The Woodsman's Nanny - A Single Daddy Romance

by Emerson Rose

  Inside is a full bathroom with a long vanity and mirror that tells the story of the last fifteen minutes with pinpoint accuracy—mascara smeared under my eyes, lip gloss gone, hair disheveled, dress wrinkled, and pride bruised along with my face.

  I almost had sex with a man I hardly know. I almost had sex with my boss. I almost had sex with the father of the child I have promised to care for like she’s my own. If Enrique could see me now, he would call me a slut, whore, loser, pathetic, needy, and simple. He was good at controlling me with words and even better at doing it with his fists.

  Tears fill my eyes, and I snatch three tissues from the box on the vanity and catch them before they run down my cheeks. I cannot let that man control me now. He is not part of my life anymore. I’m free.

  Or am I?

  Even here in the privacy of a very handsome, very wealthy man’s home, far away from Enrique and his abusive hands and mouth, he is messing with my head.

  There’s a knock at the door. “Sasha? You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine just fixing my hair. I’ll be right out.”

  “Okay, hurry, we need to order the pizza.”

  “One minute.” I’m pretty sure that’s code for Victoria’s awake, make-out session is over, and that’s fine with me. I need to talk to Xander and tell him I am not comfortable having a relationship while I’m working for him, and I need to do it soon.

  I smooth my hair away from my face and over my shoulder so I can put it into a tidy respectable braid. I look at myself in the mirror again and wipe the mascara smudges from my eyes. “There. Good as new,” I say to myself and open the bathroom door.

  Victoria is sitting on a bar stool at the island looking a lot like I did a few minutes ago but for totally different reasons. She’s teary-eyed, flushed, and sad. Nightmares, yeah, I know a thing or two about those.

  “Hey there, you had a little nap?”

  “The scary men came in my sleep. I don’t like them, they make me cry.”

  I sit next to her and slide my hand across the marble counter covering hers with mine. “I’m sorry you had a bad dream. I have them sometimes, too. They feel so real you can’t tell if you’re awake or asleep.”

  She sits up straight looking at our hands. “You have them, too?” I look at Xander, he’s on the phone by the glass wall ordering pizza, but he’s also listening to our conversation. He pauses his conversation and nods letting me know it’s okay to talk about bad dreams with his daughter.

  “I do.”

  “With bad men?”

  “Just one bad man.”

  “What does he do?”

  Oh my God. I can’t tell her what goes on in my nightmares, or she’ll never sleep again. “Well, sometimes he just looks scary, and sometimes he yells at me. What do your bad men do?”

  She pulls her knees up and hugs them with her arms abandoning my hand for this secure position. I move my hand to her back and rub it up and down, so she knows I’m here for her even if she tries to leave. I know from experience that it helps to know somebody, anybody, cares enough to stay.

  “They take me to her.”

  I wasn’t expecting that. Maybe she means her mom? “Your mom?”

  She nods her head, and tears spring from her eyes. Shit, what did she do to her? Suddenly, all I want is to find that bitch, rip her hair out, and stick my fingers in her eye sockets until she screams.

  “Come here, baby,” I say, and that’s all it takes. She’s on my lap straddling my waist crying into the crook of my neck. Oh boy. I thought I knew what I was doing, but now I’m not so sure.

  I rub her back and let her cry until Xander joins us. His face is twisted in pain giving me a glimpse into a tortured parent’s world. He loves her so much, and it kills him to see her hurting.

  I am way out of my league here. I was struggling to comfort a child, but I have no idea how to help them both at the same time, especially since I only know a handful of random facts about either of them.

  “Princess, are you gonna be okay?” he asks bending down to push her hair away from her face. Her sobs subside, and she reaches out to wipe a tear from her father’s cheek.

  “Don’t cry, my daddy.”

  “Baby, you know I hate seeing you so sad. Let’s sit outside and listen to the ocean. That always makes you feel better, doesn’t it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay, come on.” He holds out his arms, and she starts to lean toward him but stops to look at me first.

