Shotgun Nanny (6 page)

He’d be more than a match for any scary burglar or phone-line cutter. Then, an instant later, relief turned to embarrassment as she realised there was no break-in. That flashing light must have signaled Mark’s return to the house.

“Looking for something?” Amusement tinged the deep voice coming from the kitchen doorway.

“Just my sanity,” she mumbled as she stuffed things into her bag. Her passport, traveling toothbrush—she’d been wondering where that was—wallet, half-used pack of tissues, an open roll of mints with a grubby gray mint peeking out the top.

She felt him behind her. He dropped to his knees and started handing her things. The sound of a chair dragging on the ceramic tile floor caused her to turn her head until she caught the enticing rear view of Mark Saunders and nothing but.

His head and arms were under the table as he gathered more of her stuff. Toned and muscled, his back end was rivetting.

He emerged backward from under the table, a bottle in his hand. He glanced at it and raised his eyebrows. “Water purification tablets?”

She shrugged. “I travel a lot. I like to be prepared for anything.”

“So I see,” he drawled, discreetly handing her the object in his other hand. An open box of condoms.

She would not blush. She was a modern woman of the twenty-first century. A third-millennium crusader for women’s rights. A woman in charge of her own life and her own body.

She blushed hotter than a vestal virgin at an orgy.

Rising in one clean motion, Mark turned to his niece. Even with his back to her, Annie was certain he was grinning. “How was your afternoon, Em?”

“Good. We were thinking up new tricks for Annie. Do you think frogs hatching out of chicken eggs would be funny?”

“Sidesplitting.”

Officially, she hadn’t even started the nanny job yet, and already she wanted to quit. Having fastened the bag, she rose and fetched his plate with the slaw already on it and pulled the omelette out of the warm oven. “Here’s your dinner.”

He glanced at the plate. “You shouldn’t have bothered.” And the way he said it she knew he meant it. Maybe he suspected he was about to lose his desperation nanny, for he suddenly smiled that killer smile that reached right into her heart and gave it a hug.

“But thanks. It looks great. I’ll just go wash up.”

By the time he got back, Annie’s color was back to normal, her heart rate was back in the training range, out of the imminent cardiac arrest zone, and she was able to face him across a small table with a semblance of calm.

“Did you get things sorted out at the office?” she asked, sounding just like one of those sitcom moms from the fifties. She noted the horrified fascination on Mark’s face as he examined the green stuff.

Manfully he shoved a forkful of mush into his mouth, and she had to hold back a smirk when his face flooded with relief. “This is delicious,” he said in obvious surprise.

“It’s an old family recipe.”

“Today went fine. My company’s handling the security for the Pacific Rim trading conference in two weeks. Things are pretty hectic.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.”

“I will be, too, if we get by without a disaster.”

There was a small pause. “Does that red light go on every time somebody comes in the house?” she asked, not wanting to be caught making a fool of herself a second time.

“Yes. I had it wired so you always know when somebody comes in or goes out.”

“And if it’s a burglar?”

“Major alarms go off. Here, at the police station and at Saunders Security.”

“Just so I know and don’t go making a fool of myself again.”

“Sorry.” He compressed twitching lips. “I guess I didn’t get a chance to finish showing you around the security system.”

“Uncle Mark, where’s Annie going to sleep?” Emily asked.

Those innocent words sent an invisible sizzle crackling through the atmosphere between the two adults. Mark glanced Annie’s way, his eyes smoky with desire. The effect was amazing. Her heart rate kicked up again, and her breathing rate increased.

She was getting a whole cardiovascular workout just having dinner with these people.

She willed herself to stop the blush from rising to her cheeks. Oh, God. Maybe he thought she’d brought condoms for his benefit, when the truth was she hadn’t even remembered they were in her bag until they’d turned up under the kitchen table with a few other escapees from the backpack.

“Well, uh…” Mark began.

Cutting him off at the pass, just in case he had any suggestions she’d rather Emily didn’t hear, Annie said, “I would have put my stuff in one of the spare bedrooms, but I wasn’t sure which one.”

