His Potential Wife

Grace Green

Synopsis:

A convenient proposal??

Dr. Scott Galbraith is fed up of women trying to get him up the aisle!
He's looking for a new nanny, not a wife, and his ad has one condition -
the successful candidate must strictly have no interest in marriage!

Willow is single and attractive but she certainly seems immune to
Scott's charms - something which, to his surprise, begins to infuriate him!

And suddenly he's thinking the unthinkable: a marriage proposal.?

3

Grace Green grew up in Scotland, but later immigrated to Canada with her
husband and children. They settled in "Beautiful Super Natural B.C.,"
and Grace now lives in a house just minutes from ocean, beaches,
mountains and rain forest. She makes no secret of her favorite
occupation-her bumper sticker reads, I'd Rather Be Writing Romance!
Grace also enjoys walking the seawall, gardening, getting together with
other authors... and watching her characters come to life, because she
knows that once they do, they will take over and write her stories for her.

4

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this
book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to
the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any
payment for this "stripped book."

ISBN 0-373-03781-3

HIS POTENTIAL WIFE

First North American Publication 2004.

Copyright ©2001 by Grace Green.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or
utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any
electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission
of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road,
Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of
the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same
name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual
known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books U.S.A.

®and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ©are
registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the
Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

Visit us at www.eHarlequin.com Printed in U.S.A.

5

"What I want, Mrs. Trent, is a plain-Jane nanny."

"A...plain-Jane nanny, Dr. Galbraith?" Ida Trent looked startled. "I'm
not sure I underst-"

Scott Galbraith shot forward in his chair. "Mikey, get your fingers out
of there!" He swept his son onto his lap a nanosecond before the
two-year-old managed to tug a purple African violet from its clay pot on
Ida Trent's tidy desk.

The owner of the Trent Employment Agency cleared her throat. "Dr.
Galbraith, I'm not sure exactly what you-"

"Let me spell it out." Abstractedly Scott dusted potting soil from
Mikey's fingers. "I want a woman whose top priority-in fact, her only
priority!-is caring for my three motherless children. I want a woman who
doesn't dream of orange blossom or see me as a potential husband-''

He broke off as four-year-old Amy stomped toward the office door. "Amy,
get back here!"

Amy plodded on.

"Lizzie!" Urgently he prodded his elder daughter, who was slouched,
reading, against the end of the desk. "Would you please catch your
sister before she hits the street!"

Lizzie sighed as only a put-upon eight-year-old can sigh and took off to
restrain her sister. Then none-too-gently she pushed the sturdy redhead
down onto a sofa

6

by the window. "Stay there," she snapped. "And try not to be such an
absolute pest!"

Amy's blue eyes puddled with tears. "I am not a pest!"

"Are, too!"

"Am not!"

Lizzie flicked back her long blond braid and curled her upper lip in a
sneer. "Pest, pest, pest!" Stalking back to the end of the desk, she
resumed her slouching position and fixed her gaze again on the pages of
her book.

Scott opened his mouth to chastise her...but closed it again when he
noticed that his daughter's face had become paper-white and her lips
were trembling.

The sight reduced him to despair and helplessness-emotions that had
become all too familiar to him over the past twenty months. He felt his
heart go out to Lizzie, aware that her emotions must often be in a
turmoil similar to his own. Of the three children, she was the one who
missed her mother most. And he knew that because she was the eldest,
he'd often stuck her with too much responsibility. So instead of
berating her, he returned his attention to the woman seated across the
desk from him.

"Now, Mrs. Trent, where were we?"

"You were telling me you wanted a plain-Jane nanny-''

"And one who isn't man mad!"

"-and one who isn't man mad. Actually-" Ida Trent looked thoughtful "-I
believe I have someone who will suit you perfectly. She has excellent
references and a true love of children... and I know, for a fact, that
the last thing she's looking for in her life is romance. Fortunately
she's between positions and could start right away."

An ominous warm dampness suddenly seeped from Mikey's diaper-padded
bottom through the fabric of Scott's brand-new designer pants. Oh,
great. Just what he needed.

"So tell me," he said resignedly, "does this paragon of virtue have a name?"

"She does, Dr. Galbraith. Her name is Willow Tyler."

"Hey, Mom!"

Willow Tyler glanced up from her sunny bench and as she saw her son race
toward her from the Rec Center's entrance, she stuffed her wallet back
into her handbag.

She would worry about her low bank balance later. For the present she
would focus on Jamie. Once she got another job-and she prayed that would
happen soon- she'd have little enough time to spend with him.

She couldn't help smiling now as he approached her, his black hair
dripping wet, his T-shirt outside-in, his sneakers ineptly tied. She
itched to tidy him...but he was the most independent child on the face
of the earth and she knew he would balk. From the beginning, he'd
adamantly refused to let her tend to him after his swimming lessons.

''You're not allowed into the men's changing rooms," he'd announced.
"And-sorry, Mom!-no way am I going into the ladies' changing rooms!"

Now-reeking of chlorine-he danced in front of her, his gray-green eyes
eager. "Can we go to Morganti's for a burger? Please? I'm starving!"

Willow hesitated. She hated spending money on fast

8

food...yet she hated to disappoint Jamie; he didn't ask for much. "All
right-but let's not make a habit of it."

Morganti's was only a hop and a skip away, at the corner of Fifth Avenue
and Fir Street. When they got inside, Jamie said, "Are you having a
burger, too, Mom?"

"No, I'll have a hot caramel sundae."

"I'll get it."

He'd adopted a take-charge tone and she knew that for the moment, he'd
assumed his man-of-the-house role. He held out his hand for money. "You
want nuts on it?"

"No nuts." She gave him a ten-dollar bill. "But I'll have double caramel."

"Can I have a large cola?"

"Sure."

"Yes!" Gleefully he thrust his backpack at her and scampered off to take
his place at the counter.

Willow sat at a vacant table and tucked his backpack under her chair
before glancing around.

The restaurant was busy but Tradition, British Columbia, was a small
town and she knew most of the people there. With a friendly wave she
acknowledged those who sent a smile her way.

At the next table was a group of four-a man and three small children. He
was dark-haired and broad-shouldered but he had his back to her so she
couldn't see his face. She had a plain view of the children, though, and
they were strangers to her-a lovely blond girl of around nine, who was
reading while eating a burger; a younger redheaded girl with grubby
tear-stained cheeks; and a little boy in a high chair, whose fair hair
was smeared with what looked like ketchup from the French fries spread
out on his tray. The man got up and she heard him say in a deep voice
that made her think of dark brown velvet, "Lizzie, keep an eye on these
two. I'm going for a coffee refill."

He strode away toward the counter and she saw that he was quite tall,
and wearing a beautifully cut charcoal-gray suit. She also noticed that
he walked in an athletic way that spoke of lean muscles and coiled
strength, and with a sense of purpose that gave an impression of
self-confidence.

He took up his place in one of the short lineups and as he did, she saw
Jamie turn from the counter.

He began walking toward her, carefully balancing his tray. She held her
breath as the tall cola cup wavered, but he paused and it steadied and
he resumed his precarious journey.

All went well until a fracas suddenly erupted at the next table. The tot
in the high chair let out an enraged howl: apparently the middle child
had stolen a handful of French fries from his tray because the one
called Lizzie snapped, "Put those back, Amy! You said you didn't want
any fries. When are you going to stop being such a pest!" She grabbed
Amy's fist and tore the half-dozen fries from her.

"Give those back!" screamed Amy and reached after them.

"No way, you little pest! Pest! Pest! Pest!" Taunting her sister, Lizzie
swung her hand away, out into the aisle...

And banged it into Jamie's carefully balanced tray, knocking it wildly
from his hands.

For a split second, silence fell on the group of three. The boy's mouth
froze in a wide-open O; the redhead's screams stopped as if chopped off
by an ax; and the

10

girl called Lizzie's expression turned to one of stark shock.

And then...oh, the clatter as the tray bounced on the tiled floor; the
mess as the cola spilled out in a sticky stream; the cry of dismay from
Jamie as he stared in horror at the demise of his gleefully anticipated
treat.

But even as Willow shot to her feet, the three children resumed their
squabbling.

"That was all your fault, Amy. If you hadn't been such a pest-"

"You did it!" Amy's shout was outraged. "It was-"

"I want more fries!" The little boy hammered his hands on his tray.
"More, more, more!"

Jamie was quietly sobbing.

"Oh, honey!" Willow hunkered down and gathered his slight body to her.
"Don't cry. It wasn't your fault, you were being so very careful. We'll
get someone to clean up this mess, and then we'll just order the same
thing again."

He leaned away from her and furiously swiped his hands over his teary
eyes. "I want to go home. I don't like it in here today." He glared at
the still-squabbling trio who were paying him no attention. "And I don't
like them! They didn't even say they were sorry-"

"Excuse me."

At the same time as she heard and recognized the brown velvet voice,
Willow saw, over Jamie's shoulders, a pair of long legs encased in fine
charcoal-gray fabric.