  “You come, too, kay?”

  “Okay.” Xander lifts her up, and we go out onto a patio that wraps around the back and one side of the house. It’s so beautiful out here, I could stay forever. A swimming pool is situated along the side of the house, and the rest of the patio faces the ocean with steps that take you to the beach.

  I walk to the railing and inhale a deep breath and close my eyes. I love the salty air and the wind and the sound of waves lapping against the shore. “You like the ocean?” Xander asks sitting down on a lounger still holding Victoria.

  “I do, it’s my favorite thing in the world.”

  “Do you surf or snorkel?”

  “Yes, both. I love being in the water.”

  “I have a boat, do you like fishing?”

  “I’ve never been fishing in the ocean, but I used to fish back home in a lake, and I liked that.”

  “You’re not from California?”

  “No,” I say, and he stares at me waiting for more of an explanation.

  “Is it a secret? Where you’re from?”

  “Oh, no, not really. Minneapolis.”

  “You’re a long way from home. Did you come here to go to school?”

  “No. I never went to college, no money, ya know? I came for the ocean.” That’s not the only reason, but it’s the nicest one.

  “You picked up and moved to California alone because you love the ocean?”

  “I love the ocean, too,” Victoria interjects.

  “Would you move a long way to be near it?” I ask her.

  “Uh-huh,” she says nodding her head vigorously.

  I gesture toward her. “I rest my case.”

  “And you got a job with Macy’s right away?” he asks. He did a full background check on me this afternoon. Either he hasn’t had time to read it, and someone told him I was safe, or he wants to see if what I say matches up.

  “Not right away. I stayed with friends for a while.” Another lie.

  I turn away from him not wanting to get into that part of my life in front of Victoria. “Daddy, can we show Sasha the beach?”

  “Sure, good idea. Are you interested in a walk on the beach?” he asks.

  “Yes, I’d love a walk on the beach.”

  I’d do anything to get off of this patio and stop talking about my life right now. It just so happens that he’s offering me my favorite thing in the world—the ocean.

  Sometimes the ocean is life’s best distraction.

  10

  Xander

  It’s a perfect night for a walk. The breeze is warm, the beach is deserted, and the waves are calm. The ocean is the only thing that calms Tori after one of her nightmares. The closer to the water she is, the more she forgets about the bad men and the woman who took her. That’s why I built her this house right on the water.

  Sasha seems to thrive in the presence of the ocean as well. She’s more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her skipping along the water’s edge laughing with Tori.

  Tori. She doesn’t call her that, I wonder why. She purposely calls her by her given name every time she speaks to her. She hasn’t slipped up once. Maybe she has a relative named Tori that she doesn’t like? Or an old friend? I’ll find out later when I read the background report I have in my briefcase. I didn’t have time to read through it today, but my investigator assured me she has no skeletons in her closet that would affect Tori or me. Calvin has been my head of security since the kidnapping, and I trust him explicitly. He saw what that did to Tori, and I know he woul
d never allow her to be in harm’s way again.

  Sasha gasps and yells down the beach to me. “What about the pizza?”

  She must be hungry. “They’ll text when they’re here, don’t worry.”

  “I don’t want the delivery person to spit in our food because we weren’t home.”

  “I tip well. He would happily sit all night if I asked him to,” I say catching up to her. She and Tori have stopped and are squatting down looking at a piece of sand glass.

  Sasha rolls her eyes when she looks up. “I’m sure you do.”

  “What? Am I supposed to be a dick and not tip him?” I don’t get this woman.

  “No, but you don’t have to brag about being a great tipper. In fact, you don’t have to brag about a lot of things like what a great surgeon you are or how handsome you are.”

  “I’ve never bragged about how handsome I am. Although, I am pretty good looking if I do say so myself.”

  She pops up off the ground and points her finger at me. “Ha! I knew you couldn’t resist the urge to brag if I gave it to you.”

