The Boss and the Baby

by Leigh Michaels

  A soft voice pulled her attention to the main floor, to a small woman dressed in black who had quietly approached. “Miss Matthews? I’m Hilda Ekberg, the housekeeper. Mr. Warren asked me to show you upstairs and to get you anything you might want.”

  Molly smiled. “He might regret giving me quite so much latitude.”

  The housekeeper’s gaze was unexpectedly shrewd. Molly felt almost as if she was being turned inside out for inspection. “Oh, I’m sure he knows exactly what he’s doing.” She led the way up the long stairs and turned toward the back of the house.

  “He mentioned the bedroom next to his,” Molly said. “I’ll do my best to be quiet, of course, but if there’s any chance that I’d disturb him—”

  “With the way this house is built, if you set off a cherry bomb in that room he probably wouldn’t hear it next door. It’s supposed to be a sitting room for the master suite, actually.” Mrs. Ekberg pushed open an arched door and stood back for Molly to enter. “It was turned into a bedroom for Mr. Warren at the time of Mrs. Hudson’s last illness, and he’s never bothered to put it back as it was.”

  Molly wondered why the words sounded almost like a warning—until she stepped across the threshold.

  Every room had an identity entirely its own, she’d always thought, a character that was built into the structure. It could be influenced by the furnishings and the decorating scheme, but not completely changed. Some rooms were feminine. Some were brisk, some relaxing, some peaceful.

  This one, she thought, had a multiple-personality disorder.

  The carpet was moss green, thick and plush. The hangings on the tall French doors that looked onto a tiny balcony and the gardens below were pale pink satin, elegantly draped. The small fireplace was topped with a white marble mantel. The chandelier was a dainty creation of Austrian crystal.

  But the furniture that should have been scattered around the room—except for one gilt chair with a velvet-covered seat—was nowhere to be seen. Instead, at one side of the room was a hospital bed with a metal frame and not even a basic headboard—one of Meditronics’ older models, Molly knew from her study of the company’s catalogs. The blankets were tucked in neatly and the pillows plumped, but there was no bedspread and not even a night table.

  Nearby was a tubular metal laundry rack, which had obviously served as a makeshift closet. There were still a couple of shirts hanging on it. A very masculine—and very worn—brown leather recliner stood in a corner next to a reading lamp.

  In front of the windows, nearly blocking the view, was a huge old desk, its battered top almost as big as the bed. The gilt chair standing next to it looked as delicate in comparison as if it was built of toothpicks. Close by were the boxes Molly had brought that morning. Watkins is even more efficient than I thought, she concluded. He must have spirited them up the back stairs while she’d been talking to Luke.

  “Every time I ask Mr. Warren if he doesn’t want the room straightened out and that awful bed sent back to the attic,” the housekeeper said, “he tells me just to leave it alone.”

  “Next time,” Molly recommended, “don’t ask.”

  Mrs. Ekberg smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m sure it’s not the kind of surroundings you’re used to—”

  “You can say that again. I’ve never had an office with a chandelier.” Molly walked to the desk.

  “I thought perhaps new draperies—”

  “Heavens, no.” She could almost hear what Luke would say if she started to redecorate.

  Mrs. Ekberg looked disappointed. “But these are terribly faded.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s my privilege to replace them.”

  “Very well, miss. If there’s anything you want, just let Watkins or me know.”

  Molly lifted the lid off a box. “Some coffee in an hour?”

  “And leave you alone till then?” There was an apologetic twinkle in the housekeeper’s eyes. “Of course, miss. It’s been a very long time, you see, since there’s been a lady in the house. I’ve almost forgotten how to behave.”

  She left Molly shaking her head in confusion. There hadn’t been anything improper or impolite about Mrs. Ekberg’s actions, but she’d sounded almost as if Molly was Oakwood’s new mistress, not a temporary worker. New draperies...anything you want...

  She shook her head at her own nonsense and went to work. Mrs. Ekberg had been friendly—that was all The rest was entirely her imagination.

