THE NANNY'S SECRET

by Monica McLean

  "It's not you, Brooks." She wrung her hands together, the self-recrimination in her eyes making his heart heavy. "It's me. I don't know if I trust myself right now…"

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. He told himself he didn't want or need this woman's trust, but the demons of the past wouldn't let him off that easily.

  He needed to prove himself if only to keep them at bay. He wasn't like the bastard who hurt her, and he wasn't like his old man.

  He could control himself.

  * * *

  Clearly she was insane. Certifiable. Wacko.

  Any minute now, Brooks would rethink his position on keeping her on as Timmy's nanny. She knew this. She was dreading this. And what does she do? She goes and kisses him. Not once. Not even twice. But again and again—and again, for pity's sake!

  And now, having splashed cold water on her face for five minutes straight, she'd think her head would have cleared.

  But no. She still felt dizzy, light-headed, all these muscles she didn't realize she had still pulsing, throbbing, clamoring for attention. Her body didn't seem to notice or care she wasn't playing with a full deck.

  Her body had a mind of its own.

  And it wanted Brooks Hart.

  Aargh. She cupped her hands and kept dousing her face. Sooner or later, it had to pass. Didn't it?

  Okay, so he made her heart beat faster, sent shivers of awareness dancing along her nerve endings. He was extremely virile, in a rough-hewn sort of way, like a tamed beast, a fierce mountain lion who had been domesticated. From the moment he'd held her at the hospital, his gentleness had moved her in a way she just couldn't get over.

  Of course she was attracted to him. What woman in her right—or altered, for that matter—mind wouldn't be? All it took was a pulse, and she obviously had a strong one.

  She turned off the faucet and stood with water dripping down her face, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The woman who looked back wasn't that bad-looking, nor was she particularly eye-catching. She had the kind of face people might find pretty if they liked her, bland if they didn't.

  She knew this because it was her own experience.

  But Brooks… A man like him would have his pick of women, and she'd never have expected him to be attracted to her. She pictured him with a wild, adventurous woman, an equally rough-and-tough, outdoorsy type who rode bareback with him through a torrential downpour, fearlessly lifting her face to the heavens, both of them giddy with laughter.

  A gutsy lion tamer, not a mousy nanny.

  Oh, but for those few minutes…

  For those few minutes, it hadn't mattered. Because she had been pretty. Not just to him, but to herself. She had been the kind of woman who deserved a little happiness, a little pleasure, to be held so exquisitely and kissed by a man like Brooks—a good man, a kind man, an unbelievably sexy man who looked at her with a combination of desire and reverence she would have sworn she'd never seen before.

  A woman couldn't forget such a feeling, could she?

  Like a flower turning toward the sun, she'd craved his touch, needed to feel his lips on hers, with an instinct as natural as breathing. She had wanted him enough to ignore reason, to block out the niggling fear, even to fight her mounting anxiety. Until the insidious claustrophobia washed over her full force, and she'd been powerless to shake it.

  It had happened when he trapped her arms, sandwiching her between the solid barriers of his hard body and the door. Though rational thought told her this man would never hurt her, in that moment, she'd felt only the instinctive panic of a wild animal snared in a hunter's net.

  If he hadn't backed off when he had, she would have struck out. She was sure of it. Hysteria had bubbled in her. One more second and…

  She gripped the towel in her hands, eyeing the woman in the mirror with increased suspicion.

  "Who are you?" she asked. "What are you running from?"

  * * *

  Supper was awkward. Amelia fed Timmy first, then tried to turn him loose in his playpen, but he was too love-starved with them gone all day and wanted to be where the action was. Even the high chair failed, so she and Brooks took turns with him in their laps, keeping their plates well out of reach of little fingers that were into everything.

  Clara stayed long enough to get everyone settled, then begged off on joining them so she could get back to Pete. "Dampness," she said. "Gets into broken bones something fierce with old age."

  "I've been a little rickety myself the past few days," Amelia said. She glimpsed a flicker of emotion in Brooks's eyes before he turned away, as if he couldn't bear to look at her any longer than absolutely necessary.

