throat. “Want to go get him and tell him Uncle Darren’s going to make pancakes?”

  Savannah looked pleased. “With blueberries?”

  “With apples.” Darren lowered her to her feet. “And whipped cream. Is that okay?”

  She smiled widely. “Yeah. Be right back.” She ran off toward the stairs.

  Carlie put her coat and hat on the back of a chair and came to take Zachary from Libby.

  Libby removed a tea towel from a decorative rack against the wall that held table linens and put it on Carlie’s shoulder as they traded places. She was just about to explain that he’d just had a full meal, when Carlie placed him against her shoulder with obvious experience and began to burp him.

  “Thank you, Libby,” Carlie said. “Please don’t think of me as endangering your job, I’ve just wanted grandchildren for so long. I’d love to hold him for a little while.”

  “Please do.” Libby smiled down into sparkling hazel eyes. “I’ll make some coffee. Are you comfortable?”

  “Would you get one of the throw pillows on the sofa for my back?”

  “You bet.” Libby hurried off and returned with a red one sprigged with beige flowers and tucked it in the small of Carlie’s back as she leaned forward.

  “Old injury that’s attracting arthritis in my old age.” Carlie leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Everyone else has to do my bending for me.
Ah. Perfect.”

  Libby searched the cupboards for coffee.

  Darren pointed a whisk toward the shelf just above the coffee maker. He’d removed his tuxedo jacket and worked with his sleeves rolled up, though the points of his collar curled over a black bow tie. He’d wrapped a white towel around his middle. “In there. Filters, too.” He broke eggs with one hand, even managing to separate whites and yolks into different bowls. He whipped the whites with the skill of a master.

  “May I ask you a question?” Libby fitted a filter in the coffee maker’s basket and measured out coffee.

  Darren glanced up from his task with a smile. “Of course.”

  “Have you been to a formal affair?” she inquired, indicating his attire, “or are you on your way?”

  He laughed. “My staff’s meeting at the photographer’s at ten for pictures for my brochure. I always host in a tux.”

  That was a more logical explanation than she’d expected.

  “One more question.”

  “Yes?”

  “Why does only one dog have a leash attached?”

  He turned to answer just as Tippy and Spike did one more lap around the table, barking in their excitement. As they passed Carlie’s chair and ignored her order to stop, she slapped her black wedgie down on the end of the leash. The terrier was stopped in his tracks and flipped onto his back.

  Libby gasped, but the dog, apparently accustomed to the maneuver, rolled onto his side and stood, wagging his tail at his mistress.

  “Darren!” Carlie commanded.

  Darren sighed with strained patience, then added quietly to Libby, “As Mom mentioned, she doesn’t bend very well, and Tippy’s completely out of control. That’s the only way she has to catch him.”

  Darren took the end of the dog’s leash and slipped it around the knob on the back door. He whipped up more eggs and milk, even added a dash of vanilla, then poured the mixture into three small bowls and set them against the back door.

  Tippy dug in, and the other two dogs converged on the spot.