THE NANNY'S SECRET Page 2

  "No!" She bolted upright, ignoring the sudden wave of light-headedness. "No hospitals."

  "Easy there." Dr. Jo touched a hand to her shoulder. "It won't take very long."

  Adamant, she shook her head. "No hospitals. Please."

  "Okay, all right." The doctor eased her back onto the cushions. "It'll probably be moot by morning, but if not… I can't force you, but I am known to be highly persuasive—fair warning. Until then, I want you resting comfortably."

  She closed her eyes in weary gratitude. "Thank you."

  "Brooks, if you wouldn't mind monitoring her condition through the night…"

  Across the room, a throat cleared. A deep voice said, "No problem. Just tell me what to do. Mitch and Dean are working night shift, so it's just Timmy and me."

  "Oh. On second thought, maybe I ought to keep Timmy."

  "Hey. A little faith. I can manage on my own for one night."

  She pried open one heavy eyelid, just enough to discern Brooks's tall stature and Dr. Jo's smaller one. The doctor's tone changed when she talked to Brooks. More casual.

  "I don't know, Brooks. The three of you weren't doing so hot last I checked. That was, oh, last night."

  "Well, you went and changed Timmy's formula without telling us what other changes to expect. We were … overwhelmed."

  "So you decided to use a shower hose."

  "Worked fine, didn't it?"

  "Is my number programmed in the speed dial?"

  "Every phone in the house."

  "And you promise to call if you need anything?"

  "Cross my heart."

  "All right then." Dr. Jo reverted to physician mode and rattled off a bunch of instructions. "If there's any change, I want you to call me ASAP."

  "Got it," Brooks agreed.

  "Amelia, I want complete bed rest from you, okay?"

  "Okay." She was too tired to protest, to focus on any of the fuzzy questions running through her brain.

  Brooks started a fire in the native rock hearth, and soon the kindling snapped, crackled and hissed. She took a breath and snuggled against the afghan Dr. Jo draped over her, barely conscious of the hushed whispers moving away…

  "She's skittish."

  "Hello? She's in a brand-new place, about to start a brand-new job, and she brains herself, knocking out some not-so-trivial facts. You'd be skittish, too, tough guy."

  "Maybe. It's just… Never mind. Should I move her into the guest room?"

  "In a bit. Let her rest where she is a while…"

  Yes, rest. That was what she needed. A nice, long nap. Maybe sleep would clear the cobwebs from her mind. Maybe she was just dreaming anyway. Maybe…

  * * *

  Timmy's nanny cried in her sleep. Half an hour after moving her to the guest room, Brooks watched tears trickle from her closed eyes. She'd curled into a ball, clutching her stomach with both arms. Her brows knitted together.

  "Baby," she'd whispered a few times, and he wondered if she meant Timmy, if her subconscious was trying to "work."

  "Don't worry," he found himself whispering in return. "The baby's fine." He didn't know if she could hear him.

  He thought about waking her, then decided against it. Jo had said she needed to rest between timed rousings, and since she didn't even stir when he'd moved her, he figured she needed it pretty badly. Without a sound, he closed the door behind him. A few steps away, he paused, still amazed at the transformation of the room they now called the nursery.

  Toys, books, baby furniture, farm animal wallpaper and border. Still, nothing stamped a brand on the room like the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy who sat in his crib, rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists as he woke up from his nap.

  Timmy.

  In four short weeks, he'd managed to turn their lives upside-down. Not that he was a burden—he wasn't. He was just a surprise, like an early spring thaw, rendering them excited, though ill prepared.

  "Hey, chief. Didn't hear you wake up." Usually he woke up crying, but today, he just sat there looking groggy like he wasn't sure if he was ready to get up yet. "Huh-uh. Can't have you going back to sleep, or we'll be up all night. Look here. What's this?" Brooks took the awaiting bottle from the dresser. "Apple juice. Your favorite. Mmm-umm."

  As Timmy reached for the bottle, Brooks scooped him up and changed his diaper, careful to put it on the right way—diapers were trickier than they looked. He put Timmy down on the carpet and went to wash up in the bathroom. As he dried his hands, a thump came from the guest room. Reeling around, he retraced his steps to find Amelia sprawled on the floor.