  Warren appeared nearly an hour later, almost simultaneously with the coffee, wrapped in a dark red watered-silk dressing gown. The sheer splendor made Molly wonder how the same man who chose such an exotic fabric could ignore the confused state of the sitting room for years on end. But perhaps he hadn’t bought the robe himself, she concluded. It looked like the sort of thing that might have been a Christmas gift.

  He looked shamefaced. “I dropped off to sleep again after my breakfast,” he admitted.

  “Nothing wrong with that—but I’m awfully glad you’re here now. Look at the letter I’ve just found The handwriting alone is a treasure, but I don’t have a hint what it means.” She passed the pages across the desk and delighted in the sparkle that sprang to life in Warren’s eyes. He looked better today, she thought. And though he’d leaned on the furniture as he crossed the room, he wasn’t using the walker.

  After lunch, Warren retired for another nap, and it was late afternoon before he reappeared. Molly had started a small pile of documents for his inspection, but instead of picking up the first one he looked at her and frowned. “Is it my imagination, or is it awfully quiet around here? And the dog’s lying under my chair. Why isn’t she out playing with your little girl?”

  “Bailey? She’s at the plant—in the day-care center.”

  “You took her all the way down there?”

  “I had to pick up these boxes anyway.”

  “But now you’ll have to drive across town to pick her up. That’s ridiculous.”

  “Well, I can’t bring her here.”

  Warren scowled. “Why not?”

  “I hardly think she belongs at—”

  “I insist.”

  Molly leaned back in her chair—neither the gilt and velvet one nor the recliner, but a small armchair she’d discovered downstairs. “Autocratic old soul, aren’t you?” she said politely.

  Warren smiled. “I figure there have to be some privileges to age and illness.”

  “Among them having your every request treated as a command?”

  “That would be a good start, don’t you think?”

  “Why am I so certain that wasn’t really a question?”

  “Then you’ll bring her?”

  “I’ll think about it.” Molly glanced at her wristwatch. The timing, she thought, couldn’t have been worse. She set a stapler atop the documents she was working on to serve as a paperweight and stood up. “I have to go and get her now, I’m afraid. The center closes in half an hour.”

  His brows drew together. “That proves my point. I’m feeling refreshed and ready to work, and you’re leaving.”

  Molly waggled a finger at him. “You don’t fight fair.”

  “Of course I don’t. Now are you going to bring her? There are always at least three adults in this house, any one of whom is capable of keeping an eye on a small child.”

  “And I’m sure they’ll be delighted to have baby-sitting added to their duties.” She walked around the desk to stand beside Warren. “But it’s sweet of you, it really is.” Impulsively, she leaned over him and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

  A voice from the doorway said, “There’s your mommy.”

  Molly jerked upright so fast she almost lost her balance. She had no doubt, from the coolness in Luke’s eyes, that he’d seen just enough to make him think the very worst. A minute earlier and he’d have seen the whole episode and known it for the innocent gesture it was. A minute later and he’d have seen nothing at all.

  Her whole history with Luke, she thought irritably, seemed
to come down to a matter of minutes.

  Bailey came running, waving a sheet of blue construction paper. “Look what I made in day care, Mommy!”

  She took the collage Bailey held out, but she looked from the child—who’d flung herself down beside the dog—to Luke instead. “Thank you for picking her up. But—”

  He shrugged. “I was driving past the center on my way home, and it seemed a waste for you to have to go all the way back.”

  “It was very thoughtful of you,” Molly said. “But the people at the center aren’t supposed to let Bailey go with just anyone.”

  Warren made a sound that resembled a strangled sneeze.

  Molly caught herself. “I mean—of course you’re not just anyone, you’re the boss. But still...”

  “They’re on the lookout for her father, I suppose you mean? Well, since it’s pretty apparent I’m not him, the director didn’t have any problem with me checking her out. And Bailey didn’t, either. But if you do—”

  Molly swallowed hard. “Of course not.”