There were two bedrooms apart from Emily’s, which she’d seen, and Mark’s, at the other end of the hall, which she hadn’t. Emily had pointed out the closed door, and even though she was curious, she hadn’t wanted to pry.

There was a second bedroom next to Emily’s that was a sort of playroom for the child, with toys, a desk, bookshelves stacked with an entire library of books—mostly educational and the classics. She’d bet her purple and yellow wig he’d bought the works from a specialty kids’ store.

The other bedroom was set up with bedroom furniture and boasted its own bathroom. Obviously it was the guest room, but it was way too close to Mark’s room for her peace of mind.

“Why don’t you take the guest room?” he asked.

Because we’d be sharing a wall, and I’d never get any sleep.
“I thought you might be expecting guests.” She shrugged. “I could put a cot or something in the room beside Emily’s, then I’d be there if she needed anything in the night.” As opposed to being available to him if he needed anything in the night.

“I don’t think we have a cot.” Amusement dawned in his eyes as if he’d figured out what was causing her hesitation. The glance he flicked her way was pure challenge. As if he were daring her to take the room next to his.

Annie had never turned down a challenge in her life. She forced a carefree smile.

“Oh, well. I’ll take the guest room then.”

When they’d finished their dessert of sliced apples and oranges, Emily asked if she could be excused to do her homework.

“Sure thing,” her uncle replied, giving her ponytail a playful tug as she walked past on her way out of the kitchen.

Annie rose to collect the dishes and almost collided with Mark, who was bent on the same task. “I’ll do the dishes,” she protested.

He shook his head. “Ground rules. Once dinner’s over, you’re off duty. I do dinner dishes.”

She watched him collect Emily’s pale green dishes with exquisite care. “Am I allowed to help?” she asked softly.

“Optional.

Your

call.”

She helped him stack the dishes on the polished granite counter then dried while he washed. He’d explained he didn’t put the green dishes in the dishwasher, to help preserve them. Always the protector, she thought, enjoying the sight of his square, masculine hands covered in suds washing Emily’s dishes with such care.

It gave her the same kind of sensation in the pit of her stomach that she got seeing a big hunky man with a baby. The occupation didn’t make him less rugged or tough—it emphasized his masculinity.

She enjoyed watching soap bubbles gather around his knuckles, the way the water pasted dark hair to his forearms, the way the muscles worked together in such harmony as he methodically washed and rinsed each dish. He washed everything by hand, even the things that could easily have gone in the dishwasher. Annie had no idea whether he did this every night or whether he was enjoying working side by side as much as she was.

“You live in a family home in the suburbs, you own your own business, you even do dishes. How come there’s no woman in your life?” Maybe it was insensitive and prying of her to ask, but the question had been bothering her since the birthday party.

He glanced up from the dishes. “I didn’t always live like this. A year ago I had a condo in Kitsilano.” He mentioned the trendy part of town near the university almost with regret. “I was an RCMP officer and a single guy living in a city famous for beautiful women.”

“Really? Vancouver’s famous for beautiful women?” Darn. She should have checked that out before she moved here.

“I bet more men’s magazine centerfolds come from Vancouver than any other city,” he informed her with obvious pride. “Not that I personally know any,” he hastened to add.

“Naturally.”

“My friend Brodie dated a centerfold once. She was a nice girl.” He shrugged, scraping a glob of egg stuck to the frying pan. “Then Emily came to live with me. Things changed.”

Now that was an understatement. He’d given up his lifestyle and changed to a safer job for the sake of his niece.
Wow.
A memory of her dad, who’d left his family when the responsibility became too much, flashed across her mind, and she felt a frown develop.

But that was silly. Her dad was a great guy, as fun and adventurous as she was. He hadn’t been cut out for permanence any more than she was. Emily was pretty darned lucky that Mark was cut from a different cloth. “It’s been quite a year for you.”

“Yes. And obviously, I can’t get involved with a woman while Emily is still settling in.”

“She seems pretty settled to me,” Annie said, and then, panicking that he might think she wanted him to get involved with
her,
she quickly added, “I mean, she’s able to talk about her parents quite naturally and seems like a normal eight-year-old. She’s a little shy, but lots of kids that age are.”

