THE NANNY'S SECRET

by Monica McLean

  Fresh tears stung her eyes. Would they even give her the chance to explain? What on earth was she going to do?

  "Hey." Mitch came around the corner. "Who was that? I didn't recognize the truck. Ran up to see if you needed anything."

  "No. No, I don't need anything." Except a miracle—did he have one handy? "My luggage showed up." She made a lame gesture toward the bags, trying to downplay the event.

  "Great. What happened?"

  "Car accident."

  "That's how you bumped your head. One mystery solved."

  All of them, actually. But as Mitch moved toward her suitcase, her gaze fixed on a luggage tag. With lightning speed, she scrambled up off the floor and blocked his path.

  "Slow day at the office, dear?" She forced an easy smile.

  He chuckled. "No such thing—I need to get back soon." He glanced over her shoulder. "I'll take those bags in—"

  "I've got them, thanks." Moving to block his vision, she made a dismissive gesture and nonchalantly crossed her arms. "Is Brooks still down at Pete and Clara's?"

  "Yeah. Clara's Sunday honey-do list takes a good part of the day. Don't think we'll see him until supper. Hey, chief. Whatcha got there? Uh-oh." He hunkered down on his haunches. "You chomping on Amelia's wallet for dessert?"

  Timmy cooed and reached for Mitch's nose. Thankfully the wallet was snapped shut, but the incriminating evidence was too close for comfort. The wild clamor of her heartbeat filled her ears. Throbbed in her head. Even the walls appeared to pulse in rhythm. Like Poe's Telltale Heart.

  With a nervous laugh, she reached for Timmy. "Come here, baby." She lifted him into her arms and held him close. Her baby. Her happy, healthy reward for surviving hell. She bit back an anguished sob and closed her eyes.

  "Amelia? You all right?"

  The horror of her dilemma dried her mouth. "F-fine."

  "You look kinda pale."

  "Headache." She rubbed her temple. "I have a slight headache."

  "Want me to get you some aspirin?"

  "Yes, please." She latched onto an excuse to make him go away. "I—I'm going to lie down. Try to nap with Timmy."

  "Good idea. I'll get your—"

  "No!"

  But he moved too fast this time. "You take the kid. I'll take the bags." Ignoring her protest, he hefted the suitcase and duffel bag.

  She bit her lip and tasted blood. They would never believe her. Never in a million years. And Brooks…

  What if his mother wants him back?

  Over my dead body.

  Dear God, what if they tried to declare her an unfit mother? It was true she had suffered a nervous breakdown.

  Agonizing pain sliced through her gut, and she laid a hand over her stomach, afraid at any second she would lose the contents.

  Mitch dropped the luggage and flew to her side. In a flash, he hooked one strong arm around her waist. "Amelia, what's wrong?"

  I'm not Amelia. I'm Laura. You know me as the Blond Widow, but you see, I'm neither a blonde nor a widow, nor the vile, despicable person Luke made me out to be.

  "Heartburn," she whispered. "I'll be okay."

  "I can call Jo—"

  "No. Thank you."

  He nodded but didn't look convinced as he picked up the bags again. She forced herself to take one step after the other, as a prisoner walking to the guillotine, anticipating the imminent fall of the blade. But Mitch deposited the bags on her bed without comment, and she gave silent thanks for the temporary reprieve.

  "Be right back with your aspirin."

  "You know what? I've, um, got some. Right here in my purse—I forgot."

  "Want me to take Timmy for you? I can put him down."

  She shook her head. She couldn't bear the thought of letting Timmy out of her arms for even a second and prayed Mitch wouldn't force the issue.

  He didn't, but his eyes told her he was still trying to figure what was off. "You'd tell me if something was really wrong, wouldn't you?"

  The lie stuck in her throat. "I promise to holler if I need anything."

  "Okay." He glanced at his wristwatch. "Remember we're having supper at Pete and Clara's tonight."

  She nodded and clutched her child and her wallet to her traitorous heart. As soon as he left, her tears overflowed, blurring her vision.