  “Well, now,” Warren said smoothly. “Since you don’t have to make the trek down to the plant after all, Molly, let’s settle down and get some work done. Lucas won’t mind watching out for little Miss B, I’m sure. After all, he volunteered. Didn’t you, my boy?”

  Molly’s jaw dropped. Luke was obviously speechless.

  Warren sat back in his chair and smiled.

  Molly tucked in fresh sheets on the bed in the Matthews’s guest room while her printer spit out the last few pages of the chapter she’d finished that morning. She glanced over them and dropped the bundle into her briefcase. This afternoon—in just a few minutes—she’d take it to Oakwood for Warren to critique.

  She leaned out the kitchen door and called to Bailey, who was lining up her agate collection on the deck railing, just as Megan’s dark red BMW pulled into the driveway.

  Molly’s heart gave a jolt. She shooed Bailey off to wash her hands and went to meet her sister.

  She hadn’t seen Megan since the night of the dinner party, and their few phone conversations had been brief and light, mostly over details of the anniversary celebration, less than two weeks away. She’d let Megan set the pace in those conversations, and the subject of her pregnancy hadn’t come up again. Molly had concluded, finally, that her sister had come to regret her impulsive outburst and was pretending the whole conversation had never happened.

  Of course, it was Megan’s choice If she wanted to play her hand alone, that was her right. You didn’t like it when people tried to interfere and tell you what to do, Molly reminded herself. And she definitely had no right to instruct her sister.

  “Come on in,” she said as Megan stepped onto the deck. “Mother’s gone out to her card club, and I’ll have to leave in a few minutes, but I think there’s still some coffee.”

  “Oh—I forgot this was her club day.” Megan tugged off her sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t expect you to be here. I thought you were working down at Oakwood.”

  “That’s where I’m headed. We’ve gotten into a sort of routine. Bailey’s enrolled in the preschool down the street, so I work here till she gets home, and—”

  But she wasn’t thinking about the pattern of her days but about how pale Megan looked. In the week since the dinner party, she’d turned into a ghostly wraith with faint blue shadows under her eyes, despite the expert hand that had applied her makeup. To say nothing of the fact that she didn’t seem to remember what day it was.

  Megan sat at the kitchen table. “Do you like it? Oakwood, I mean?”

  It was a throwaway question, Molly thought, asked more to keep the conversation going than because Megan really wanted to know. “Who wouldn’t like it? I work here every morning, so Warren can be as lazy as he likes. Then we go to Oakwood in the afternoons.” She glanced at the clock. “Bailey, it’s time to get your things together. Are you going to take your dolls today, or the building blocks?”

  “You take her with you?” Megan sounded incredulous.

  Molly didn’t blame her. “Warren insists. Just as he insists I come in time for lunch every day so we can talk over the progress we’re making. I think he’s just lonely, but—”

  “So what do you do with the kid? I can’t quite see her in that elegant dining room.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Molly said dryly. “But usually she entertains the cook by playing with her food in the kitchen. Then she spends the rest of the time coloring, taking a nap, romping with the dog, fixing treats and exploring Oakwood—which the staff encourages her to regard as her private playhouse.”

  Megan shivered.

  “I know—all those lovely breakable things. I walked into the drawing room one day last week and found her having a pretend tea party with Mrs. Ekberg—using the Haviland china. And when I nearly had a heart attack and asked Mrs. Ekberg not to let Bailey have quite so much freedom, she looked at me blankly and said that the child was being very careful and she wasn’t hurting anything. And she is careful and she hasn’t hurt anything, so...”

  Megan didn’t seem to be listening.

  “But at least there haven’t been any more tea parties.” Molly asked bluntly, “Meg, are you all right? I mean—have you decided what to do about the baby?”

  “What is there to do? Pregnancy’s pretty much a one-way ticket, wouldn’t you say?”

  Relief percolated through Molly’s veins. “Absolutely, it is. But you don’t have to take the flight alone.”

  “I know. I just... I’m not ready to talk about it.”

  Molly was sure that wasn’t what Megan had started to say.