She felt a surge of grim satisfaction: the man had returned at just the
right time to be assaulted by the full force of her annoyance.

Grabbing Jamie's hand, she lurched upright, bursting

to vent the words of censure that were rising up inside her-

She gulped. And reared back. The stranger was way, way taller than she'd
realized.

And he was undoubtedly the most devastatingly attractive man she had
ever seen.

Her senses reeled from the dazzling effect of electric-blue eyes
twinkling at her from under a slash of black eyebrows; Hollywood white
teeth glinting in a wry smile; and features so perfectly chiseled they
could have been computer-generated.

By Bill Gates himself.

But even as she gawked at him she had a disturbing feeling of deja vu.

She had seen this man before.

Somewhere.

But if she had, wouldn't she have remembered him? He was surely
unforgettable-

"Excuse me," he murmured again, a toe-curling, coaxing tone now brushing
his velvety, sexy voice.

Willow stiffened her toes. And her knees. And her resolve. She was not
going to allow this man to sweet-talk her. She was made, was she not, of
sterner stuff?

She lasered him with an icy glare. "Are those-" she flicked her head
curtly toward the trio who were still going at it hammer and tongs
"-your children?"

"Yeah." He raked a long-fingered hand through his black hair. Gold
gleamed from his wafer-thin gold watch and from a stylishly engraved
gold cuff link and from his wide gold wedding band. He dropped his hand
and his hair fell back into perfect place-the unmistakable sign of a
very expensive salon cut, Willow thought sourly. "I have to confess," he
murmured, "they are most certainly mine-"

12

"Then I have to confess they are the very worst-behaved children I have
ever seen!"

"If you'll let me apologize for them-"

"Apologize for them?" Her laugh was scornful. "Oh, don't apologize for
them." From the corner of her eye, she saw an employee approach to clean
up the mess on the floor. "You are the one who should be ashamed. When
children behave as yours do there's no one to blame but the parents!"

She should have stopped there. And she probably would, if she hadn't
suddenly realized how pathetic she must seem to him in her cheap T-shirt
and old cutoffs, while he looked elegant enough to have dinner at
Buckingham Palace. So instead of calling a halt, she charged recklessly on.

"Maybe if you spent less time on your hair and your clothes and
your...your fancy accessories," she sputtered, "and more time reading up
on child psychology, you'd be able to take your family out into the
world without having to apologize for them."

How rude! As soon as she'd said the words, she felt a shock of
disbelief, and wanted desperately to drag them back. But of course it
was too late...

And now he was angry.

A dangerous glitter had replaced the twinkle in his eyes. A thin,
compressed line had replaced the full sensual curve of his mouth. And
his pleasant demeanor had been replaced by an aura of hostile menace
that made her think apprehensively of a cougar making ready to strike.

Uh-oh. Alarm rattled through her. A speedy retreat was most definitely
called for.

Grabbing up Jamie's backpack, she stuck her nose in the air and in a
valiant attempt to appear regal-which

was a bit of a stretch considering her petite build and her ragtag
outfit-she swept Jamie toward the exit door.

An imperious "Hey, hang on there!" rang after her.

She pretended not to hear it.

Once outside, she walked even faster in case he came after her, and
hurried Jamie along the street, not looking back till they reached the
end of the block. And when she did and saw no sign of him, she breathed
a sigh of relief.

Thank goodness!

The whole incident, she reflected with a grimace, had been distressing
to say the least.

Jamie said, "Who were they, Mom?"

"Just strangers. Passing through."

"Well, I'm glad about that because I sure wouldn't ever want to see them
again."

Willow echoed his sentiments exactly.

Jamie dug into his pocket. "Here's your change."

"Put it in your bank," Willow said. "After your next swimming lesson,
we'll go back to Morganti's again."

"Will we tell Gran what happened today?"

"Sure, if you like."

But when they got home, Willow's mother, Gemma, had news to pass on-news
so welcome that both Willow and Jamie forgot all about the unfortunate
incident at Morganti's.

The employment agency had called. At last Mrs. Trent had a job for
Willow-an excellent job, she had enthused to Gemma, as nanny to a family
of darling, darling children. Willow must call in at the office right
away, her mother told her happily, to sign the new contract. * *

14

"The job's at Summerhill?" Appalled, Willow stared at Ida Trent.

"Yes, Willow. Do you have a problem with that?"

Willow's stomach dropped sickeningly as memories flooded her mind.
Memories that still, after seven years, tore at her heart and filled it
to overflowing with sorrow... and guilt.

More than anything, guilt. Guilt that would never, she knew, go away.

"Willow?"

With an effort, Willow gathered herself together. "Of course not. You
know how keen I am to be working again."

Ida set her palms on the desk in front of her. "Good, because this job
is perfect for you. And Summerhill is a beautiful house. Of course, it's
been lying empty for the past seven years... the Galbraiths-Galen and
Anna-moved to Nova Scotia right after their son's funeral, and then
Galen suffered a fatal heart attack just days later. His wife never came
back, and when she remarried this spring, the house passed on to the
surviving son...Dr. Scott Galbraith. He arrived at Summerhill with his
family a week ago."

"They're staying here permanently?"

"Yes. He's going into partnership with Dr. Black at the local clinic,
starting first of next month. I know, Willow, that you prefer to be home
at night, but he wants a live-in nanny and he's offering an extremely
generous salary."

"And...you say you met the children?"

"Darling, darling children-" The phone rang and murmuring "Excuse me,"
Mrs. Trent picked it up. She listened to the caller and with a worried
sigh, said, "Yes, Dora, of course. I'll be right there." Putting down
the phone, she pushed the contract across the desk to Willow.

"I'm sorry to rush you, dear." She got to her feet. "But I have to close
the office and dash home. My husband has had one of his turns, that was
his sitter."

Feeling disorientated, as if everything was happening a bit too fast,
and she hadn't taken everything in yet, Willow scanned the contract and
then signed her name.

As soon as she put down the pen, the agency owner said, "I really must
hurry!"

Clasping her handbag, she ushered Willow to the door.

"Mrs. Trent, the children-"

"Darling, darling children," Mrs. Trent assured her again, with an
unaccustomed vagueness. "Dr. Galbraith is expecting you at ten o'clock
tomorrow morning. He'll fill you in on everything once you get to
Summerhill."

The agency owner's white car was parked nearby. As she ran toward it,
she added, over her shoulder, "The man's a widower, Willow, and he
warned me not to send anyone who would see him as a potential husband. A
plain-Jane nanny is what he asked for," she continued breathlessly, "and
he more than hinted that women consider him devilishly attractive and
find it difficult to keep their hands off him."

Willow gaped. The conceit of the man. Who did he think he was?

And as to that, it didn't do her own self-image much good to know Mrs.
Trent considered her a plain-Jane. She knew she was no beauty but-

"I told him," the agency owner continued as she threw herself into her
car, "that you had no interest in men." She slammed the car door. "So
all in all," she called through the open window, "I think the relationship

16

will work out very well. You and Dr. Galbraith would seem to be a
perfect match!"

Mind still awhirl, Willow stood staring after the car as it sped away.
She was not looking for a husband; Mrs. Trent had at least got that
right. But...she and this Scott Galbraith a perfect match? Hardly! Of
all the men in all the world she didn't want to work for, one as
arrogant as he apparently was would be at the top of her list.

And of all the places in all of the world where she didn't want to work,
Summerhill would be right up there, too.

She had no option, however, but to take the job, and to work for him,
because she desperately needed the money.

Not only had bills piled up during her most recent period of
unemployment, but she'd had to take her car off the road because she
couldn't afford to renew the insurance, and Gemma would need a car to
drive Jamie to school once the stormy winter weather set in. Being the
sole breadwinner for their household was a challenging and never-ending
task; however, it was one she was not about to shirk.

So she'd take this job and she'd turn up for work at Summerhill tomorrow
because she had no other choice.

But if Scott Galbraith were ever to discover that she was responsible
for the tragedy that had beset his family seven years ago, he would boot
her out of his house so fast she wouldn't have time to blink!

The morning after the Morganti's fiasco, Scott woke from a deep sleep to
the sound of Mikey's demanding cry.

He rolled his eyes. Who needed an alarm clock with this kid in the house?

Lurching out of bed, he was stumbling to the door when Lizzie stormed
into the room. She was holding a paperback in one hand and dragging her
sister with the other.

"This little pest tore the last page out of my book!" She gave Amy a
rough shake. "Before I'd even read it! Now she won't tell me where she
put it!"

Scott said, "Lizzie, isn't that the book you bought at the library sale?
The page might've been missing when-"

"I didn't tear her old book!" Amy managed to wrench herself free. "I
like books. I'd never tear-"

Another demanding scream from Mikey's room drowned out whatever Amy had
been going to say.

Scott tugged up the waistband of his cotton boxer shorts and made for
the door. "Hang on, kids, we'll settle this after I change Mikey's diaper."

"Pest!" Lizzie hissed at her sister.

"Am not!"

"Are, too!"