  Not wanting Timmy to pick up on her stress, she kissed his forehead and put him down on the carpet. Unzipping the green duffel bag, she put it in front of him. One by one, he took out each of his favorite toys.

  "I remember…" she whispered, then covered her mouth. "Oh, baby. Mommy's in a world of trouble."

  * * *

  "You've been holding out on me." Brooks looked up from the business plan he'd spent the last hour poring over.

  Amelia stood in the doorway, Timmy on her hip.

  He'd come home to find a note from Mitch telling him she had a headache, and she and Timmy were napping. He'd showered and changed without disturbing them, sat down at the kitchen table. to do some paperwork before supper, and came across her plan.

  When she hovered in the doorway, he raised an eyebrow. "How's the headache?"

  "Better, thanks."

  "So, when were you planning on telling me about this?" He lifted the papers. "And how much are you going to bill me?" He grinned. "This is professional work. I've never seen anything like it. I was just gonna peek. Then skim. Ended up reading the whole thing start to finish."

  "I wanted to help, to do something for you, after all you've done for me. You … really like it?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

  "What's not to like? You put structure around the uncertainties, spelled everything out in black and white, even worst-case scenarios. And you gave me options." He couldn't stop grinning he was so impressed. "Guest ranch. Dude ranch. Refinance. Don't. Here's what it all means. Here's what I need to find out. You were damn thorough."

  Her chin wobbled, and two big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

  In a flash, he was up and out of his chair, but she shook her head and held up a hand. At the wary, haunted look in her eyes, he froze. "Something's wrong."

  She nodded and covered her mouth.

  "Okay. All right." He held up his hands. "Is it another panic attack?"

  She shook her head. "Nothing that simple."

  Brooks wrestled down a wave of his own panic and steadied his nerves. With the distinct feeling he was talking her down from a mental ledge, he gently coaxed, "Whatever it is, we'll get through it." He held out his hand, but that only opened the floodgates.

  She burst into tears, shaking her head and waving to keep him at bay. Timmy started to fuss, and she rubbed a hand over his back. "Have you seen Mitch?"

  "He's down at Pete and Clara's with the others."

  "Could you see if he'll come and get Timmy? I don't want him upset. He picks up on tension."

  "I can take him—"

  "You and I have to talk. Alone."

  In that second, Brooks knew. He read it in her eyes.

  She remembered.

  A sense of impending doom wrapped around him like a cold, damp parka. He fought off a shiver and braced his hands on the table. "I'll call Mitch."

  * * *

  It wasn't her fault, she repeated to herself. It had taken a while for her to believe that after Luke first hit her. Less the second time. But then there was the shame.

  And the fear.

  She'd lived in fear so long, she'd forgotten what it was like to live without it. She had forgotten until she came to the Triple H. And fell in love with her abuser's family.

  Now, as she sat across the kitchen table from Brooks, she knew no matter how angry she made him, he'd never raise his hand to her. And that gave her the courage she needed.

  "What I'm about to tell you … it's going to change the way you look at me, and I … I'm not sure you'll ever see me the same again." Tears pricked her eyelids, but she fought to hold them back. If she started crying again, she'd never stop this time, never get through everything she had to
say. "Just know one thing. There's never been anyone like you. Not ever." Her voice wavered, but she forced the words out. "What I felt, what I feel… It's real. It hasn't changed because I have my memory back."

  Brooks closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked up and met her gaze directly. "What do you remember, honey?"

  Honey. She was still his honey. But she wouldn't be in another minute. Oh God. She was going to cry. "I—I grew up in the southwest. My mother died when I was in high school. I never knew my father. I spent a few years living with a distant aunt who didn't want me but had no choice. I didn't have any other family.

  "When … this man … came along and took an interest in me, I thought he was my knight in shining armor, come to rescue me. But he wasn't…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He was the fire-breathing dragon. And by the time I figured out my mistake, I was a newlywed."

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to tell him Luke had beaten her. Not for shame, not for protecting Luke, because she was over both of those. But because she knew how hard, how personal a blow it would be if he believed her, and as much as she wanted to set the record straight, it broke her heart to heap more pain on a family that had known enough.

