The Holiday Nanny (9 page)

“Of course.” What was he getting at?

“Even though he dumped you? Even though you already call another man ‘Dad'?” A hint of anger underlay his question.

“The two are not mutually exclusive, Wade.” She kept her voice soft. “One dad gave me life, nurtured me for
eleven years. Another dad saw me through the years that followed. Both of them have a place in my life.”

“I don't understand that.” He watched Silver spread the crumbs of her cookie for a brilliant red northern cardinal to sample.

“Why?” Connie touched his arm to get his attention.

“Do you think it's wrong to love both of them, to treat them both as fathers?”

“He abandoned you, Connie.” The words grated out between his teeth. His lips pinched together, wrinkling his mustache and emphasizing a cleft in his chin. “Anything could have happened to you. What kind of a father—” He clamped his lips together, shutting off the words of condemnation.

She'd held in all her questions for too long. Suddenly Wade's comments brought everything to the forefront, and Connie couldn't hold back her frustrations any longer.

“I don't know what kind of father would do that,” she spat out angrily. “Do you think I don't want to know, that I don't want to ask him myself? Do you think I'm so stupid, so naive and gullible that I've just accepted what he did?”

In spite of her determination, tears escaped her tightly squeezed lids and trickled down to her chin. She scrubbed them away with her fists.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked.”

“I've thought about little else for eleven long years. That's why I'm trying to find my father.” She jerked away from his outstretched hand. “I love him,” she whispered fiercely, “but sometimes I think I hate him, too. And I have no right to do that.”

“Why not?” Wade demanded, his voice unsympathetic.

“After what he did—”

“But that's exactly it,” she said. “I don't know exactly
what he did. A man I spoke to said my father insisted he'd made arrangements for me. That I wasn't simply abandoned.” She cleared her throat, met his skeptical glance. “The man said my father repeated over and over that I would be cared for.”

“Sure he said that. After the fact. To ease his guilt.”

“No.” She peered at him through her lashes. “My father told me something before he kissed me goodbye. He said, ‘Wait here. Someone will come for you.' And they did.” Connie blinked, remembering the moments after he'd left with a clarity that had previously eluded her. “At the time I thought I waited forever, but I remember a clock on a nearby building chiming ‘Joy to The World.' The song wasn't finished when a couple showed up for me, Wade. I couldn't have waited that long.”

Connie sat silent and let the movie in her mind play through from the moment her father had kissed her goodbye and set her suitcase at her feet, to the arrival of the couple who'd picked her up.

“I'm sorry—”

“He said people named Tom and Tanya would be there to take me to a safe place,” she whispered as the long-hidden memories burst into the clear light of day. “And they were, before the song was finished.”

“It could have been a coincidence,” Wade said.

“No. I wasn't abandoned. He had everything arranged.” The memory still left Connie confused, but somehow the pain of that long ago Christmas morning had diminished.

“Other kids are going into the church now, Connie.” Silver pressed on her shoulder, her voice anxious. “Isn't it time for me to practice?”

“I think so.” Connie closed off everything but the
immediacy of the moment and her job. Later. She'd think about it later. She packed up the lunch and rose, waiting while Wade folded the blanket they'd sat on and picked up the basket. “Oh,” she murmured, suddenly aware that if he came inside to wait for them and saw the practice, it would spoil Silver's Christmas Eve debut. “I'm sure you don't want to hang around for this.”

“I have an errand to run. I'll be back to pick you up in—” he checked his watch “—forty-five minutes?”

“Better make it an hour,” Connie said and smiled. “It's the first practice.”

“Okay.” He accepted his daughter's hug then watched her race to the main door.

Connie turned toward the church and began walking.

“Connie?”

“Yes.” Puzzled by the odd tone of his voice, she paused, twisted her head to study him. Wade was staring at her the way he'd stared at Cora's chocolate cake on his first evening back in Tucson.

“Thank you for sharing your private life with me. I know it wasn't easy.” He twiddled his keys in his fingers for a moment, then lifted his head and met her gaze. “I think both of your fathers should be proud to have a daughter like you.”