Shaking his head, Scott went into Mikey's bedroom. His son and heir was
jumping up and down in his crib, his pyjama bottoms at half-mast,
weighed down by a soggy diaper. He stopped crying when he saw his
father, and greeted him with a watery, heart-melting smile.

"Morning, buster," Scott said.

"Potty, Dad!"

Scott grinned. "I think we've missed the boat there, son!" He noticed
that Mikey's blankets were scattered with scraps of paper. What the heck...?

Gathering up a few of the pieces, he scrutinized them and frowned as
realization dawned.

18

"Mikey," he said. "Where did you get this?"

"Book."

"Lizzie's book? This is a page from Lizzie's book?"

"It fell out." He nodded gravely. "Amy said."

Out in the corridor, Scott heard Lizzie and her sister yelling at each
other. Like a pair of heathens.

As he swept Mikey up and headed for the children's bathroom, he felt a
great surge of thankfulness that this was going to be the last morning
he'd have to cope alone with his rebellious troops. The new nanny-Mrs.
Trent's promised "paragon of virtue"-was due to arrive at ten.

He could hardly wait.

Willow pedaled up the driveway to Summerhill on her bike, slowing as she
reached the fork at the top. One road led to the forecourt of the Cape
Cod house with its white siding and blue shuttered windows; the other
led to the back.

The last-and only other time-she had ever visited this house, she had
come not as an employee but as a highly distraught teenager with a
letter to deliver.

The memory of that night, and the consequences of her actions, were
still vivid in her mind. Far too vivid. And far too painful.

She shoved them back into their compartment and locked them up where
they belonged. In the past.

She took the road to the rear of the house, where she parked her bike
against the wall and then rang the doorbell. Taking in a deep breath to
calm her nerves, she waited for someone to answer her summons.

She didn't have long to wait.

The door swung in and as it did, her tentative smile froze in place when
she saw the person facing her. Her

new employer was the man she'd confronted so rudely yesterday!

And with a suddenness that stole her breath away, she realized why she'd
had that feeling of deja vu at the sight of him. Yes, she had met Scott
Galbraith before... and on this very spot.

The memory sent a chill shivering through her.

But no way would he recognize her. That long-ago night had been dark and
moonless, and as she'd handed over the envelope, she'd skulked
embarrassedly in the shadows.

No, he certainly wouldn't recognize her from seven years ago but he
certainly recognized her from yesterday-and he seemed as stunned to see
her as she was to see him.

"You!" His black eyebrows beetled in a scowl. "Don't tell me you're
going to be my-"

"New nanny." Willow was grateful that the words came out in her normal
voice rather than in the mousy squeak she'd half expected. "Yes. I'm
Willow Tyler-"

From the interior of the house came a wail, followed by a shrill "Pest!
Pest! Pest!" followed by an ominous crash.

' 'Welcome, Ms. Tyler, to Summerhill.'' Scott Galbraith's mouth twisted
in a sardonic smile. "Yesterday, as I recall, you pronounced my children
the worst-behaved you had ever seen." With an exaggeratedly courtly
gesture, he invited her to come inside. "From now on, they are in your
hands."

As she walked past him, her heart hammering like mad, he added, "I
should warn you that in the past twenty months since their mother's
death, my children have gone through no fewer than five top-notch nannies."

20

He closed the door firmly behind her.

Trapping her.

"I wonder," he continued in that already so-familiar brown velvet voice,
"just how long you are going to last!"

21

Twelve hours. That was how long she had lasted...

And, Willow reflected unhappily, she'd have to admit as much to Dr.
Galbraith in the morning.

Fighting tears of misery and frustration, she stepped into the bath
she'd run for herself in her en suite bathroom. Nothing was worth this
hassle. The Galbraith children were monsters. They had absolutely
defeated her attempts to get through to them and all day long had
deliberately set themselves to provoke her.

But she'd been determined not to let them get the better of her and
she'd really believed she had come out on top...until after she'd
finally managed to settle them down for the night and had retired to her
own room.

There, to her dismay, she had discovered that furtive little hands had
been at work in her backpack. Oh, she could have forgiven the splodges
of blue toothpaste gel squeezed over her best cream sweatshirt. She
could even have forgiven the scarlet felt pen scrawls over every page of
her new journal-a present from her mother. She could even have forgiven
the broken chain of a favorite necklace. What she found impossible to
forgive was the destruction of the last precious photograph of her
father and herself, taken just weeks before he died.

Someone-Lizzie?-had tugged the picture from its brass frame and crumpled
it into a crackly ball.

It was the final straw in a day straight out of hell.

22

And she needed to talk to someone about it!

There was a phone on her night stand, and after her bath she put on her
T-shirt nightie, and slumping down on the edge of the bed, called her
mother and spilled out the whole dismal story.

Gemma Tyler "tsked" in all the right places, and when her daughter was
finished, said softly, "Willow, the first day on a new job is very often
the worst."

"I know, Mom. But I've had first days on new jobs before and not one was
a tenth as bad as today. These kids are monsters, they really are."

"Tell me about them."

Willow wriggled onto the middle of the bed and lying back on her
pillows, stared up at the ceiling. "The eldest, Lizzie, is blond and a
true beauty. Her sister, Amy, has the loveliest curly red hair and big
blue eyes. And Mikey looks so cute he could model diapers on TV-"

"They sound nice-"

"Looks are only skin deep, Mom. Lizzie's as hostile as she is beautiful,
her sister shouts 'Black!' if I as much as think 'White'... and Mikey...
that child bellows 'Not!' at me every time he opens his little mouth!"

"Ah." Sympathy flowed across the line like a warm milk and honey drink.
"I can see you have your work cut out for you. Tell me," Gemma continued
before Willow had time to tell her she was quitting in the morning,
"just one thing. When you look at these three children-I mean, really
look at them-do you see at least a kernel of good in them?"

Willow crinkled her nose. A kernel of good? She wanted to say "No,
absolutely not!" but she tried to be fair. And reluctantly she recalled
that when she'd gone upstairs to check on the children during what she'd
told

them was to be their daily after-lunch "quiet time," instead of finding
Mikey in his crib where she'd settled him she'd found him in Lizzie's
room. Amy was there, too. The three were cuddled up asleep on top of
Lizzie's bed...and Lizzie had her arms protectively around her two
younger siblings.

The sight had touched something deep in Willow's soul.

But that had all gone by the wayside ten minutes later when the trio
charged downstairs, squabbling and shoving and making so much racket
they could have been an army.

"Ye...es, Mom. I do think there might be a kernel of good in them."

"Then you mustn't give up. These poor tots have lost their mother and
it's only natural they'd fight against anyone who tried to take her
place. You must give them a chance to work through their grief. And you
must find a new place, for yourself, in their wounded hearts."

Wounded hearts.

Out of the blue, the words brought a tightness to Willow's throat and
tears to her eyes as she remembered how wounded her own heart had been
after her father had died.

And she knew, then, that she wouldn't run away from this daunting task
that fate had sent her. She would stay on, at Summerhill, for as long as
these children needed her.

"Good morning, Ms. Tyler."

"Good morning, Dr. Galbraith."

Scott leaned back against the counter, one hand wrapped around his
coffee mug, as he regarded his new employee who had just raced into the
kitchen. She'd

24

come to a breathless halt and was darting a panicky glance around the
room, taking in the harvest table with its empty chairs.

Flustered and flushed, she blurted out, "I'm sorry, I slept in and the
children aren't in their rooms and-"

"Not a very good start." He sent her a look of challenge. "I hope this
isn't going to be a regular occurrence?"

"No, of course not!" Her flush deepened. "I don't know what came over me."

"Perhaps my children are too much for you. They tired you out yesterday?"

She ran her hands nervously down the sides of her shorts. "The first day
with a new family isn't always easy. But your children are definitely
not too much for me. Now if you'll just tell me where they are-"

"Relax." He put down his mug and filled another one with coffee.
"They've been fed and watered and they're in the den, watching TV.
Lizzie's in charge. But you and I need to talk. Please sit down."

He saw wariness flicker in her eyes-wariness and anxiety.

What a funny little creature she was, he reflected as he set her mug on
the table. If he'd had to choose one word to describe her, it would be
"forgettable." Swiftly he ran a gaze over her and took in sandy
sun-streaked hair scraped back in a neat ponytail. Eyes that couldn't
make up their mind if they were green or gray. Nice skin but without a
scrap of makeup other than a touch of pink lip gloss. And under her
white T-shirt and perky pink shorts, the slim figure of a teenage boy.

As she slipped onto her seat and reached awkwardly for her coffee mug,
he frowned. She hardly seemed the same person he'd had the altercation
with in Morganti's.

Then she'd been all fire and spit and though she'd irritated the hell
out of him, he'd had to admire her spunk. Now she looked ready to jump
out of her skin.

He dragged out the chair opposite hers and sat down. "Ms. Tyler." He
tried to keep the impatience from his voice. "Do you think I'm an ogre?"