  "I know what he did to you," Brooks said thickly, and her head shot up. His eyes clouded. He braced his elbows on the table and rubbed a hand over his face. I… We… At the hospital, Jo took a bone scan."

  She went still, recalling Jo's reaction to her X rays. Afterward, Jo had asked her to sign a release form, so she could talk to Brooks.

  "When I found out…" His mouth set in a tight, grim line. Big hands clenched and unclenched on the table. "I wanted to snap the bastard's neck." The lethal edge in his voice would have terrified her before. It didn't now.

  "Oh, Brooks." Her eyes searched his, remembering the reverent way he had touched the bump of her nose, the way he'd kissed other broken body parts. "All this time…?"

  "I've known. Jo swore me to secrecy. Even from you. I'm sorry."

  "No. Don't be. I understand now—why they wanted me to remember on my own. I needed to come to terms with…" She pressed her lips together. "There's so much more…"

  There was no question now that he would believe her. But in place of any relief came only a soul-deep sorrow. She would have given anything not to hurt him this way.

  Brooks reached over the table, took her hands in his and squeezed. "Talk to me, lollipop. Tell me everything. I won't let anything happen to you. I swear it."

  Emotion clogged her throat, threatening to choke her.

  Once upon a time, she wouldn't have believed a woman like her deserved men like Brooks. Her aunt had reminded her countless times she was lucky to get what she could—beggars couldn't be choosers. So her husband knocked her around every now and then. Be grateful she had a husband, accept that no marriage was perfect, take the bad with the good… This, her aunt's counsel when she'd refused Laura refuge in her home, even temporarily.

  How she had sold herself short. To believe for an instant an abusive marriage was better than no marriage.

  She blinked and took back her hands, folding them in her lap. "He … had control issues. Alcohol and gambling added fuel to the fire. I left him twice before … before the final time. There was no hiding from him. He always tracked me down. His job gave him connections everywhere. He'd come after me. It was the same pattern every time.

  "First, he'd grovel. Apologize. Profess his love. Beg me to forgive him, to go back. Swear on a stack of Bibles things would be different. When sugar didn't work, he used acid. He'd threaten … to hurt himself, to hurt me. He said he couldn't live without me—and he wouldn't let me live without him. I … always caved in. Until the baby."

  "Baby," he breathed. "You were right. It wasn't just a dream."

  She shook her head, lifting a shaky hand to shield her eyes, not wanting him to see the truth just yet, unable to look at him without blurting it out. "Th-things got really ugly when I became pregnant. He … was already caught up in a vicious cycle. Stress drove him to drink more, to gamble more. But the costs of drinking and gambling led to more stress. So did the idea of having another mouth to feed.

  "I took a part-time job waitressing to try to make up for his lost wages. I was already working full-time to pay my way through college, slowly but steadily. He … resented the time and money spent on my 'selfish' pursuits. Hotel management." She gave a weak smile and ran her fingers through her hair, staring at a spot on the wall just over Brooks's shoulder. "That's my field … my degree … how I know what goes into a business plan."

  "A woman of many talents," he said softly. "All of them admirable."

  A sob locked in her throat. How different they were, Luke and Brooks. Like Cain and Abel, Clara had said, and she was right.

  Laura swallowed hard. She couldn't lose it. Not now. Not until she finished. She thanked him and forced herself to continue. "For a graduation present, I received a trip to the emergency room. I almost lost the baby, born a month premature, and I thought no more." She hugged her stomach. "It wasn't just my safety—I had a child to protect. So I pushed for a divorce, which he granted in his usual period of remorse. Of course, it didn't last. It never lasted…

  "But I had landed a dream job in Colorado. Assistant manager at a ski resort. I packed up and got the hell out while I could. My ex obviously didn't take the move well. Soon enough, he was back to his old ways, trying to get me to go back to him. His drinking and gambling spiraled out of control. He owed loan sharks. He was fired from work. He said it was my fault. Said again and again he couldn't live without me, wouldn't let me live without him. But I refused to listen. Refused to go back to him. I couldn't. I was a mother. Then one day, clear out of the blue, he took my eight-month-old from day care and disappeared."