  Only he did keep looking. He stole glances in her direction when he thought she wasn't looking, and she did the same thing with him. But whenever their gazes collided, they skittered away just as quickly. Silent messages crackled in the air: Whoops. Excuse me. Pardon me.

  But even as the apologies whispered through her mind, an entirely different chorus played in the background.

  What you did to me before…? It was incredible. You were incredible. Please, can we try it again? I don't know what happened to me there at the end. Don't give up on me.

  "Amelia?" Mitch asked.

  "Hmm? Sorry, did you say something?"

  "Could you pass the fruit bowl?"

  "Oh, right." She passed the bowl down the table. "So, how's your leg, Dean?" she asked a while later. Each of the brothers had polished off second helpings of Clara's hearty beef stew before she even put a dent in her first.

  Timmy had settled down a bit, so she tried the high chair again, this time with success, the peas she'd put on his tray helping keep him entertained.

  Dean shrugged. "Can't complain."

  "There's a first." Mitch grinned and rubbed a shiny, red apple on his sleeve.

  Dean shouldered him. "Oops. Don't drop your apple there, Mitch," he said, deliberately reaching across him for the fruit bowl.

  Mitch stuck out his elbow, blocking his brother, then tossed him a banana from the bowl, which Dean caught with the smooth reflexes and good nature of a boy raised in a family of older brothers and horseplay.

  A perfect environment for Timmy.

  "So, everything go okay today?" Dean asked, eyeing Amelia and Brooks. At the ensuing silence, he turned his gaze to the banana in his hand, focusing intently on the task of peeling it. "Mind my own business. Got it."

  "Thank you," Brooks said with a tight smile.

  "No, that's okay," Amelia said at the same time, then shifted uneasily at their contradiction. "I … it went fine today," she felt compelled to answer. "Thanks for asking."

  How would she explain her latest panic attack to Jo? "So I was kissing your brother…"

  Dean nodded but said no more on the subject. They weren't big talkers, the Hart men. Sure, they conversed amicably enough at the dinner table—they certainly never missed an opportunity to tease each other. But there seemed to be an invisible line no one dared cross, as if they could be footloose and fancy-free splashing around in the shallow end of the pool but judiciously avoided the deep end.

  "Got a bunch of those brochures you ordered on dude ranches," Mitch said to Brooks. "Stuck them in the desk drawer with the others."

  Before Brooks could respond, Dean raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said 'no way, no how' to putting up dudes."

  "I said likely no way, no how." Brooks spooned a few more peas onto Timmy's high chair tray. They all rolled in different directions, and Timmy grinned, going after one. "Can't hurt to look into it."

  "Yeah, good idea, Brooks. Wish I'd thought of it."

  "Hey, I almost forgot." Mitch crunched into his apple and slurped the juice. "Rachel called to confirm. She's still on for Friday night."

  "Thanks." Brooks tipped his head and took a bunch of grapes from the fruit bowl. He glanced at Amelia for the briefest of seconds before popping one into his mouth.

  That lone second was enough. Pinpricks of apprehension stuck at her. Brooks had ne
glected to mention his plans were with a woman. Was it an insignificant detail?

  "So, when are you going to make an honest woman of her anyway?" Dean asked casually, tossing his banana peel onto his empty plate. At Brooks's mutinous glare, he coughed and muttered under his breath, "Never mind."

  Not so insignificant after all.

  Humiliation stung Amelia's cheeks, shame fast on its heels. Who was she kidding? Of course there was someone else. Men like Brooks could easily keep a stash of ready and willing someone elses on hand.

  What do you want, honey? Tell me, and it's yours…

  God, had it been pity that motivated him to say that? The reason he kissed her? Correction: let her kiss him?

  She bit her lip, trying to ignore the petty jealousy she had no right to feel. Underneath the table, her hand clamped around her napkin, wadding it into a ball.

  Damn it. She'd been feeling particularly brave after today's events. Brave enough to ignore the Don't Feed The Animals sign, so she could pet the nice lion's mane.

  Brave? Ha.

  Try: deranged.

  "It's time you and I had a talk, partner." Brooks clapped a hand on Dean's back. "Especially with summer around the corner. We need to revisit a couple things."