She blinked. "No, of course not-"

"Ms. Tyler." He rat-tatted the fingers of one hand on the pine table
surface. "If we're to have any kind of a working relationship, you're
going to have to be honest with me. I'll ask you again, do you think I'm
an ogre?''

She met his gaze steadily. "No, Dr. Galbraith, I don't."

"Well, good." He leaned back in his chair. "So-" he quirked one black
eyebrow "-what do you think of me?"

"It's early days, Dr. Galbraith. I don't-"

"You must have formed some opinion!"

Ah, now he saw her eyes spark with the same fire he'd noticed at their
first meeting.

"All right," she said. "Since you insist on knowing, I'll give you my
opinion. I believe that ever since your wife's death you've been
wallowing around in an absolute emotional mess and you're pretty sure
your children are, too, especially Lizzie, so you've been cutting them
all a lot of slack-way too much slack-and they've taken advantage of it.
Are still taking advantage of it. And of you. In a nutshell, they're
totally out of control-which is something a man like you finds
intolerable but under the circumstances you're suffering it and this is
putting even more stress on you. Oh, you're in quite a pickle, Dr.
Galbraith. Quite a pickle."

Her words scraped still-tender scars off painful

26

wounds, exposing raw nerves that screamed in protest. He felt blood
pound against his eardrums, but even as he struggled to curb his
emotions, a surge of anger sent reason flying out the window.

The girl was outspoken and way out of line.

He would fire her.

His decision was swiftly made...the way he made most decisions. He was
not, nor had he ever been, a ditherer.

But before he could tell her she was "out," he heard the thunder of
approaching feet accompanied by Amy's screams and Lizzie's gratingly
familiar "Pest! Pest! Pest!"

And as the noise reverberated in his head, he acknowledged-reluctantly,
frustratedly, wearily-that firing Ms. Tyler was not an option. She was
right. He was in a pickle, one helluva pickle. And though she was far
too blunt for her own good, he had to admit he'd asked for it.

Furthermore, the reason she'd managed to upset him was that she'd hit
the nail on the head...and the truth hurt.

Willow Tyler was as perspicacious as she was plain.

And she had survived a day that would have sent any of his previous five
nannies running for the hills.

So after all, though Ms. Tyler had certainly got off to a bad start this
morning, there was still a hope- however small that hope might be-that
she would turn out to be the one person who could make his small family
functional again.

"You certainly don't pull your punches," he said. "But I did ask for
your opinion so I can't complain. I hope you'll always be as forthright
with me. If there's

one quality I appreciate in a person, it's honesty... and the flip side,
of course, is that I can't tolerate deceit!"

He saw an odd expression flicker over her eyes-he thought for a moment
it was fear, but he quickly dismissed the idea. She had told him the
truth, so what did she have to be afraid of? Puzzled, he tried to figure
out what it could have been...but before he could come up with an
answer, he heard his storming troops thunder ever closer. With a wince,
he forgot all about Ms. Tyler's odd expression and shoved himself up
from the table.

"If you'll excuse me," he said hurriedly, "I have to go out. I'll be
back in the early afternoon."

Feeling like a commander deserting on the eve of battle, he swiveled
around and strode to the back door. Wrenching it open, he stepped
outside and slammed the door shut just as his children erupted into the
kitchen.

He stood on the stoop, leaning back against the door and sending up a
prayer of gratitude for his timely escape.

Then inhaling a deep breath of the morning-scented air, he was about to
leave when through the open window he heard the nanny say, in a clear
and decidedly no-nonsense voice, "Before we make any plans for the day,
I want you to know how upset I was last night when I discovered that one
or more of you had snuck into my room and destroyed some of my treasures."

He froze where he stood. They'd sneaked into her room? They'd not only
gone through her private things, but they had destroyed some of them?

Anger swelled up inside him. This was intolerable. He'd march inside
right now and sort the little devils out. But good!

28

Wheeling around, he reached for the door handle. No way should she have
to put up with-

He stopped himself just as he touched the knob.

And told himself to calm down.

Think it through.

And when he did, he realized it would be a major mistake to insert
himself into the situation. He couldn't run interference every time the
children misbehaved. It would ruin any hope Ms. Tyler had of gaining
their respect.

In the long run, it would do more harm than good.

So he stood there a little while longer, listening, then he turned away
from the door and made his way to the three-car detached garage that sat
on the grounds at the westerly side of the house.

"So...is that understood?" Willow stood over the children, who were
clustered in a hostile group by the kitchen table. "We all have our own
areas of privacy, and those areas are sacrosanct."

"What's sacrosanct?" muttered Amy.

"It's what she said." Lizzie sounded sullen. "We don't go there. It's
private. We don't touch stuff that belongs to other people. Just like
you should never have touched my book and ripped out the page!"

"I didn't!" Amy cried. "I told you last night, it just fell out and I
put it in Mikey's crib so you-"

"Children." Willow gritted her teeth. "Let's move on, shall we? Let's
start over. It's a new day."

Lizzie avoided looking at her. "Where's Dad?"

"He went out."

Lizzie frowned. "Where did he go?"

"He didn't say," Willow responded lightly. "But since it's such a lovely
day, we'll all go out, too."

"Don't wanna go out!" Amy fisted her hands on her hips. "Wanna watch TV!"

"Me, too!" Mikey dumped himself solidly down on his bottom, his attitude
screaming I'm on strike.'

"We'll go for a swim." Willow opened the fridge and took out a jar of
peanut butter. Scooping a bag of buns from the bread bin, she said,
"We'll pack a lunch and have a picnic after."

Lizzie finally raised her eyes and fixed her with a scornful gaze. "We
can't go for a swim. Dad says it's too late in the season to bother
opening up the Summerhill pool!"

Willow slit the buns and began spreading them with peanut butter. "We're
not going to be using your pool." She rummaged in the cupboard, found a
jar of honey and screwed off the lid. "Now would you run upstairs,
Lizzie, and fetch all the swimsuits?"

"How do you know we've got any!" Amy screwed up her freckled little
nose. "We might not!"

"Not!" bawled Mikey.

"If you don't have any swimsuits," Willow said in an airy tone, "then
you'll all have to skinny-dip!"

Lizzie gaped. "You can't make us!"

Willow slathered honey atop the peanut butter. "You'll have the choice
of skinny-dipping or going into the water with your clothes on. It's up
to you." She focused her gaze on the buns as she sliced them into neat
quarters.

"We've got swimsuits." Lizzie's tone was dour.

"Good!" Willow packed the sandwiches in a plastic bag.

"But," Lizzie sneered, "we won't be using them today because we're not
allowed to go in public swimming pools! Our last nanny said that's where
people

30

pick up all sorts of things like athlete's foot and...other dangerous bugs!"

"So there!" Amy was triumphant. "We're not allowed."

"Not!" echoed Mikey.

"We won't be going to a public pool." Willow arranged the bag of
sandwiches in her backpack.

"Then where are we going?" Lizzie's chin had a belligerent jut.

"It's a surprise." Willow regarded her charges with a pleasant smile.
"But I think you're going to enjoy it."

Scott got home around two and as soon as he walked into the kitchen, he
spotted the note propped against the fruit basket on the harvest table.

Dr. Galbraith,

I've taken the children to the creek, to play in the shallower water
down below the swimming hole.

How was his new nanny coping? he wondered. He could just imagine the
protestations she'd been subjected to when she'd suggested a swim. No
matter what she'd suggested, the arguments would have been the same. And
if the kids hadn't objected in so many words, they'd have expressed
their hostility in attitude. He'd seen them in action untold times, with
the previous five nannies.

It might be interesting, he reflected, to take a stroll through the
forest, and sneak a peek at the situation.

The swimming hole was on the Galbraith estate, and because of the craggy
cliff that rose from the far bank, the area was inaccessible to the
public and could be

reached only via a private trail through the woods from Summerhill.

He hadn't been near the old swimming hole in years; and he wondered,
idly, how Ms. Tyler even knew of its existence.

Willow packed away the picnic things and stood for a moment watching the
children frolic in the shallow waves that washed over the smooth
sun-warmed sandy beach.

It had been difficult for her to come here. She'd found it distressing
to walk past the deep secluded pool where she and Chad had spent so many
secret hours swimming together as teenagers-but she'd known her charges
would love playing in the water and on the sandy beach so she'd made the
effort. And now she was glad. They'd had fun.

They made a colorful picture, she mused as she watched them splash
around in their expensive designer togs, Lizzie in her yellow bikini,
Amy in a blue one-piece, Mikey in his neon-orange shorts.

She should have brought her camera. She would, when they came back
another day.

But it was time now to be heading home, so she should be calling to them
to come and get dried off and dressed.

First, though, she should put her own clothes on.

She slipped behind a leafy bush high enough to give her some privacy
from the children but not too high that she couldn't see over it to
check on them.

She slipped off her bikini... and then, on an impulse, stretched up her
arms to the sky, relishing the unfamiliar and primitive sensation of
being naked in the golden sun-

32

A twig crackled nearby.