  “What’s brag?” Tori asks.

  “It’s when someone speaks highly of themselves,” I say.

  “Is it bad?” she asks looking back and forth between us sensing conflict in the air.

  “Not always, sometimes it’s nice to be humble and modest, though, and keep those kinds of things to yourself instead.”

  “Why?” she asks innocently.

  “Yeah, why?” I ask just to irritate her.

  “Because it makes you look like a jackass.”

  I shouldn’t smile. I should be offended and appalled at her choice of words in front of a five-year-old, but I’m not. I smile, and Tori’s expression is one of confusion. She knows about swearing, she knows I don’t do it unless I’m angry, and she knows she should never do it. Yet, here I am on the verge of laughter.

  “You said a naughty word,” she says to Sasha.

  “I did?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Why is it naughty?”

  Tori looks to me for an answer. “We just don’t say it, that’s all.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense, you must have a reason.”

  “It’s not nice,” Tori says, coming up with her answer and looking proud of herself for it.

  “Jack is a name, and ass is a part of your body. I don’t think Jack is a bad sounding name personally, and we all have an ass.”

  “It’s a swear word, and she’s not allowed to say it in public where someone might hear her. If you’d like to say ass at home, Tori, that’s all right. Just don’t make it a habit.”

  “I don’t believe in swear words,” Sasha says, and Tori’s eyes go wide. Nobody disagrees with her daddy, and she knows it.

  “The rest of the world does, so we don’t say them if we can help it.”

  “Well, I think that’s stupid. What makes a word a curse word anyway? It’s a word like every other word. Nothing different happens when you say shit instead of poop, or bitch instead of nasty person. If you give power to those words, they become powerful. If you use them like every other word, no one will think twice when you say fucker in public.”

  “Okay, that’s enough. You will not say that in public, Tori. Understand?”

  She nods her head looking horrified, and Sasha shrugs as if I were the crazy one here. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Thank God, saved by the bell.

  “Pizza’s here, we better head back.”

  “Yay, pizza! I’m hungry!” Tori squeals and runs down the beach her eyes darting back and forth making sure no one else is around. She stops to wait for us at the base of the stairs unwilling to go any further alone.

  “Sorry about the swearing thing. I just think it’s dumb.”

  “It’s okay, I get where you’re coming from as an adult, but as a parent of a five-year-old, I have to conform to society somewhat. She’s going to be in kindergarten this fall, and I can’t have her cursing like a sailor in school.”

  She doesn’t respond. We catch up with Tori and climb the stairs back to the house as Tori heads straight to the island to take a seat. She won’t go near the front door when she doesn’t know the person on the other side.

  “I’ll be right back. Hey, bug, why don’t you show Sasha where the plates and cups are.”

  “Okay, Daddy.” She hops off the stool, and Sasha joins her while I head upstairs. When I get back, they are all set to eat.

  “Find everything? Feel free to snoop around all you want.”

  “Yep, plates, cups, milk, and I grabbed you a beer, is that okay?”

  “Yeah, great, grab yourself one, too, if you want.”

  “I don’t drink, but thank you.” She doesn’t drink? Not even a beer? I don’t remember Calvin saying anything about her being an alcoholic because that would be a problem.

  “I don’t have a problem with it or anything if you’re worried. I choose not to drink for personal reasons.”

  “Good to know, and yes, I was wondering.”

  “Thought so.”

  “You did, did you?” I say twisting the cap off my beer.

  “You get this little pucker right here…” She points between her eyes, “… when you think hard about something.”

  I reach up and touch the groove between my eyes that I could easily fix with a simple injection of Botox but choose not to. “Here?”

  “Yep.” She opens the pizza box and hands a slice to Tori.

  “That’s pretty observant for only knowing me a few hours.”

  “Technically I’ve known you for a little over two weeks, and I noticed it the night you stitched up my face.”