Connie wanted to say thank you, but Wade was gone, his long-legged stride carrying him to his car before she could get the words out. For the next hour, she sat in the pew and pretended to watch Silver while she puzzled over the look on Wade's face as he said those words. Sadness, a kind of yearning? Sympathy? What did it mean?

Certainly not that he cared about the nanny, Connie
chided herself. She was old enough to know Silver's Cinderella fairy tale of happily ever after didn't come true.

But no matter how hard Connie tried to force her attention back on the stage, she couldn't quite erase the memory of Wade's dark brown eyes softening while they rested on her.

O
n Monday evening, Wade checked his inbox.

Report on Joseph Eduardo Silva, aka José, adopted son of Emma and Eduardo Silva of Brazil, deceased with Bella Abbot. See below for further info.

A shudder of revulsion had Wade closing the email from his private investigator without looking any further. He didn't want to reread the details of his wife's transgressions or face his own stupidity about it. The shame, the embarrassment, the betrayal—he'd left all that in the past. Or tried to.

But this is for Silver,
a small inner voice chided. Wade had to ensure her real family was all right, that she would be fine with them. To let her go without doing that was unthinkable. So he drew in a breath, prayed for strength and clicked on the email tab once more. Better to find out what he had to deal with up front. He read the details once, twice and then a third time before his thinking processes froze. How could he have been so gullible?

“Oh. Excuse me.”

His misery almost overwhelming him, Wade blinked and looked up. Connie stood in the doorway, her face a mix of emotions he couldn't decipher.

“Sorry?”

“I didn't realize you were in here. I'll come back.” She'd said it hesitantly, as if it was the last thing she wanted to do.

“You need the computer?” he guessed. He roused, clicked Print and waited while the report slid out and then closed his email. “I'm finished.”

“I can come back,” she repeated.

“No reason. It's all yours.” He saw her expression and knew something was going on. Her eyes swirled with all the shades of gray found in a piece of Arizona silver. “Anything new on the father front—that you want to share, I mean?”

He wasn't trying to intrude. The past four days Wade had sensed that something was off-kilter in Connie's world, but it was difficult to tell what. Since he'd started paying attention to the nanny, he'd realized Connie was a private person who generally kept her problems to herself while focusing on helping others. Knowing that honed his desire to learn more about the woman behind the nanny facade.

“I'm sure you have plenty of your own difficulties,” she murmured.

“Don't we all? But sometimes it helps to share.” He waited, preparing to walk away when the silence stretched on. Suddenly Connie spoke.

“The other day, at Silver's party, I had a phone call from the man I met that day you were at the center.” She licked her lips and continued. “He said my father had cancer and that it had cost him both legs.”

“I'm very sorry.” Wade knew there was more. He could see it in the way Connie held herself—erect, taut, as if she was bracing for what was to come.

“The thing is—this man hinted that my father may have
died from his treatment.” She said the words slowly, as if she couldn't quite absorb them.

“You didn't believe him?”

“I don't know what to believe.” She shook her head like someone in a daze. “Ben, my contact at the center, just phoned. A man my dad helped get his high school diploma heard I was searching for my father. He wants to meet me. Tonight. I was so startled I said I'd go.” She swallowed, brushed several straggling curls off her forehead. “I have to let the center know I can't make it.”

“Why can't you?” Wade noted the way she fidgeted. Connie was not a fidgeter. Something had her scared. A surge of compassion filled him as uncertainty washed over her face. “What's the problem?”

“Tonight's not my night off.”

“Oh, right.” He debated the wisdom of telling her to go anyway but held his tongue. He had no idea of her feelings regarding this new information, and he didn't want to rush her, especially if she was going to hear bad news. “Well, the computer's all yours.” He rose.

“Thanks.” Was that relief, or did she think he didn't care?

As Wade moved from behind the desk, Connie eased past him. He caught a whiff of the tangy orange scent of her shampoo, and in a flash, he was reminded of all the intimate little things he missed by not having someone special in his life. But most of all, Connie's scent highlighted the loss of closeness a husband and wife shared, the one-ness that Wade had thought he and Bella shared.