Her pulse gave an erratic jump, and when she slewed her gaze to where
the sound had come from, she felt her heart stop. Scott Galbraith was
standing as if frozen to the spot, just three yards away on the fringe
of the forest, his blue eyes staring at her with as much shock as she
knew must be glittering in her own.

Suppressing a horrified gasp, she swept up her towel and screened
herself from the neck down. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire; her
heartbeats scrambled out of control. She clamped her jaw to keep from
yelping "What are you doing here?" and waited tensely for him to make a
move.

He grimaced.

And then muttering something under his breath, he took a step backward.

"I'm sorry." His voice was thick, his tone filled with abject apology.
"I didn't mean...I only walked over to...I just thought I'd-oh, dammit,
Ms. Tyler," he sputtered. "I hadn't a clue that you'd be...I hadn't a
clue I'd find you..."

"Naked?" Willow's voice came out as coolly as she'd ordered it to-and
with just the right touch of wry amusement. "Dr. Galbraith, this is
surely not the first time you've seen a nude woman. And I'm sure it
won't be the last. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get dressed and
attend to your children."

He looked as if he was going to say something more.

Again she waited. And willed him to leave.

In the end, he scratched a hand clumsily through his hair, twisted his
face in an expression of excruciating embarrassment, before turning away
with one last muttered "Sorry," and disappearing into the forest.

Willow's breath quivered out in a whimper of relief.

He was gone. Thank heaven.

But...oh Lord...what a disaster! How on earth was she going to face the
man now? Now that he'd seen her with nothing on but her watch!

Scott crashed through the woods, wondering if he'd ever felt so stupid.
What a blundering idiot. Served him right, for snooping. He'd got more
than he bargained for. Far more.

How was he going to face her now?

And would he ever again be able to look at her without picturing her
naked? He groaned. If only he'd turned up five minutes later. If only he
hadn't walked out of the trees just as she'd stretched her arms up to
the skies, gilded in sunshine like a wood nymph, without a stitch of
clothing and her smooth skin tanned to a deliciously dusky brown except
for the stark white areas where her bikini-

Oh damn, damn, damn!

He punched one hand into the palm of the other. Willow Tyler had told
him that morning that he was in a pickle. He snorted. A pickle was mild
compared to the situation he was in now.

He'd asked Ida Trent to send him a plain-Jane nanny. A plain-Jane nanny
she was not. It wasn't that she was a looker; in fact, hadn't he already
decided her face was eminently forgettable? The problem was...her
figure. It was exquisite. The most exquisite he'd ever seen and- she was
right about one thing!-he'd seen more than a few naked ladies in his
day! But he just couldn't have this girl prancing around the house in
skimpy T-shirts and shorts now that he knew what she looked like underneath.

34

He needed to suit her up in armor-some kind of armor that would
obliterate the sexy image from his mind.

He pondered the problem as he emerged from the trees and started walking
up the path to the house. And then, just as he reached the back door,
the solution came to him.

The nannies who'd worked for him in the city had worn uniforms ordered
from the smartnannies.com catalog-each outfit consisting of a crisp blue
dress, with white collar and cuffs; white stockings; white lace-up shoes.

And that, of course, was the answer. He would put Ms. Tyler in a
uniform. Then she'd blend in with the woodwork. And far from being
stimulated to fantasize about her, he wouldn't even see her!

It would work.

He groaned again and rolled his eyes heavenward.

It had to work!

"Ms. Tyler, could you come into my study for a moment?"

Willow paused at the foot of the stairs, her stomach sinking. Dr.
Galbraith had kept scrupulously out of her way for the rest of the day
after the creek incident and she'd hoped she could escape to her room
for the night without having encountered him. Her hopes were not to be
realized.

Indicating the pile of clothing and towels clutched in her arms, she
said, "Okay if I put these in the washer first?"

"Sure, go ahead." He withdrew into his study again, but left the door open.

Willow hurried along to the laundry room, wondering

what he was going to say. Was he going to fire her? Did he think her
behavior that afternoon had been...unbecoming? Well, she'd find out soon
enough!

After setting the washer going, she brushed a nervous hand over her
hair, making sure her ponytail was tidy, before making her way
reluctantly through to the study.

She gave a light rat-tat on the door and walked in.

Her employer was pacing restlessly, his head down, his hands jammed into
his trouser pockets.

As she entered, he halted and jerked his head up.

"Ah, there you are." He looked as ill at ease as she felt. And that gave
her confidence a slight boost. She said, quietly,

"You wanted to see me."

"I wanted to tell you that the cook/housekeeper I've hired-a Mrs.
Caird-will be starting tomorrow. She'll do all the cooking plus all the
housework, except for your laundry and the children's, and the cleaning
of your room. Will that be satisfactory?"

Willow nodded, feeling dizzy with relief that she still had her job. "Of
course. But...I'll have the run of the kitchen, for making snacks for
the children and so on?"

' That's something you can arrange with Mrs. Caird. I'm sure she'll have
no objections as long as you clean up after yourself.''

"Thank you." Willow turned away and started toward the door.

"Er...before you disappear again...there's something I...need to know."

Willow turned around, questioningly. But when she saw the evasive
expression in his eyes, she felt a quiver of apprehension. Was he going
to chastise her, now, for her immodest behavior that afternoon?

"Ye...es," she said. "And what is that?"

36

"I need to...know...er...your measurements." "I don't understand. What
measurements?" A vein throbbed at his right temple. "Do I need to spell
it out?" He scowled at her. And dark color seeped into his cheeks. "The
usual measurements, for heaven's sake!"

"The...usual measurements?" "The size, Ms. Tyler, of your waist, and
your hips. And-" he looked as if he was going to choke on the words but
finally he got them out "-the size of your breasts."

37

Hell will freeze over first!

Willow tried to sputter the words out but her voice wouldn't cooperate.
Her body measurements? Wasn't it bad enough that the man had caught her
naked...now he wanted to know her bust size? His boldness beggared
belief! What kind of a sleazy-

"I-" He shifted his feet awkwardly. "I want to put you in an outfit and
since I have to order it from a catalog-''

"An outfit, Dr. Galbraith?" At last she'd found her voice but it was so
stunned she hardly recognized it. "What kind of an outfit? Do you see me
perhaps in a crimson lace bra with a black and crimson garter belt
and...and...sheer black stockings with red sparkly high-heeled shoes...
and-''

"I meant...a uniform, Ms. Tyler." The man sounded as if he had a
fishbone stuck in his craw. "A nanny's uniform, of the type my
children's previous nannies wore. Ordered through the smartnannies.com
catalog on the Internet."

Willow wanted to shrivel up and disappear. A nanny's uniform. What an
absolute idiot she'd made of herself.

"I apologize." Her cheeks must be as crimson as the scanty lace bra her
imagination had so vividly conjured up. "We seem to have been talking at
cross-purposes."

"Yes," he murmured. "It would seem we have."

But, she reflected defensively, it hadn't been totally

38

her fault. He should have made himself clear, instead of bumbling along
like an embarrassed teenager. With a touch of asperity, she said, "Did
none of your previous nannies balk at providing you with such...
personal.. .information?"

"I always left that kind of stuff to my stepmother. She did the hiring
of the nannies...and the ordering of their uniforms. This is all new to
me, Ms. Tyler. I'd appreciate if you'd make some allowances!"

His sudden smile was as unexpected as it was disarming: a curve of
sensual lips, a flash of white teeth, a twinkle of wickedly blue eyes.
The smile not only dazzled her, but it almost felled her. When Scott
Galbraith set out to charm-as he was obviously doing now!-he was
irresistible.

And when she stared, transfixed, into those arresting blue eyes, she
realized with a bone-chilling sense of alarm that if she let her guard
down, how dangerously easy it would be to let herself fall in love with
him. She sensed herself teetering on the edge of it already-as if she
were balancing in the open doorway of a plane at thirty thousand feet,
with no parachute strapped to her back.

And falling for Dr. Scott Galbraith would be the worst mistake she had
ever made.

No, the second worst. The worst mistake was the one she'd made seven
years ago, when she had-with such tragic consequences-mistaken teenage
infatuation for true love.

He was speaking again, and drawing in a shivery breath, she dragged her
thoughts from the past and forced herself to concentrate.

'Tell you what," he said. "Since you seem so averse to giving me your
measurements, I'll set you up at my

computer and you can input your order yourself." He started toward his
desk. "Would you find that acceptable?"

"No."

He halted and regarded her with a surprised expression.

"You don't want to input the info yourself?" he asked.

"I'd...prefer not to wear a uniform."

"Why not?"

"It would come between me and the children."

"Ms. Tyler, they're accustomed to their nannies being in uniform. If
anything, it would give them a feeling of continuity, which could only
be good."

"Granted, but it would also set me apart, which could only be bad."

"It would give you an aura of authority," he argued, "which would help
you to establish control."

"From what you've told me," she said, "wearing a uniform didn't help the
previous nannies in that regard! Besides," she added, "a uniform might
be appropriate in a city setting but here..."

"Yes?"

