He’d be right.
Vacillating from wishing to clinch the job to panic at taking care of a small child only added to her nervous state. One way or the other, she’d soon know if she had the position.
She studied the house when she turned into the driveway. It was large, built of stone, with soaring peaked roofs and a huge front lawn. From the treetops she could glimpse behind the garage, the backyard was probably even larger. Still, for the home of one of Atlanta’s richest men, the house wasn’t that opulent.
In two minutes she knocked on the door, rubbing her palms against her jeans, trying to quell the jitters.
Mac opened the door and for a moment she forgot to breathe. He’d been gorgeous in a tuxedo. Looked sophisticated and dynamic in a business suit, but wearing casual attire had her heart beating even faster. From the navy crewneck sweater to the dark cords and black boots, he oozed sex appeal. Maybe this had been a mistake. His eyes drew her attention. They were dark and deep and so intriguing. She wished she was coming for an entirely different reason.
“Good morning,” she said. Her voice sounded rusty and she cleared her throat.
“Right on time,” he said, opening the door wider so she could enter.
A small boy stood on the stairs, staring at her with wide eyes. He ran down the last few steps to his father, encircling one leg and peering around at Sam.
She smiled at him but kept her distance. “Hello, you must be Tommy. I’m Sam.”
“Sam-I-am?” he said, quoting from Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss.
“No, not that Sam. I know your daddy and he said you needed someone to come watch you after your nanny goes home each day.”
“When Mrs. Horton leaves and before I come home, Sam will stay with you. Remember I explained that?” Mac said, reaching down to pick up his son. The two males turned to look at Sam. Tommy studied her gravely.
“I brought you a present,” she said, offering the wrapped book.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Mac said. He looked at Tommy. “What do you say?”
“Thank you.” He gave a big grin and reached for the package.
Sam’s heart about melted. The little boy had the same dimple in the same place as his father. His blue eyes were unexpected with his daddy’s dark ones. His mother must have given him those eyes. She wondered if his mother had been a blonde as Tommy had a head full of blond curls. She glanced at Mac. He was Tommy’s father…she could see the strong resemblance—except for the coloring.
“You are very welcome,” she said in response to Tommy’s thanks. “I hope you like it and that you don’t already have it.”
Mac took Sam’s jacket and hung it in the closet, all the while juggling Tommy and the big book.
“Let’s go into the family room. Tommy’s toys are there,” Mac said, leading the way down the hall.
Sam glanced into the large living room as they passed—a huge fireplace dominated the far wall with windows flanking it. The furnishings looked oversize and comfortable. Still, it was lovely. Far more spacious than the living room in the house she and Charlene owned. When she entered the family room, Sam was pleasantly surprised by how homey it looked. Kid friendly, yet designed with adults in mind as well. There was a breakfast nook between it and the open kitchen.
“This is beautiful,” she said, putting down her purse and sitting on the edge of one of the sofas.
Mac sat on the one at a right angle to the one she sat on and put Tommy on his feet. In only seconds the wrapping paper had been torn off and he showed the book to his dad.
“Something to read later,” Mac said. “Thank you.”
“Wanna see my truck?” Tommy asked Sam.
“Yes.” She watched as he ran halfway across the room and picked up a large toy truck and raced back to her, offering it for her inspection. It set the tone for the day. He was an open and friendly little boy whom Sam thought she could manage for a few hours every evening.
Mac leaned back on the sofa and watched as Sam and his son grew acquainted. He’d wondered all last night what he’d been thinking when he asked her to watch Tommy. He wasn’t so impulsive as a rule. He had inquiries out at two leading employment agencies in town, yet had hired a virtual stranger to watch his son with no background check, no references. Only his gut feelings.
Not that Mrs. Horton wasn’t a stranger—but she’d come with loads of references. He knew next to nothing about Samantha Duncan except that he was attracted to her. Looking at Sam had him thinking about kisses and dancing cheek to cheek and even lazy evenings watching a television movie complete with fire in the fireplace and shared popcorn.
Whoa—where had that fantasy come from? She was trying out for the role of his part-time nanny, not his lover.
He rose suddenly and they both looked at him in surprise.
“I just remembered something I need to do. I’ll be back in a little while.” He waited for a moment in case Tommy didn’t want him to go, but when his son turned back to Sam, he left. Entering his home study a moment later, he closed the door and glared at the picture of Chris on the credenza. “Why did you have to die and leave us?” he asked. It was a question he’d asked often over the years. “It makes life so much more difficult,” he said.
But her sunny smile did not seem to take in the difficulties he faced. She would forever be happy and beautiful and young. He’d have to find his way alone.
“It’s not like I’m going to fall in love again,” he explained as he walked over to her picture and picked it up. “It’s just chemistry. She’s pretty, I’m lonely. It’s nothing like what we had.” They’d shared dreams together, worked together to build a marriage and a business. When their son had been born—for a few brief hours they’d thought they had it all. But she had died before she could leave the hospital after Tommy’s birth. At least he had the comfort of knowing everything had been done to try to save her. He would have forever wondered about that if she’d died at home.