  “Actually, I’m glad to catch you,” Megan went on brightly. “Would you ask Mrs. Ekberg if we can borrow a dozen small tables and about fifty chairs from Oakwood for Mother and Dad’s anniversary party? I can rent them, of course, but the ones at Oakwood are so much nicer.”

  “I’ll ask today and let you know. Anything else I can do? I feel like a dead weight where this party’s concerned, you know—especially now that you’re not feeling well.”

  Megan shook her head. “I think it’s all under control, and you have plenty to do, anyway. But I wondered... Well, there’s a Waterford crystal bowl I know Mother would like as an anniversary gift. Should we go together to buy it?”

  “Depends on how pricey it is.”

  “It’s pretty high,” Megan said frankly. “But I didn’t mean we should go halves. I know you’re on a tight budget these days.”

  And you also know what it’ll look like if Megan gives crystal and Molly can only afford plain glass....

  She didn’t think Megan was acting out of snobbishness, however, but genuine concern for her—so Molly swallowed her pride. “Sure. It’d be great. But I’ll pay my half—I just probably can’t do it all at once.”

  Megan waved a hand. “Take your time. I’ll go pick it up this afternoon.”

  Bailey came down the hall pushing a doll stroller piled with building blocks.

  “That’s quite the combination,” Megan murmured.

  Molly watched her sister’s face and tried to decipher the emotions that played across it. Fear, she thought, was the principal one. “Being responsible for a child isn’t as overwhelming as it looks,” she said. “You and Rand will soon get used to it. When they put your own baby in your arms...” Megan didn’t answer, but Molly saw the gleam of tears in her eyes, and she added quickly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Megan touched a tissue to her eyelids. “I know.” She jumped up. “I’ve got to meet someone, and you need to get to work. Drop by tonight and take a look at the bowl if you like, before I wrap it. Rand’s got some business thing, so it’ll just be me.” Her gaze came to rest on Bailey, waiting impatiently by the door. “Bailey can come, too, if she likes.”

  The invitation was surprisingly awkward from a woman of Megan’s sophistication, but Molly was touched, for it was the first time Megan had indicated any real interest in th
e child.

  She’ll be all right, Molly told herself. Megan will come around. And she’ll be a good mom.

  By the time she filled her briefcase and touched up her lipstick, she was a good ten minutes behind Megan. But traffic was light for a change, and the day was perfect—so beautiful that if her car had been a convertible she’d have been tempted to put the top down. The move would be sheer foolishness, of course, since brilliant sunshine hardly corresponded with warmth. But she saw, as she stopped for a red light, that the drive-in ice cream shop on the corner was not only open, but there were a few cars around the building.

  Bailey saw it, too. “I want ice cream,” she announced.

  “Another time. We’re going to have lunch right now.”

  “But Luke’s there.”

  Highly doubtful, Molly thought, until she noticed the black Jaguar tucked into a corner of the parking lot. There couldn’t be many of those around Duluth. This one was half hidden by the building. Bailey obviously doesn’t need her vision tested, she thought, if she spotted that.

  Then she saw Luke. He was standing with his back to the street, but those broad shoulders and trim hips were unmistakable. As was the car he was standing next to—a dark red BMW with a woman behind the wheel.

  I’ve got to meet someone, Megan had said. But... Luke?

  And why shouldn’t it be Luke? Molly asked herself. They’d been friends for years and years.

  So why are they meeting at an obscure ice cream shop? asked a suspicious little voice in the back of her brain. It’s hardly Megan’s sort of place.

  The light changed, and Molly drove almost automatically toward Oakwood. Was Megan turning to Luke for comfort and support? Why him and not her husband? Or was Luke the reason Megan was so plainly unhappy? Was it possible he was the father of the child Megan was carrying?

  Molly felt sick.

  Despite all the delays, she was still a few minutes early when she parked her car beside Oakwood and lifted out both Bailey and the stroller full of toys. “Let’s walk m the garden for a minute before we go in,” she said.