"I can't see myself in a uniform while I splash around in the creek with
the children, or while we play hide-and-seek in the woods. Can you?"

He stared at her with a perplexed expression, as if she'd posed a highly
complex problem.

"I'll order a couple of uniforms," he said finally. "And you'll give it
your best shot. If after one week, you find it too...cumbersome...for
certain activities, then we'll discuss the matter again and come up with
a compromise that satisfies us both. Is that acceptable?"

40

"Yes," she said, but without any great enthusiasm. "That would be
acceptable."

"Okay, let's get this show on the road." He took his seat at the desk,
in front of the computer.

She should have been watching the screen as he accessed the Web site,
instead she found herself looking down at the top of his head...and
noticing how rich his black hair was, and how much silkier it seemed, up
close-

He rose from his chair. "Sit down."

She did, and felt his warmth lingering on the padded leather seat. There
was an intimacy about it that she found disconcerting. Wriggling
impatiently, she shifted her mind to a higher plane as he crossed to the
window and stood with his back to her.

After she'd input her info, she rolled back the swivel chair and got to
her feet.

She said, to the back of his head and his impressively wide shoulders,
"It seems a bit stupid now..."

He turned. "What does?"

"That I made such a fuss about giving out my measurements." She gave an
ironic chuckle and added, almost to herself, "It's not as if I've that
much to hide!"

As soon as she'd spoken, she wished the words unsaid. Thanks to her
strip-show at the creek, her employer knew exactly how much-or, rather,
how little!-she had to hide. And she knew, by the shadow darkening his
blue eyes, that reminding him of it had not been one of her better ideas.

He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and she heard the
impatient jingle of coins or keys. The sound was as dismissive as the
ring of a school bell.

"Will that be all?" she asked.

"Just one more thing. This morning I drove to

Crestville to visit my in-laws and I've invited them here for dinner. On
Friday. That'll give Mrs. Caird time to get used to my kitchen before
she has to cook for guests, and it will give you the best part of a week
to lick my children into some kind of shape so they don't disgrace me
too deplorably. Do you think you can do that?"

Willow hadn't been aware that his in-laws lived in Crestville, a town
about fifty miles up the highway. "I'll certainly do my best."

"That's all I can ask. But," he added, and flashed her another of his
debilitating smiles, "I can hope for a miracle!"

A series of warm tingles fluttered Willow's senses as she was exposed to
the full force of his charm. Did Scott Galbraith have any idea what a
heartbreaker he was?

But even as she asked herself the question, she recalled what Ida Trent
had said about the man believing himself to be "devilishly attractive"
to the opposite sex. The memory frosted the warm glow that had suffused
her skin. And instead of fainting at his feet as she'd momentarily felt
prone to do, she returned crisply,

"Hope, as they say, springs eternal! Now, will that be all?"

"Yes, that will be all. Good night, Ms. Tyler."

"Good night, Dr. Galbraith."

As she drew the door closed behind her, she heard him add, very softly,
"Try to get to bed early, Ms. Tyler. We wouldn't want your sleeping in
to become a habit."

Next morning, Willow's alarm went off at seven. Yawning, she flicked it
off and got up. Then she wandered

42

sleepily across the plush pink carpet to the window and drew back the
luxuriously heavy pink drapes.

It was dreary outside. A wild gale was blowing and rain lashed the
countryside in gunmetal-gray sheets. Unless the storm eased up later, it
would be too wet to take the children out. She'd be cooped up in the
house with the little monsters. The prospect made her shudder.

But as she padded toward the en suite bathroom- past the bed with its
pink-sprigged duvet and past the elegant white wicker furniture-she
experienced a sudden rush of pleasure. How lucky she was to have such
beautiful quarters. Quite a change from home, where space was at a
premium-and walking barefoot over toy-littered floors was as
risk-fraught as crossing a minefield!

After showering, she dressed in jeans and an aqua sweatshirt and then
set out to check on her charges.

She was almost at Mikey's room, which was next door to her own, when she
heard a fretful cry.

She pushed the door open and switched on the light.

The sudden brightness took the child aback, and his cry stopped in
midstream. As Willow entered the room, she saw him standing up in his
crib, his cheeks scarlet, his eyes pearled with tears, his hands
clutching the crib rail.

He stared at her for ten long seconds, then he released the crib rail
and plumped down onto his bottom. Lower lip jutting, he watched warily
as she approached the crib.

Willow set her hands on the top rail and looked down at him with a
smile. "Hi," she said. "Good morning!"

He scowled. "Not!"

She laughed. "You're right. Actually it's not. It's

raining and it looks as if it might be on for the duration! Now," she
said, "let's get your diaper changed and-"

"Dry!"

She lowered the side of the crib and leaning over, checked his diaper
and found it was, indeed, dry. "What a good boy!" She looked at him
admiringly. "Aren't you clever!"

His face creased in a delighted smile. "I clever!"

He was so like his father! He had the same electric-blue eyes, the same
heart-stealing smile. What a cute little guy he was. And of course he
wasn't a monster. How could she ever have thought he was!

"Up!" he demanded. "Potty!"

"Right!" She swung him up and gave him a big hug. He grabbed her hair,
and snuggled his face in it, sniffing it.

"So we're friends now?" she asked as she carried him out to the passage
and across to the large bathroom shared by the three children.

She felt his arms go around her neck. Felt his lips against her skin as
he pressed his open mouth to her cheek.

His response was muffled so she couldn't make out what he was saying.
But she didn't need to.

His message was clear.

Scott zipped up his jeans, and fastening the metal button at the
waistband, headed for his bedroom door.

Stepping out into the passage, he caught sight of his new nanny. She was
crossing to the children's bathroom from Mikey's room and she had his
son in her arms. Even from twenty feet away, he could sense the rapport
between them.

It didn't surprise him. Mikey was usually pretty easy

44

to win over when his sisters weren't around. Ms. Tyler would find the
girls a much bigger challenge. But at least, he mused as she disappeared
from sight, she had made a start.

Checking on his daughters, he found them still asleep. Whistling under
his breath, he made his way to the kitchen. After putting on coffee, he
boiled an egg for Mikey, made toast and fried a batch of eggs and
tomatoes and hash browns while he nuked rashers of bacon in the microwave.

By the time he heard Ms. Tyler come down the stairs, everything was
ready and the table set.

"Good timing," he said as she came in. "I'm just finished."

The nanny's straight little nose crinkled. "I thought, when I smelled
the bacon, that Mrs. Caird had arrived early!"

Her eyes looked more green than gray today, he noted absently-probably
reflecting the color from her aqua sweatshirt. Quite pretty eyes, with
incredibly long feathery lashes, a shade or two darker than her sandy hair.

"Dad!" Mikey strained toward him.

He stepped over and scooped the child from her arms-and got a whiff of
whatever perfume she was wearing. It was soft and powdery. Feminine. It
made him want to nuzzle his face into her neck, the way he'd seen Mikey
do earlier!

And how totally inappropriate that would be. Grounds for a sexual
harassment suit...

He squelched the wayward urge.

"Hi, Mikey." He dropped a kiss on his son's head before strapping the
child into his high chair. "And good morning to you, Ms. Tyler. No, Mrs.
Caird won't

be here till after lunch. Pour yourself a coffee, and I'll feed Mikey."

He peeled the toddler's egg, dropped it into a bowl and chopped it up,
before setting the bowl on Mikey's white plastic tray along with a few
-fingers of buttered toast.

In the meantime, Ms. Tyler had poured her coffee and was hovering.

"I must admit," she said, "that I'm surprised to find you so...at
home...in the kitchen."

"Did you think I was just a hewer of wood and a drawer of water?" He
grinned. "Heck no, I'm a New Age Man. Able to turn my hand to any
household task you care to mention."

Waving her toward a chair, he said, "I hope you're hungry."

As she perched on the chair, he opened the oven door and withdrew two
plates arranged with the bacon, over-easy eggs, hash browns and tomato
wedges he'd prepared earlier. Setting a plate in front of her, he
murmured, "Bon appetit.''

And setting the other plate down on the table across from her, he took
his own seat.

She looked at her plate with a dazed expression.

"Dig in," he said.

"I...usually just have coffee in the morning. But. ..I must admit, this
is very tempting..."

"Coffee's not a food, Ms. Tyler. As long as you're under my roof, you'll
eat properly. And that means, no skipping breakfast. Understood?"

Her tone had a mischievous edge as she said, "Then perhaps we should
have held off on ordering my uniform...or perhaps we should reorder now.
The next size up!"

46

He deliberately sidestepped any further discussion of uniforms. "Believe
me," he said, "no matter how heartily you may eat, my brood will keep
you so busy running after them you won't put on a single ounce. I
guarantee it."

"Then-" she lowered her eyes demurely to her plate as she picked up her
fork "-we'll stick with the Small."

Out of nowhere, he was suddenly visited by an image of her petite
figure, stretching naked in the sunlight. The memory was vivid.
Tantalizingly vivid.

He felt a stirring of desire and decided it was time- past time!-to
change the subject completely.