  She looked up when he entered, that same Goldilocks startled expression on her face, only she didn't make him feel like one of the Three Bears, but the Big Bad Wolf.

  As he stepped forward, she scrambled back, coming up against the bed. He was trying not to take it personally, told himself she was still out-of-it. But he didn't like it. Not one bit. Something about her expression reminded him of the way his mother had looked at his father, the way Brooks had sworn no woman or child would ever look at him.

  With fear.

  It made him want to compensate, earn her trust. Prove he was different. He scooted back, wanting to give her as much room as she needed. "You okay?" He crooked his head. "I heard you fall."

  She glanced down, as if to make sure for herself, then up at him, as if she didn't trust him enough to take her eye off him for more than a second. "Where am I?"

  "The guest room."

  "Whose?"

  He thought it obvious but answered anyway. "Mine."

  Her gaze swept around the only room in the house with a feminine touch. Curtains, bedding and rugs in pastel colors. Dry flowers in vases. "Yours?"

  "Well, formerly Jo's," he explained. "She kinda went overboard with frou-frous, being the only girl in the family. We thought you'd be more comfortable—"

  "And these…?" She smoothed a hand over her new bedclothes. A pair of sweatpants Jo had left over here and a thermal shirt Brooks had accidentally shrunk. Jo, rooting through his drawers, had pulled it out and guessed it would fit Amelia. She was right. It did. And the sight brought an unexpected tightness to his throat.

  Jo had said she looked underweight—not eating disorder range, but enough she'd suspected recent stress or illness and recommended extra helpings of Clara's home-cooking. At once, Brooks understood what his sister had meant.

  The soft, stretchy weave hugged two arms he could have circled with a thumb and forefinger, a waist he could tuck between his hands, breasts that would barely fill his palms.

  If she'd been a stray, he would have taken her home in an instant, hand-fed her until she fattened up and kept her for his own. But women weren't like critters, and he never entertained the thought of keeping one.

  He couldn't afford to, given his family history.

  "The shirt's mine," he answered, wondering if he didn't sound like a three-year-old.

  Mine, mine, mine.

  Only the woman herself was not his, nor would she ever be. She was here for a job, hired because he had no choice. For Timmy's sake, he hoped she'd stick it out a few years.

  "That is, it was," he amended on the shirt, "before I shrunk it. The sweatpants are Jo's. She changed you," he clarified. "Thought you'd be warmer. Couldn't find your luggage anywhere. Just some wet clothes in a garbage bag."

  Amelia pursed her lips as if trying to remember, then shook her head.

  "Here, why don't you let me help you back into bed."

  "No. Thank you." She held up a hand. "I can manage." She grasped the edge of the bed and rose on shaky legs, her gaze shifting between him and the task at hand.

  He picked the edge of the down comforter off the floor, keeping his distance as she eased under the covers. The last thing he needed was for this woman to think he was putting the moves on her. Living out in the back of beyond, they had enough trouble appealing to city folk, never mind single women willing to care for another's child. He wasn't going to screw this up for Timmy.
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br />   "We figured you took a bus from the airport and caught a ride from town." He adjusted the bedding. "I would have picked you up if I'd known you were coming. Were your bags delayed?"

  She stared at him, her expression blank.

  "Never mind. I'll run down to Casper when they show—"

  "Casper?"

  "Yeah, Sheridan's closer, but if you don't like puddle-jumpers, you're better off flying into Billings or—"

  "Casper." She threw off the covers and started to get up. "I have to go. I have to find…"

  "What? Your bags? I'm sure the airlines—"

  "No, not what. Whom. I have to find…" She frowned and rubbed her temple. "I'm not sure."

  "Tell you what." Brooks placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. When she jerked back against the pillows, he stuck the guilty hand behind his back, feeling like a leper. "When you can get out of bed without falling, you can go wherever you like. Until then, I gotta answer to Dr. Jo, and frankly, I don't relish the thought of my head on a platter."