  “You probably did. I was thinking hard about saving your perfect skin that night. I was also angry that someone did that to you and drove away without taking responsibility or at the very least calling 911. Have they made any progress on the case yet?”

  “No, still nothing.”

  “When somebody gets hurt, you’re supposta tell the police,” Tori says.

  “See? Even a five-year-old knows better. Tori, honey, some grown-ups are just…”

  “Jackasses?” she fills in for me, and I roll my eyes at Sasha. She mouths sorry from behind Tori, and I chuckle under my breath.

  “Yes, jackasses. But remember, you can only say that at home with Sasha and me.”

  “And my Zion.”

  “Yes, and Zion when she comes home, although, I’m not sure she’s going to be open to that. She’s old-school.”

  “My Zion’s not old.” Tori frowns and crosses her arms over her chest defiantly.

  “I didn’t say she was old, but she is sixty-five-years old. I said she’s old-school, that means she thinks differently about things than younger people do.”

  Tori still looks lost. “She doesn’t go to school.”

  Sasha steps in to give this a shot. “It’s like this… so you know how people who are older like grandmas and grandpas watch TV shows that they watched when they were little?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That’s them being old-school. When you grow up, you’ll still like the shows you watch now, and little kids will call you old-school. Get it?”

  “I’m already old-school, I watch Dallas with my Zion, and she watched that a long time ago.”

  “Okay, maybe that’s a bad example for you then.”

  “It’s not important, eat your dinner, bug. You need a bath tonight, and we still have to show Sasha around.”

  Sasha mouths, thank you, and I nod. There’s a time to teach, and a time to eat, and right now we need to eat. Anyway, I don’t think either of us were going to effectively explain old-school to Tori.

  When we are stuffed with greasy pizza, Tori and I give Sasha the grand tour. “So you’ve seen the living room, dining room, kitchen, music area, and the pool. Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll show you the rest.”

  Our house is built into the side of a cliff. You enter through the front door at the top of the cliff or through the garag
e that is inside the wall of rock. “Up here are six bedrooms including Tori’s and mine, four bathrooms, a game room, and my office. Down below the main level where we just came from is Zion’s quarters, a theatre room, a library, a gym, and Tori’s playroom.”

  “Whoa, there’s another level below the living room and kitchen?”

  “Yes.”

  “And just the three of you live here?”

  Tori nods innocently. She has no idea that most people live in a fraction of the square footage she does. She’ll learn when she starts school, though, and I worry about that day. I worry about her going to school because of my bad experience with school. It’s unnecessary, I know, but she’s beautiful and smart and rich—the trifecta for popular kids—but I can’t help worry she will be picked on by those with less.

  And I don’t mean just less materialistically. I also mean less love, less attention, and less opportunity for greatness. Kids are mean, and Tori has a weakness—her fear of strangers and the unknown. If they sense her weakness, and if for whatever reason they don’t like her, they could destroy her ability to thrive and mature.

  “You’re a very lucky little girl, Victoria. Your daddy loves you a lot.”

  I half expected her to say something snide about the rich. She surprised me with her kind remark.

  “I know, we’re great, This is my room!” I chuckle at her off-handed pat on her own back. She’s a chip off the old block for sure.

  She swings open a heavy wooden door that seems to be more difficult to move than it should be. I push it open a little wider to see for myself. It’s ridiculously heavy like it’s lined with metal. “Wow, that’s heavy,” I say to no one in particular.

  “Steel reinforced, and all of her windows are bullet-proof glass and highly alarmed so don’t try to open them without changing the settings on the security system first.”

  Tori is the safest kid in California when she is in her bedroom. It’s essentially a panic room or a bomb shelter, except panic rooms and bomb shelters don’t have windows. That’s why there is an actual panic room behind a secret door in her en-suite bathroom.

  Sasha’s face is pale, and her mouth is set in a straight line. We don’t tell people about Tori’s extreme safety precautions, but if she’s going to be her nanny, she has to know what to do in the case of an emergency.