“I’m glad you think so. I don’t know much of anything about kids. I pretty much bought out the bookstore on parenting books and stuff about the grieving process. And there’s some good information on the Internet.”

She stifled a grin. She might have known he’d search out an instruction manual on how to raise a child.

Once all the dishes were put away and the kitchen was spotless, its high-tech patina gleaming, an awkward pause ensued.

Annie had no idea what to do next. She had the sense that whatever she did now would begin the laying down of a routine, and she wanted it to be the right one. Something that put lots of space between her and Mark Saunders. A man like him could trap a woman like her into the kind of life she never, ever wanted.

“Well,” he said. “I usually read to Emily at night and then it’s lights out at eightthirty. I’m getting behind on my paperwork, so I’ll probably spend some time in my office.” He gestured down the hall in case she’d forgotten where it was.

She nodded. “Maybe I’ll just go up and say good-night to Emily first, then.”

“Sure. You know where the family room is if you want to watch TV or some old movies or something.” He grinned, and she knew he was remembering their insane conversation at Granville Island that first day. “And help yourself to the gym downstairs if you want to work out.”

Yeah, that’d top her fun-things-to-do list. “Thanks. I’ll probably unpack and get to bed early.” She gave a theatrical groan. “I’ve got an early start in the morning.”

“The early clown catches the frog.”

“Was that a joke?” Her eyes bugged wide open. She had a feeling her mouth had done the same.

“A pretty lame one,” he said sheepishly.

“It’s a good start. Shows you have a sense of humor. You’ll need it if you’re going to be living with me,” she assured him. Then, seeing the startled expression in his eyes—which could go from arctic to meltdown in about three seconds—she hastily revised her statement. “I mean staying in the same house. Temporarily.”

5

“WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE between a clown and a wizard?” Emily asked when Annie entered her room.

The child was in bed with a book about a child wizard propped on her chest. Annie had read the series, and as she recalled, the boy was an orphan, too.

Cuddled in Emily’s left arm was a very ratty, clearly much-loved stuffed lion with an advanced case of mange.

“Well, a wizard has magical powers. A clown’s job is to make you laugh.”

The child stroked the lion’s patchy tail while she considered this. “But you do magic, too. Do you have a racing broom? Magic potions and spells that turn people into animals?”

“No. My magic is just pretend. When I make things disappear, I really hide them when the audience isn’t looking. I’ll show you sometime if you’re interested.”

“Really? Would you show me how to do a magic trick?”

“Sure. Maybe we can work on some tricks you could show your friends.” She glanced surreptitiously at her watch and discovered it was eight-fifteen.

After a hasty good-night and a peck on the cheek, she made her way to the safety of the guest room, where she spent seven or eight minutes unpacking her backpack into the empty drawers of the pine dresser.

It took another good minute to unpack her toiletry bag in the bathroom. That done, she glanced at her watch.

Eight

twenty-five.

What on earth was she going to do with herself? Normally she didn’t go to bed until well after midnight and rarely woke before eight in the morning.

Luckily, the guest room came equipped with a clock that looked like it required an advanced degree from MIT to operate. Fiddling with that until she thought she had the alarm set for six forty-five a.m. helped use up another few minutes. Then she heard Mark’s low voice saying good-night and Emily’s soft reply. His tread descended to the main floor.

By eight thirty-five she had all the bed’s pillows piled behind her back and her feet up while she tried to read her guidebook to Asia.

Usually butterflies of excitement flitted in her stomach when she read about all the exotic and exciting places she’d be visiting soon. But somehow, tonight, it couldn’t grab her attention.

Her mind kept drifting to one brave little girl and one very sexy ex-Mountie. The little girl brought a rush of feeling that was both unfamiliar and unmistakably maternal. The ex-Mountie brought on feelings that were definitely not maternal.

With a sigh she put down the book. She felt restless and keyed up. Maybe she should go out. But she no sooner had the idea than she abandoned it. She’d have to remember too many codes.

With a sigh, she hauled herself off the bed and went to stare out the window. She saw what any prisoner must see—a fence and a gate. Heavily secured. She felt what many prisoners must feel—a sense of claustrophobia and an almost irresistible urge to escape.