"Tell me, Ms. Tyler, the little boy you were with at Morganti's the
other day...was he one of your charges?"

She dropped a morsel of bacon from her fork, and it fell into her mug.
Her cheeks turned pink and she made a vexed tsking sound. She seemed to
take an inordinate length of time to rescue the bacon scrap from the
coffee. Only after she'd achieved her goal and finally transferred the
scrap to the edge of her plate did she look up at him.

Her eyes were blank of emotion as she gazed at him levelly. "He's my son."

"Your son?"

"I'd assumed Mrs. Trent would have filled you in on my background."

"Mrs. Trent filled me in on your credentials, and your experience,
but...no, she didn't mention that you have a child. Who's looking after
him at present? His father?"

The pink in her cheeks had faded away, leaving her

skin pale. Paler than it had been before. "His father...isn't involved.
My mother looks after Jamie."

"Does the guy at least give you financial support?"

"No." Lowering her gaze to her plate, she toyed with her hash browns.
When she looked up again, her gaze was still shuttered. "He's no longer
in my life. I'm a single mom, yes, but that's not going to affect how I
carry out my work here. I have everything under control."

He nodded. "Good."

And for the next few minutes they ate. He cleared his plate, and brushed
his napkin over his mouth, before starting up the conversation again.

"Where," he asked, "does your mother live?"

"We rent a house at the east end of town. It's small, but the area's
quiet. My mother's been a widow for some years-her health isn't all that
good so she doesn't go out to work. She enjoys staying home and looking
after Jamie."

"How old is the boy?"

"Six."

"In between Lizzie and Amy. But," he added with a self-deprecatory twist
of his lips, "judging by what I saw of him at Morganti's, much better
behaved." He raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you could bring him up here
sometime? He might be a good influence."

"I...don't think that would be a good idea."

"Why not?"

"It might be unsettling for Jamie. Your children are privileged. I
wouldn't want him to become dissatisfied with his own situation."

"You think that might happen?"

"It's not a chance I want to take. But thank you," she continued, with a
stiff smile, "for your invitation."

48

"I'm sorry you won't accept. When Lizzie starts school here in September
and Amy starts kindergarten, it might've made it easier for them if
they'd already met one of the other children."

"Dr. Galbraith." She arranged her fork and knife neatly on her plate.
"That sounds to me remarkably like emotional blackmail. Are you trying
to send me on a guilt trip?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. That was exactly what I was trying to do. It's not
going to work?"

"No. It's not going to work. Besides, I like to keep my private life
separate from my professional life. It makes things less...complicated."

"And you don't like complicated?"

"Uh-uh. Simple. That's how I like things to be."

While they'd been talking, Mikey had been fully occupied eating his
breakfast. Now he was finished and with a sweeping flourish, he threw
his plastic mug across the room. By chance, it landed in the sink.

"Clever boy!" He clapped his hands.

As he did, the kitchen door burst open and Amy and Lizzie erupted into
the room. Amy was crying, Lizzie was taunting.

Scott pushed up to his feet.

"Good morning, girls," he said over the din. "Breakfast's ready, sit
down and Ms. Tyler will serve it."

As he passed her on his way to the door he murmured, "I'm going down to
the clinic, see you later," and added, under his breath, "Good luck!"

Willow phoned Jamie from the wall phone in the kitchen after she'd
served Amy and Lizzie their breakfast and after she'd set Mikey on the
floor to play with his farmyard set.

While she talked to her son, Mikey chatted happily to his collection of
cows and horses; but although Amy and Lizzie appeared just as engrossed
in their bacon and eggs, she sensed they were listening to her every word.

Half turning away, Willow chatted for a minute or two with her mother,
who then passed the phone to Jamie.

"Hi, honey.'' Willow smiled as she imagined her son with the phone in
his hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "How's it going?"

"I miss you, Mom!"

"I miss you too, sweetie. Are you being good for Gran?"

"Well I stepped on her corn by accident yesterday but she said it was
okay. And I bet I'm behaving better than the kids at Summerhill! Are
they insuff'rable?"

Willow bit back a chuckle. Jamie's use of big words never failed to
amuse her. "No," she said. "Not really."

"You'll whip them into shape, right?"

She laughed. "Something like that. So what are you going to do today?"

"Gran's taking me for my swimming lesson, then we're going to
Morganti's. My treat. I told her. With your money. Is that okay?"

"Yes, that's fine, Jamie. Enjoy yourself, and I'll talk to you again
tomorrow."

She noticed that while she'd been chatting, the click-click of spoon
against china from the table had gradually ceased and she suspected that
the girls had become

50

so involved with her conversation, they'd stopped eating.

The moment she hung up, she heard the sound of renewed activity, and
when she turned around, they both had their heads bent over their plates
and were scooping their breakfasts into their mouths as fast as if they
had a train to catch.

Amused, she crossed to the sink and started tidying up. Outside, the
rain still lashed down, but she hoped, as she heard Amy and Lizzie renew
their bickering, that the weather would clear up before too long.

It did.

The rain tapered away around eleven and after having spent most of the
morning refereeing Amy and Lizzie's skirmishes, and coping with their
open and sometimes nasty hostility to her, she took her charges out for
a walk.

As she led them toward the woods that stretched to the west of the
property, Mikey clung to her hand and resisted his sisters' attempts to
win him back to their camp.

"Come with me," Lizzie coaxed. "Take my hand."

"Not!" he said. And clung even more tightly to Willow.

Lizzie snorted and looked at him scornfully. "Little suck!" she muttered
under her breath and stalked ahead.

"Suckie brat!" Amy hissed. And ran after her sister.

But Lizzie didn't want anything to do with her and veered away when Amy
would have walked alongside her.

Willow finally got the trio involved in a game of hide-and-seek, and
after a slow start, they played boisterously until it was time to return
to the house for lunch.

They walked home in a group, with Willow carrying Mikey piggyback after
he announced that his legs were "falling down." At that, Amy laughed,
and even Lizzie couldn't keep back a smile.

"It's not your legs that are falling down, stupid," she said. "It's you!"

"Lizzie," Willow said gently, "sometimes Mikey will say things that you
may think are stupid...but please don't ever call him stupid again. He's
a smart little boy...but even if he weren't, it's not a nice name to
call anyone. Okay?"

"Okay," Lizzie mumbled. And actually added, "Sorry, Mikey. I know you're
not stupid."

"I clever!" Mikey announced proudly. "Clever boy!''

"Yes." Lizzie patted his knee. "You are. A very clever boy!"

In comparative harmony, they walked the rest of the way home, and in
comparative harmony, they ate lunch, after which Willow settled the
children upstairs for their "quiet time."

When she ran downstairs again, she saw her employer coming out of his
study. With him was a middle-aged woman with graying brown hair. Her
spare figure was neatly attired in a wraparound dress the same gold
color as her eyes-friendly eyes that fixed with interest on Willow.

"Ah, there you are, Ms. Tyler." Scott Galbraith ushered the woman
forward. "Come and meet our new housekeeper. Mrs. Caird, this is Willow
Tyler, the children's nanny."

Willow said "Hi," and accepted the other woman's offered hand. Mrs.
Caird's long fingers were warm and bony.

52

"I've given Mrs. Caird the apartment above the garage," Dr. Galbraith
said to Willow. "And I've already shown her over her quarters and
carried up her luggage. I was just about to give her a tour of the
house, but perhaps you'd like to do that, Ms. Tyler, it'll give the two
of you a chance to get acquainted-''

He broke off as the phone rang in his study.

"Excuse me," he said. And went back into his study.

The new housekeeper's brows tugged together as she turned her attention
to Willow. "I don't think we've met before, but your name's familiar to
me. I believe a young lad I fostered may have been at high school with
you. His name was Daniel. Daniel Firth."

Willow's heart gave a sickening lurch, but she managed to say lightly,
"I didn't really know Daniel-he was two years ahead of me. Didn't he
move away a while back?" she asked, trying to divert the woman's focus
from herself.

"Yes, he's working in Toronto." The housekeeper's frown deepened. "I
know he spoke of you at one time-but in what connection, I just can't
think. It'll come back to me, though," she added. "It always does.
Eventually!''

Willow forced a bright smile. "Shall we have that tour now?" she asked,
her tone polite but making it clear she wasn't interested in any more
chitchat.

"Yes, I should like to see my kitchen."

As Willow led the housekeeper along the passage, she felt the beginning
of a pounding headache. She and Dan Firth hadn't been friends but Dan
and Chad had been friends. Close friends. The only person closer to Chad
had been herself. Their relationship, however, had been a tightly
guarded secret...one Chad had shared only with Dan, and only because
he'd needed Dan to

cover for him on the occasions when he went out at night to meet Willow.

Had Dan let slip a hint of this secret to his foster mother? Goose bumps
prickled Willow's skin. Whatever the woman knew, she seemed confident it
would come back to her.

Meanwhile Willow was doomed to spend her days at Summerhill with a
menacing time bomb ticking away unseen.

One that could cause havoc with her life, and change it forever, if it
exploded.