  "Lucky me. Can't wait. Want to join us, Mitch? Need to brush up on the birds and the bees?"

  "Nah, I'm pretty well squared, thanks." He tossed the apple core onto his plate and laced his fingers behind his head. "The thought of my brother talking dirty doesn't do a thing for me. Sorry."

  Amelia pushed back from the table. "Excuse me." She carried her plate to the sink and turned on a blast of cold water. Sticking her hands underneath the spray, she willed herself to come to grips.

  It had been a tumultuous day. Her emotions were on overload. She needed to go to bed early. She needed to forget the way Brooks had held her when she'd fallen apart, the security of his arms and the comfort of his banter.

  She definitely needed to forget the way he'd kissed her. Holy smokes, did the man ever know how to kiss…

  But kissing him had been a mistake. One she wouldn't repeat. It was one thing to lose her memory, another to toss aside common sense. She had control over the latter. She needed to exercise it.

  Thankfully she and Brooks had already apologized and agreed to put the incident behind them. Now she needed to fulfill her end of the bargain.

  Brooks had a life before she ever got there. For that matter, so did she. Even if she couldn't remember it. Maybe she had a beau somewhere. Maybe someone was waiting for her to check-in. Maybe someone actually cared for her.

  With an empty, hollow feeling, she realized none of the scenarios rang true. She felt her rootlessness in her bones.

  But when she would have slinked off to a corner to lick her wounds, she thought again of Jo agreeing to marry a man she knew would soon die. Women like Jo didn't sit around feeling sorry for themselves. They didn't question their worthiness, or obsess about their limitations. They took charge of their lives and their happiness.

  Amelia turned off the water and lifted her chin. She could wallow in her shortcomings, or she could be grateful for what she had—good people around her, a good job and a little ward whose baby blues melted her heart. As for her employer, he was just that—an employer. So far, he seemed pleased with her job performance. And so was she.

  "What do you say, chief?" Brooks tugged Timmy's foot. "Can you stay awake long enough for a bath? You definitely need one since you're wearing half your supper. Is that…? Yeah, that's smushed peas in your hair. Yum."

  In response, Timmy made a tired mmm sound and rubbed his tiny fists over his eyes, smearing a glob of peas on his eyelashes. Stunned, he blinked in rapid succession, a bewildered wail already forming.

  "Hang on." Amelia wet a clean dishcloth at the sink and crossed to Timmy's high chair. "Look here, sweetie." She mopped his face. "Yes, you do need a bath, I'm afraid. I know you're wiped out. But you'll feel so good after a bath." She brushed his cheek with the back of her finger. "You'll be all clean in your jammies. Won't that be nice?"

  Timmy smiled and stuck up his arms. "Mamamama."

  Everyone went still. Three sets of eyes shifted between her and the baby. Amelia tried to swallow around the knot of emotion in her throat.

  "Did he just say…?" Mitch cocked his head.

  "I think he did," Dean said in wonder.

  Brooks nodded in agreement. "He did."

  "Mmm!" Timmy gave a tired groan, wiggled and kicked in his high chair, demanding to be picked up at once. "Ahhh!"

  Amelia forced a smile, while inside her heartstrings pulled so tightly she thought for sure they'd snap. "You're just making noises, aren't you, sweetie?" Once in her arms, he dropped his head on her shoulder, and stuck his thumb in his mouth. She closed her eyes and rubbed his back. "Yeah, you like to talk with the grown-ups. Nine months old, you'll be a big boy soon with lots of words to impress everyone."

  None of which would include Mama. Poor kid.

  She kissed his forehead, smelling that wonderful baby scent, and swore as long as she was around, she would care for him as her own. "I'll go run his bath."

  Brooks stood. "Need help?"

  "No, thanks. I've got it covered."

  He nodded and sat back down.

  Half an hour later, she'd bathed Timmy, read him a story and put him down for the night. She stood by his crib for long moments, mesmerized by his peaceful innocence and struck by a desire to keep him that way. Bone-weary, she returned to her room, crawled into bed and burrowed beneath the covers.