For Wade, that bond had been irrevocably shattered that day in Brazil. Ever since then, he'd felt horribly alone. He'd stayed that way by choice, but tonight he realized that the lonely nature of his life was growing less appealing.

Wade had learned to live without all the feminine
niceties because he wasn't going to let himself get hurt like that ever again. But Connie was becoming a friend. And she was nothing like Bella had been. He couldn't imagine Connie even planning such a betrayal. She was open and honest, not at all like that other nanny.

You don't really know Connie,
his subconscious re minded.

But I want to.

Danger,
screamed his brain.
Refocus.

Connie Ladden was here for Silver. Period.

Wade shoved the printouts into his briefcase and told himself to grow up. He'd faced Bella's infidelity long ago. And renewed his decision never to let his heart get involved again. There was no reason to falter from that path now just because a beautiful young woman had entered his solitary world. No reason, except that Connie made him think of possibilities, of what could be and not what had been. Connie's generosity and sweetness drew him like her sugar feeders drew the hummingbirds.

Wade knew he should leave, but something kept him standing there, watching the nanny as she sat behind the desk, clicking the mouse. The light had drained out of her beautiful eyes. She looked alone, desolate and lost. Wade felt a strong desire to help her—as she'd helped Silver, Amanda, even him.

“Would you like company tonight?” he asked on an impulse. “I could go with you to meet this man.”

“But it's not my night off.” Connie's troubled gaze rested on him.

“Technically you won't be off, if that makes you feel better. You could help me choose a Christmas tree. I've been putting it off.” He watched expressions flutter across her face as she debated the pros and cons of his offer.

“Surely you want to know what this fellow has to say?”

“Yes.” She didn't look sure.

“So we'll choose the tree, arrange for its delivery and stop by the center. I wouldn't mind going back there.” Maybe he'd see Klara Kramer, or whatever her married name was, again. Wade had been trying to reach her for days without success.

“Why would you want to go back?” Connie's eyes brimmed with suspicions.

“That boy in the wheelchair—Kris? I think his mother is a draftswoman I once knew. I'd like to offer her a job.” It would put Wade on Amanda's bad side again, but that couldn't be helped. Abbot Bridges needed the talents of someone like Klara.

“Really?” Connie blinked. “Well, if you're sure—”

She left it hanging, as if she suspected he'd back out. But Wade wasn't going to, because with the arrival of his email he'd realized something. Maybe he did only have this Christmas with Silver before he'd have to let her go. Maybe God had another family prepared for her and this would be the last holiday they'd spend together.

Why shouldn't Wade make it special for Silver the way Connie said her father had made things special? The way her foster parents had made things special. That couldn't be wrong, could it? Wasn't that something God would want him to do for Silver?

“Are you sure about this, Wade?” Connie frowned.

“Not exactly.” He hesitated, then decided to sound out Connie about his plan. “I want to make this Christmas one Silver will remember. I want to have all the trimmings, like my father used to do.”

“And that includes a tree,” she said quietly, one eyebrow arched quizzically. “Even though you realize it's going to irritate Amanda.”

“I'm not doing it to annoy her,” Wade explained frankly.
“I'm doing it for Silver, but I'm hoping it will also help Amanda.”

“How?”

“Ever since Danny and my father died, Amanda shuts down at Christmas. It's not right. My father loved Christmas,” Wade said. A host of memories swarmed his brain.

“He worked hard to create Christmas memories that were an intricate part of his faith in God. Dad wouldn't want Amanda to miss out on the joy of Christmas, even though he can't be here to share it with her.”

“She may not see it that way,” Connie cautioned. “Not that she talks to me that much, but I think she's struggling to forgive God.”

“Forgive God?”

“It sounds odd, I know, but think of it from her perspective. God took her husband and her son. Why?” Connie's shoulders lifted and her head bobbed, jiggling the riot of curls she'd pinned to the top of her head. “Amanda hasn't found a satisfactory answer to that question, and so she won't let God be a part of her life. She even has trouble forgiving you.”

“You sound like you actually understand her,” he said, marveling again at Connie's insight into his family's dysfunction.