Mac studied the picture for a long time. In the back of his mind he knew he was running scared. Chris would not have wanted him to be lonely. She’d loved life and embraced it fully. She’d probably whomp him on the arm and say, go after what you want.
But her death had crushed something inside him. Trust. An ability to believe in the future. Work gave him an escape and when he concentrated on the problems and challenges of building McAlheny Industries, he felt alive. When faced with the loneliness of the nights in bed, he felt half dead. Only his son kept him from devoting all his time to work.
“You would have adored our son,” he said softly to the picture, setting it gently back on the credenza and turning to see what he could do for a little while, giving Tommy time to get to know Sam at his own pace. He hoped he was doing the right thing hiring Sam.
For a moment, he wondered if it were the right thing for Tommy, or for himself.
After Tommy finished explaining the truck and all it could do, in which Sam understood about one word in three, he picked up the new book and said, “Read me?”
“Sure thing.” This she could handle.
He handed her the book and then lifted his arms. Sam pulled him into her lap and opened to the first page. In only a moment they began a new story about Thomas the Tank Engine. She’d bought it in honor of Mac’s Tommy.
Sam was surprised at how easily the child accepted her. Was it because he knew his father was home? Or would they be able to spend their evenings harmoniously, too? She hoped so. He leaned trustingly against her as she read. Sam had never read children’s books to kids before. She was two years younger than Charlene. Had her sister read to her? She didn’t remember.
The story was soon finished and Tommy asked for it again. Amused, Sam complied. By the fourth time he asked, she asked him if he had other stories, or wanted to play a game.
He struggled off her lap and went to the cupboard near the fireplace. Opening it, he took out three books and ran back, offering them to Sam.
The morning passed
swiftly. Once in a while Sam wondered what Mac was doing, but she was enchanted with Tommy and had fun keeping up with him.
“Can we go to the park?” he asked.
“Is there a park nearby?”
He nodded and ran to the front of the house, opening the closet door. “Jacket.”
Sam followed, wondering where Mac was and if she should be taking Tommy out into the cold.
Mac had obviously heard them and stepped out of a room opposite the living room.
“Going somewhere?”
“I wondered where you were. Tommy wants to go to the park. Is that something he does?”
“We go frequently on the weekends when the weather’s nice. I’ll go with you, show you where it is. If you work on a Saturday, you’ll want to go to the park and let him run. It burns off some of that energy. And then he’ll take a long nap to boot.”
“Ah, tricks of the trade,” she said, glad for any hints she could get.
The walk to the park took five minutes. Sam paid strict attention to the way in case she did bring Tommy on her own. Mac kept hold of his son’s hand and would not let him run on the sidewalk, though Tommy asked several times. Once they reached the grassy area near the playground, Mac let him go and the little boy ran straight for the slide.
“He’s adorable,” she said as they followed more slowly. There were other children and parents at the park. Benches were placed on the perimeter of the playground in locations that gave good access to the various play structures. The slide Tommy ran for was a curved one. Sam saw three other slides of various sizes, in addition to swings, seesaws, balance beams and a fort with cargo netting on one side and a fire pole on the other. There was even a suspension bridge between two platforms.
“He won’t fall, will he?” she asked, already a bit wary of the relative height of the slide in comparison to the small child.
“He’s played on it many times. If he does fall, we’ll just hope he doesn’t get hurt.”
“I wouldn’t want him to fall,” she protested.
“I don’t, either. But I’m not going to coddle him and deny him a chance to explore his own boundaries. This park is safe. The mulch beneath the playground equipment is several inches thick, cushioning any falls. It scared me to death the first few times we came, but I’m getting better,” he said with a wry grin.
Sam felt her insides melt at his look. She nodded and turned back to watch Tommy. She wasn’t so sure she should take this job. Anytime she was around Mac she wanted to be the center of his attention. She relished the special feelings she experienced when he looked at her. His grin turned her upside down. He made her feel things she’d never felt before.
Not that anything could come of it. She had her sister to consider. In the past anytime a man got interested in her, he’d meet Charlene, take one look at the wheelchair and soon thereafter vanish from her life. Charlene hated it, knowing she was the cause. Sam hadn’t felt a tremendous loss at any time since Chad. That had been hard to take. She had truly been in love and thought he had been as well.
But she was more concerned for her sister than for any man so shallow he’d let something like that influence his life. How could she risk her sister’s feelings again? Besides, Mac had never given her an indication of any interest beyond caring for Tommy.
Except the kiss at the beginning of the New Year.
And dinner last night.
This wasn’t a date. It was a job interview.
“Tell me what he can and can’t do so I don’t panic if we come on our own,” she said, keeping her gaze and attention firmly on Tommy McAlheny. There was no return to daydreaming about his father.
By the time Sam left it was after one. Upon returning to the McAlheny household, Mac has shown her where things were located in the kitchen. She and Tommy had explored his bedroom and Mac had explained some routines Tommy followed. A lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and milk had been shared and Sam had actually tucked the little boy in for his nap.
She turned into her own driveway satisfied she’d quelled any personal thoughts about Mac and could handle the task of watching his son until they had enough money to pay off the roof and get the back of the house repaired.