  Tomorrow was a new day, and she was determined to be a new woman. At least until she located the old one.

  * * *

  "Hi, my name's Amelia Rigsby, and I was wondering if you had any record of a fare to Wister in the past week?" She gave the Triple H's address and sat with her pencil poised at the kitchen table, using Timmy's naptime to go down the short list of cab companies listed in the phone book. "I think I might have left something in the cab." Like my memory. "But I'm not sure which company I used."

  "Wasn't us," said the man on the other end—the same response she got each time. "We don't run out that far."

  "Would you mind double-checking for me?" She wanted to cover all her bases since nothing had turned up yet with the airlines or the bus company, nor had any "ride" had called. "Maybe someone made an exception?"

  "I doubt—"

  "Please, it's very important. I'll leave my number if you could ask around."

  "Well, do you remember what the driver looked like?"

  "No, I … I wasn't paying attention. Here, if you could just take my number. I'd really appreciate it." She talked him into it, then hung up, fighting her discouragement.

  At a rap at the mudroom door, she glanced up to see Brooks peering through the glass. Her spirits lifted, and she smiled and waved, ignoring the flutter in her stomach.

  Not a big deal. Not a big deal. Not a big deal.

  He turned the knob and stuck his head inside. "No luck, huh?"

  "It's not a big deal!" She slammed the phone book closed.

  "Geez. Sorry I asked."

  "No, no. I'm sorry." She blew out a breath and tucked her hair behind her ears. "I'm a little tense today. Don't worry, I've been fine with Timmy—"

  "I'm not worried." He shucked his boots and kicked them to the side. "If you want, I'll put a call into the sheriff after dinner. He's an old friend of mine, and—"

  "No." She shot up from the table. "I mean, no thank you. I don't think that's necessary. It's only been a few days." Although missing luggage usually turned up within twenty-four hours. "I'm sure someone will get back to me soon," she said brightly, rounding the island in the center of the kitchen where she'd laid out the dinner fixings.

  Brooks closed the mudroom door and strode into the kitchen in his stocking feet.

  Her gaze swept over broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and denim-clad legs that went on forever. Every inch of his considerable hei
ght radiated masculine strength like heat. His large hands had the power to snap her like a twig, yet she couldn't forget how he'd cradled Timmy as he rocked him to sleep. Or how he had held her.

  There was such gentleness in his touch. So much more than she would have guessed.

  "I'm sure you're right," he said. "Still, it wouldn't hurt to put in a call."

  She blinked and swallowed. She'd lost the thread of conversation. "Call…?"

  "To the sheriff. About your missing luggage."

  "No," she said again, following her instincts. No police of any kind, not even friends of the family. Not until she knew why… "I do appreciate the offer, Brooks, but you've pulled enough strings for me. Thanks anyway."

  "All right, but if you change your mind…"

  She nodded. "You'll be the first one I run to."

  At the bold declaration, the sapphire of his irises darkened a few shades to a deeper, richer jewel tone, and her mouth went dry on the spot. She recognized the almost-imperceptible spark of desire in his eyes because she had seen it last night, in the instant after she kissed him.

  She hadn't imagined it. At the memory, her insides quivered, and she raised a hand to her mouth.

  When Brooks's gaze followed the absent gesture, she dropped her hand to her side. Still, he didn't look away. Swallowing hard, she gripped the counter with both hands, trying to combat the dizzying warmth veering its way through her senses—the same yearning she'd felt last night, when she'd touched her lips to his, and she'd forgotten herself.

  She wanted to forget again.

  No, she didn't.

  God, what was happening to her?

  She didn't want to feel this way about her employer—about any man—but she did anyway. When he'd held her, something inside her had awakened, and squashing it down required ever-increasing amounts of willpower.

  This time, however, Brooks compensated for her lack. Clearing his throat, he turned away. "Where's Clara?" he asked, taking a gallon of milk from the refrigerator.

  She smoothed a hand over her hair and clothing, as if straightening herself after a real—not imagined—encounter. "Um, Jo called and said she found an earlier opening for Pete to get his cast off, so Clara ran him into town."