“Of course I understand what Amanda feels.” Connie giggled. “I'm the original control freak. Every i dotted and every t crossed—that's me. I know exactly how hard it is to uncurl your fingers from the controls and let God take over, because that's what I have to do every single day.”

“Is that what Amanda has to do?” he asked. Connie's silence made him lift his head and study her face.

“Eventually,” she murmured, “it's what we all have to do.”

“Well, I don't dare say that to Amanda,” Wade muttered.

“She'll only get more angry.”

“Maybe.” Connie studied him thoughtfully.

“What are you thinking?” Judging by the spark in her eyes, Wade wasn't sure he should have asked.

“Amanda said something the other day that I think you should hear.” Connie waited for his nod before continuing.

“She said, ‘Everyone thinks I should be over it. They don't understand that I wake up thinking about them and go to sleep thinking about them. I'll never see them again and nobody understands what I've lost.'”

“Believe me, I understand.” Wade glowered. “He was my father. Danny was my brother. I've wished a thousand times that I hadn't gone with them that day or that we'd waited out the storm. I'm sorry I ever got behind the wheel.”

“Have you told Amanda that?” Connie asked.

“No.” Wade wasn't sure he wanted to share those regrets with anyone. He'd kept them contained a long time.

“Maybe it's something she needs to hear. Maybe if you apologized—” She held up a hand to stop his protest. “I'm not saying you did anything wrong, but maybe if you said you're sorry—the way you've just said it to me, maybe then Amanda wouldn't feel so abandoned. Maybe she'd realize that she's not alone in her loss.”

“Maybe.” Wade thought about that while Connie typed on the computer. Perhaps if Amanda and he could talk openly about his father and Danny, some of the tension between them would dissolve and Silver would feel a tighter connection with this family.

Then maybe that precious girl wouldn't forget about him completely when she was gone.

Wade began mentally rehearsing ways of opening the
line of conversation with Amanda. Eventually he became aware of Connie's stare.

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“I know.” She nodded in understanding. “It's going to take a lot of prayer.”

“And a lot of tact,” he added ruefully. “That's for later. For now, when would you like to go to the center?”

“Cora went home early. She wasn't feeling well, so I told her I'd make dinner.” For the first time since he'd met her, Connie looked uncertain. “I haven't started it yet.”

“We could go out,” Wade offered. “For pizza. I haven't had pizza since I came back. Maybe Amanda would come, too.” He paused then decided to tell Connie the truth. It was probably silly, but Wade thought Connie might understand his intentions. “I have been trying to be more considerate with Amanda,” he admitted.

“I've noticed. And it's difficult, I know,” Connie said, that blazing smile back in place. “She's—not an easy person.”

Wade almost laughed at the understatement of those words. But he didn't. Instead he grinned at the nanny as if they were coconspirators.

“I'll go and ask her,” he said.

“You might get Silver to go with you when you do. Despite appearances to the contrary, Amanda has a soft spot for Silver,” Connie said with a smile. “Maybe with a child present, she'd find it harder to refuse.”

“Harder than to refuse me alone, you mean?”

Connie said nothing—just gave him an outrageous wink.

“I'll do that.” Wade remained in place, watching her brisk movements. “I wanted to ask you something else.”

“Oh?” She paused, hands still.

“I wondered if you had a suggestion of something
Silver wants for Christmas.” He flushed, feeling like a fool. “Something she's been really longing for?”

“Why don't you ask her?” Connie suggested quietly.

Wade opened his mouth to object, but a voice intruded—a soft, sad little voice brimming with yearning.

I want my God to help daddy love me.

Silver's voice on that first day at the center.

Wade lifted his head, saw the nanny's face and knew she'd been thinking along the same lines. Though neither Connie nor Silver would ever know just how much he cared for the delightful little girl, perhaps there was a way to show the child love without saying the actual words. Something tangible.

“She wants a dollhouse.” Connie spoke into the silence, her voice almost a whisper. “An original one that's hers alone.”

“Yes, now I remember her mentioning that. Maybe I could build one?” He began structuring it in his mind. It would be a replica of this house. Maybe he could send it with her when she left. Surely then she wouldn't forget him.