Charlene was in her quilting room, putting the finishing touches on the wall hanging she’d been working on. “I guess from how long you were gone that the job is yours?” she asked as soon as Sam entered.
“It is and Tommy is darling. I wish you could see him. He has blond curls and big blue eyes. He talks a mile a minute, but I miss some of the words. I hope this works out. The money is good and the job is so much better than working for Jordan Cleaning.” She was not going to tell Charlene any of her mixed feelings about working for Mac. She was not even going to think about Mac for the next—three seconds. She sighed. She had to get over this obsession.
“What are you working on?” Sam turned the topic of conversation to her sister’s work and soon they were discussing ways of getting it into the hands of boutique owners who might be interested in carrying some of her quilts.
“I could just go door-to-door,” Sam mused as she fingered the pretty vest her sister had just made. “If I wear this, the owners are sure to be interested.”
“Sounds too easy. There are women in my quilting guild who have tried that. Too many great quilts, too few outlets.”
“But they are trying to sell bed quilts which don’t compare with the art pieces or the clothing you’ve made. And you have your patterns. Have you tried a fabric shop to see if the owner would offer them?”
Charlene shook her head. “I’ll think about it.”
“How about the place that you buy all your material from?”
“Why would someone want my patterns?”
“Why would they not? The designs are fantastic. Think how many woman love to quilt but aren’t creative enough to come up with special designs.”
Sam wondered who she might talk with to find out more about marketing. She was a whiz at fund-raising. How much different would this be?
She wondered if Mac’s marketing team would have any suggestions. Could she find a way to ask? After she’d proved herself taking care of Tommy, of course.
Monday evening promptly at six, Samantha knocked on the door at Mac’s home. An older woman answered a moment later.
“You’re Ms. Duncan?” she asked.
“Yes, call me Sam. Are you Mrs. Horton?”
The woman opened the door wider and stood aside so Sam could enter.
“I am. Glad to see you’re prompt. I hope that continues. I have class to get to.”
“I will always do my best,” Sam said, a bit surprised by the less than friendly greeting.
“I’ll be off. The boy’s in the family room watching Mickey Mouse.”
Sam took off her coat and hung it in the closet, setting her purse on the entry table. She took a deep breath and headed for the family room, glad Mac had given her a tour of the house on Saturday. Mrs. Horton didn’t seem like she wanted to stay a moment longer than she had to.
“Hi, Tommy,” Sam said.
He looked up and his expression lightened. He launched himself off the sofa and ran to Sam. “Hi.” He lifted his arms and Sam reached down to scoop him up, hugging him. “How are you?” she asked, smiling at his sweet face.
“I watching Mickey Mouse,” he said, turning to point to the television.
“So I see. Shall we watch it together?” she asked.
A moment later they were sitting on the sofa, Tommy in her lap, watching the Disney character.
“I’m off, then,” Mrs. Horton said, coming into the kitchen. “There’s a casserole in the oven, which will be ready by 6:30. I hope you’ll clean up after you eat.”
“Of course,” Sam said. She would not get upset by the woman’s austere attitude, but secretly wondered how she interacted with Tommy all day.
“Bye, Tommy,” Mrs. Horton said.
“Bye,” he said, waving, his attention on the television.
When the show ended, Sam switched off the television and went to prepare their meal. She set Tommy on the counter so he could help, making sure she was never more than a step away.
The little boy looked enchanted. She handed him a spoon and he held it carefully. Taking down two plates, she took the hot casserole from the oven, placing it on the counter across the stove from Tommy. There was crusty bread on the counter which she figured was also for dinner.
“I helping,” Tommy said proudly.
“You are.” She handed him the bread. “Hold that until I’m ready to cut it, okay?”
“’Kay,” he said, solemnly holding the bread.
The back door opened and Mac walked in.
She looked up in surprise. “I didn’t expect you home so early,” she said.
“Daddy! I helping,” Tommy said proudly, clutching the bread to his chest.
“So I see.” Mac came into the kitchen and gave his son a kiss. He looked at Sam. “I thought I’d see how things went this first evening. It looks as if you have everything under control. Is there enough food for me, too?”
The casserole would feed a family of six. “Plenty. Do you need me to stay?” If he were home, he had no need of a sitter for Tommy.
“Please. I’ll be working in the office part of the evening. Just wanted to make sure you found everything you needed. Mrs. Horton left at six, I take it.”
Sam nodded, hoping that was the reason and not that he didn’t trust her. She took down a third plate and carried it to the table. Taking the bread from Tommy, she lifted him to the floor. “Here,” she said, handing him two forks to go with his spoon. “You set the table. Put these on the table and come back for napkins.”
Tommy was clearly delighted to be put to work. Mac leaned against the counter and watched.
When they sat at the table, the settings left lots to be desired, but Tommy was clearly proud of his contribution.
“Good job,” Mac complimented him.
Sam nodded again and began to serve the plates, giving Tommy a small portion.
“He won’t eat all that,” Mac said when she put the dish down on the table.
Nanny to the Billionaire's Son Page 7