  At a high-pitched squeal of delight, Brooks turned to see Timmy set his diapered butt down in the entryway. He clapped his hands and gave them both a gummy grin, proudly displaying his two new bottom teeth.

  "Yep. This is why we don't leave the safety gate open." Brooks chuckled and shook his head. Once king of his palace, he'd abdicated the throne to an infant. Then his gaze went to Amelia, and the smile slid from his face.

  She'd gone stark white, gripping the sheets up to her neck with two knuckle-drawn fists. Her gaze darted between Timmy and him.

  "Amelia? What's wrong?"

  She shook her head. "I—I don't know. Seeing … your baby gave me a jolt. I can't explain it."

  "It's okay," he said, though he suspected it was more than a jolt. In her interview, Amelia had told them she couldn't have children—the reason she'd first decided to become a nanny. "Jo said you might be a little confused." But it wasn't just confusion, and he knew it.

  He'd recognized the unmasked yearning in her eyes when she looked at Timmy. Brooks had been there himself, around his friends' wives and kids. Wanting something and seeing it, knowing all the while, it could never be yours.

  But where he'd worked long and hard to stomp out his needs, Amelia flung herself smack dab in temptation's path.

  In a way, he admired her, but he also questioned how safe it was, emotionally, for her to become involved with other people's kids. But then, the nanny agency had sent glowing letters of recommendation. Brooks had phoned each family personally. No one had any reservations whatsoever.

  "Well, we better leave you to rest." He scooped his nephew into his arms. "Timmy needs his nanny back on her feet as soon as possible, don't you, little guy?"

  "Nanny?"

  Timmy craned his head around as if trying to locate who had spoken. Seeing Amelia, he beamed and extended his arms.

  "Whoa. Where do you think you're going?"

  In response, Timmy lunged. Brooks latched onto him, preventing a nosedive onto the bed.

  Amelia smiled. "He's a beautiful baby."

  "A beautiful baby who appears to prefer women."

  "How old is he?"

  "Nine months." Hard to believe they'd had him a month. Sometimes, it seemed like yesterday. More often, like he'd been there all along. "Obviously getting an early start on skirt-chasing. Timmy, come on." He jostled the now-fussing baby. "Stop flirting. Amelia's not feeling well. We need to get you out of here, so she can rest. Say bye-bye."

  "Bye-bye." Amelia waved.

  Timmy started whimpering. As soon as the door closed behind them, he let loose a full-fledged wail, turning back with one arm outstretched.

  "There, there, chief." Instinctively Brooks rubbed Timmy's back. "Amelia's going to play with you later on. She needs to get some shut-eye first, okay?"

  But it took more than a few minutes to soothe Timmy. His plaintive sobs reminded Brooks of calves bawling for their mothers during fall weaning. Poor little buckaroo.

  There was nothing Brooks wouldn't do to make things right for him.

  * * *

  She couldn't lie still. There was a strange, buzzing anxiety inside her. A void she needed desperately to fill. What was it?

  She tossed and turned in her bed, first hot, then cold. She threw the covers off, then pulled them back. Was it the wind that moaned, or was it her? Through the fog of bizarre dreams, Brooks Hart's deep, steady voice lured her out of the darkness, coaxing her to respond at scheduled intervals.

  Brooks Hart.

  She didn't know him. His name meant nothing. Neither did hers. Surely it would come back to her in the morning. She wouldn't panic until then. She wouldn't panic…

  She awakened to the sound of a baby's cries. Her eyes flew open, and she stumbled to her feet. "Coming!"

  "Amelia?"

  "I'm coming!" She tried to run for the door, but her body and her mind couldn't connect. Limbs tangled, and she collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  A small lamp clicked on, blinding her with its sudden brightness. She blinked as two strong hands pulled her up. And then she was back in the bed, Brooks tugging the sheet to cover her.

  "No, don't." She flailed her arms, gesturing toward the door. "I have to go. The baby."

  "Shh, it's all right." His now-familiar voice came low and comforting, but she wasn't the one who needed the comfort. Didn't he understand?