  Brooks fought the anger burning in his veins, beading sweat on his brow, making his heart pound. It was all he could do to sit there and hear how the woman he loved had been terrorized, to keep his mind from veering down dark corridors, fantasizing about loading his rifle, going on a manhunt. Anger was easy, seductive. Keeping a cool head was pure hell. He wished he knew what to say, what to do, how to fix it, make it better. God, he wanted to make it better for her.

  "Amelia…" He reached for her hands, fisted on the table, but she drew back with a jerky shake of her head.

  "Eight months old, Brooks." Her eyes watered, and his throat closed. Tears caught in her lashes, and like them, he, too, felt close to falling over the edge. "A baby boy…"

  A shiver stole up his back, as if someone had walked over his grave. His neck prickled with sudden foreboding.

  She looked at him then. Looked right into his eyes. "His name is Timmy."

  Brooks blinked. She couldn't have said… Couldn't have meant…

  Eight months old. A baby boy.

  Timmy.

  His heart stopped. Blood drained from his head. The red-hot heat of his anger went arctic cold and poured down his spine.

  "No." He shook his head, searched her eyes, waiting, expecting her to go on, explain further. She didn't. And that could only mean… "No," he said again. "Not Luke…" When she closed her eyes, he jackknifed to his feet, the chair falling backward. She didn't flinch but opened her eyes, and in them, he saw a world of pain. "Oh, God." He shoved a rough hand through his hair. He was shaking from head to toe. "You can't be—"

  "Laura," she whispered, and somewhere in the distance, came the low, tortured howl of a wounded animal.

  Vaguely he registered it came from him—the sound of his heart being cut out and his soul dropping into a black hole, devoid of all thought, all emotion.

  He didn't remember stumbling out to the back porch. Didn't know how long he stood, gripping the rail. Didn't feel the slap of frigid air as slowly, fury boiled inside him again. He whirled and kicked the side of the house.

  "Damn you, Luke." He swore savagely. "Damn you!"

  Lies. All lies! Like father, like son.

  He punched the wall an
d split the skin on his knuckle. He didn't care. He turned, slumped against the sandstone, slid to the ground and put his head in his hands.

  His own brother.

  How could he? How could Luke hurt her? How could he kidnap Timmy, swindle his own blood kin, knowingly destroy the people who loved him most? His father had been cruel. But not even he was this cruel.

  Laura.

  Good God, that's why the nanny agency called, why they were still on the waiting list. Something must have fallen through at the last minute. The woman in his house, his life, his heart wasn't Amelia Rigsby, the best nanny in the agency, but Timmy's mother. His worst nightmare. Only she wasn't… She had no easy tag, no peel-and-stick-on label.

  Timmy.

  No wonder he'd taken to her on sight. He'd known what the rest of them had not. And given a choice, he chose her every time.

  Panic reared its head. The day Brooks had dreaded was here, and he didn't know if he had the strength to face it. To do the right thing. Hell, he didn't know which way was up anymore.

  "Brooks, come inside." Amel— Laura crouched in front of him. He hadn't heard her footsteps. "Come on," she said again, taking his hands. "You'll freeze to death out here."

  But he was already frozen. From the inside out. And he wasn't sure he'd ever thaw. Wordlessly he let her lead him into the house, stood at the kitchen sink beside her as she washed his hands, smeared ointment on his knuckles and wrapped them with gauze, then sank into the chair she held out for him. There was a mug of hot chocolate on the table. Gently she took his hands and placed one on either side.

  "I can't tell you how sorry I am." She took the chair next to him, sitting sideways, her knees touching his thigh. "I didn't want to hurt you. I don't." She pressed her lips together.

  How many times had he kissed those lips? Not enough. Not even close.

  "He was your brother—"

  "He was your husband. He had no right, no right to do what he did to you. No one has that right." He closed his eyes. "If I could take it back…"

  "But you did," she whispered. "Our time together…" His heart constricted. Any second, he was going to crack, cry like a baby.

  "I blamed myself for Luke's death."