  "Please." Her voice cracked. "I have to go to him."

  "I'll go. You stay."

  "But … but he needs me."

  "I'll go. You stay," he repeated in a tone that left no room for argument. He took her shoulders and nudged her back against the pillows. "I'll take care of him. Don't worry. Get your rest. You'll need it while he's teething."

  "He … he's teething?"

  "That's why he's crying. He needs a nightly fix of numbing gel for his gums."

  She bit her lip and watched him leave. Outside, the wind roared, rattling the windowpanes. She shivered and rubbed her arms, racking her brain for something, anything that would fit together her fragmented thoughts and right her world again. But there was nothing. Nothing except these powerful feelings with no memories on which to hang.

  She wanted to see the baby, needed to see him with her own eyes. Determined, she got to her feet, steadied herself and headed for the door. This time her arms and legs obeyed her brain's commands, and she made it without mishap.

  As she turned the knob, she braced for opposition, but no one was there. Relieved, she slipped out undetected.

  A faint patch of light spilled into the hallway from an open door. There were four doors in total—including her bedroom and a bathroom—off this first floor hallway. She took a cautious step, followed by another, until she could peek inside.

  It was a nursery. A Cat In the Hat night-light cast a warm, cozy glow over the room, illuminating the form of a large man in a comparatively small rocking chair. With his foot, he pushed the rocker back and forth, and in his arms, he cradled a little bundle as if it were his most precious possession.

  At his obvious devotion, a tightly wound coil loosened inside her, releasing an unbearable pressure. Every muscle in her body eased, and she nearly sagged against the door.

  Brooks's lips were moving, and she wanted to tell him not to talk when the baby woke up in the middle of the night, that he wouldn't fall back asleep. Instead she held her tongue and strained to distinguish the quietly spoken words.

  "Uncle Dean asked about the meaning of life today. Can you believe that? Seems like just yesterday he was asking me to tie his shoes. Now he's talking about the meaning of life." He shook his head. "I didn't know what to say. When a man sees life and death every season, you'd think he'd have an answer. Truth is, I haven't given it much thought. Why are we here, each of us?" He frowned. "Heck if I know."

  Timmy gurgled and reached for Brooks's face, clapping his tiny hands on his uncle's cheeks. Brooks chuckled, a rich sound that wrapped around her heart. "All right, we're way too awake, chief,
but I can fix that." He reached for the bookshelf beside them and took a magazine from the stack. Farmer's Almanac. He gentled his voice and started to read.

  Watching them, calmness settled over her.

  It was all right. Everything would be all right now.

  Silently she crept back to the guest room and crawled into bed, too tired to even pull up the covers. Every bone in her body ached, not just her head.

  Sometime later, when she started to drift off, she felt the soft covers being drawn over her legs, tucked around her. She waited a minute, then opened her eyes to see Brooks by the window, holding the curtain aside so he could look out.

  Lamplight filtered through the glass pane, exposing his unguarded expression, one of pain and worry.

  She knew that look. She'd seen it countless times. Her own face in the mirror.

  "They say you can't run forever, but they're wrong, aren't they?" she whispered.

  He turned to her. Their gazes met and held like two laser beams. But sleep beckoned, and she could fight it no longer. So she closed her eyes and let the darkness carry her to a place where pain and worry weren't her constant companions, driving her to keep running time and again.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  The woman in the mirror looked no more familiar to her the next day. But when Dr. Jo again pressed for X rays, she begged her to hold off a little longer. For the life of her, she couldn't shake a deep-seated fear of having to go to the hospital. She didn't want to go; moreover, she felt stupid.

  Certainly no one gave her any reason to feel this way. In fact, everyone had gone overboard to see to her comfort. Brooks had sacrificed his own sleep to keep a night-long vigil over her, then topped it off by bringing her breakfast in bed. Dr. Jo not only made house calls but lent her clothes.

  Such kindness for a stranger was hard to believe. She felt as though the checkout clerk at the grocery store had accidentally forgotten to charge her for something, only she didn't know what, so she couldn't attempt to fix the mistake.