55

"Ah, there you are, Ms. Tyler!"

It was the following afternoon. The children were having their "quiet
time," and Willow had just finished pinning a hamper of clothes to the
line in the backyard when she heard her boss address her.

She glanced around and saw him on the back door step, his tall, lean
figure shown off to perfection in a sports shirt and taupe Bermuda shorts.

Her legs suddenly felt as limp as the washing she'd just pinned to the
line...and when he started walking toward her, she was alarmed to find
herself wondering what it would feel like to be enfolded tenderly in his
arms.

Was she out of her mind? Dr. Scott Galbraith had specifically asked for
a nanny who wouldn't swoon over him. A plain-Jane nanny who wasn't man
mad. She had never considered herself man mad, but where this man was
concerned, she really had to wonder!

"My sister-in-law's here," he said. "Camryn Moffat. We're going to play
a round of golf but she's agreed to baby-sit for half an hour first so I
can take you out for a trial run in my other car.''

His businesslike tone knocked Willow abruptly back to her senses. "Which
other car?" she asked, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

"It was my father's car. It's been sitting in the garage since my
parents left Summerhill. I had it serviced last week. You can have it
for driving the kids around, and for going home on your time off. I want
to take you for a spin now, to give you a chance to get used to the
vehicle.''

"And I'm guessing," she returned in a deliberately arch tone, "that you
also want to know if I'm a maniac behind the wheel!"

"Are you?"

"You'll soon find out!"

"I'll be sure to buckle my safety belt!" he said dryly. "Ready to go?"

It was a roasting hot day and Willow had dressed for comfort. But now,
looking down at her skimpy tank top and her denim cutoffs, she murmured,
"I should change first."

"You're fine."

She didn't feel fine; she felt awkward and drab...and plain. But plain
was good, wasn't it? Plain was what Dr. Scott Galbraith wanted in a
nanny, wasn't it? So she should be delighted that she was so right for
the job!

Hiding a wry smile, she followed him inside, and then they walked
together through to the front hall.

When they got there, Willow smelled the faintest drift of perfume
lingering in the air-jasmine and roses. Tantalizing, rich. Camryn
Moffat's scent. Had to be.

"You'll meet my sister-in-law when we get back." Scott Galbraith opened
the front door. "She's gone upstairs to look in on the kids."

When Willow stepped outside, the first thing she saw was a dashing blue
convertible parked at a jaunty angle by the foot of the steps. Camryn
Moffat's car. Had to be.

It was apparent that the woman enjoyed the same kind of luxurious
lifestyle as her brother-in-law.

56

And if his businesslike demeanor hadn't already knocked Willow to her
senses, seeing this ultra-expensive vehicle would have. She acknowledged
that she'd be crazy to spend one single second drooling over her
employer. Even if she had room for a man in her life- which she
didn't-Scott Galbraith was way, way out of her league.

Just as his stepbrother Chad had been.

She'd known that at the time, but still she'd allowed herself to be
tempted into an affair with him. The memory of how disastrously that
affair had turned out sobered her now as nothing else could.

And so, after she was settled in the driver's seat in the car, it took
little effort to focus all her attention on the dashboard and
familiarize herself with it.

Once she had, she turned the key in the ignition.

"Right," the man beside her said as the engine purred to life. "Let's
take a drive up the Crestville road, see how you handle her on the highway."

Willow backed the car out of the garage, keeping well away from his
green luxury vehicle, which was parked right next to it.

She wasn't nervous about this "trial run." She knew she was a good
driver...and her boss would soon know it, too.

It had been a huge mistake, taking her out in the car while she was
wearing these damned cutoff shorts. When she'd asked if she should
change, he should have told her to put on a pair of jeans...then his
gaze wouldn't be glued, the way it was now, to her slender sun-browned legs.

He barely managed to stifle a groan. The right leg was stretched out as
she pressed her foot to the accelerator; the left had relaxed as she
concentrated on her driving, and it had fallen open with the knee
resting against the car door.

She could have no idea what a seductive message she was sending out. It
was enough to give a guy a heart attack.

It didn't help that he'd always been a leg man. And Willow Tyler's legs
were the sexiest he'd ever seen.

He itched to touch...and found his gaze drawn again, hypnotically, to
the sandaled foot arched over the accelerator. He wondered exactly where
her most sensitive spot would be. Would it be those dainty toes? Or the
paler skin of her instep? Or would it be-

"...I think here would be a good spot."

He jumped as if he'd been caught reading a novel in church. Was the
woman a mind reader? His heart missed a beat as he saw that she was
running a hand lightly over her left knee, the smooth, rounded knee
lolling against the door.

She was inviting him to...?

Dazedly he stared at her.

She returned her hand to the wheel, and said, in a faintly mocking tone,
"Haven't you seen enough?"

"Enough?"

She swung the car off the road and into a rest area. Apart from a camper
parked at the far end, it was deserted.

What the heck did she have in mind?

She half turned in her seat and fixed her gray-green eyes on him.
"Okay." Her tone was amused. "On a scale of one to ten, what's your
assessment?"

"A ten." The word shot out before he could stop it. And anyway, why
should he lie? She did have the most fabulous legs.

58

"Mmm. Myself, I'd have put it at a nine. I was overly cautious passing
that cyclist just after we passed Miller's End, but they really give me
the heebie-jeebies and..."

For a moment, he was lost. What was she talking about? And then...the
penny dropped. She'd been referring to her driving, not to his lecherous
appraisal of her legs.

"...and if you've seen enough, we'll go back. This rest area is as good
a spot as any to turn. Besides-" she ran a hand over her knee again
"-the sun's been glaring down on my leg and I feel the skin starting to
burn."

He sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn't said anything to
reveal he'd misunderstood her.

But he wasn't going to subject himself to another spell of sitting next
her with nothing to do but feast his gaze on her glorious limbs.

He opened his door.

"Right," he said. "We'll go back. But I'll drive."

She didn't get out. She started, instead, to clamber over the gearbox
from the driver's seat to the seat he'd vacated. And just before he
slammed the passenger door behind him, he was treated to a view of
inelegantly splayed legs; a view that threatened to raise his blood
pressure to bursting point.

"Oh, you're back, Scott. Hi, there!"

Willow heard the melodic voice sing down from the stairwell as she and
her employer crossed the front hall. Glancing up, she saw a woman come
running down the stairs.

At sight of the stranger, Willow felt her breath catch. Scott
Galbraith's sister-in-law was stunningly beautiful,

with a terrific figure showcased in a clinging cotton-knit golf shirt
and emerald-green shorts. Her cascade of curly hair was the color of
black coffee; her eyes were even darker; and her lips were as red as a
ripe hothouse tomato.

She positively vibrated with energy, and charisma oozed from her every pore.

"I've been chatting with Lizzie," she announced happily as she reached
the foot of the stairs. "Scott, I'm so glad you've all come back to
Summerhill, it's going to be wonderful having my nieces and nephew nearby."

Then focusing her eyes on Willow, she scanned her frankly while waiting
to be introduced.

Willow felt her employer's firm hand on the small of her back.

"Camryn," he said, "this is the children's nanny, Willow Tyler. Ms.
Tyler, my sister-in-law, Ms. Moffat-"

"Oh, don't be so formal, Scott!" Camryn Moffat stuck out her hand to
Willow in a forthright manner. "'Ms. Moffat' makes me feel like some
staid elderly aunt! I'm Camryn. And I'm going to call you Willow, if you
don't mind."

Though Willow often felt intimidated by truly beautiful women, knowing
how very ordinary she herself was, she didn't feel overwhelmed because
this one was just so nice.

"I'd like that," Willow said. "If Dr. Galbraith doesn't mind."

He cleared his throat, before saying, somewhat stiffly, "No, Ms. Tyler.
I don't mind."

"There." Camryn smiled. "That's settled then! And Willow's such a pretty
name, I don't see why you can't

60

use it, Scott, instead of 'Ms. Tyler.' Sometimes you can be such an old
fuddy-duddy!"

Realizing that Camryn had put her employer on the spot, Willow flushed.
But before she could even think what to say to smooth the moment, he
said, even more stiffly,

"I just want to afford Ms. Tyler the respect her position warrants-''

"Oh, pooh!" Camryn turned to Willow. "Which would you prefer-Willow or
Ms. Tyler?"

Willow felt her boss's eyes on her. And she sensed which answer he
wanted to hear. But it wasn't the one she wanted to give. She said,
honestly, "I prefer Willow."

She looked at him as she spoke, and she saw his eyelids flicker. She
interpreted it as a sign of disapproval.

But before she had time to regret her quick decision, he said, "I have
no problem with that...however, let's level the playing field." His
expression was mocking. "From now on," he drawled, "you'll call me Scott."

After the couple left for the golf club, Willow went upstairs to see
what her three charges were doing.

She checked on the younger two first and found them still asleep.

When she poked her head around Lizzie's door, she saw the eight-year-old
sitting cross-legged on her bed, reading.

The child looked up when Willow entered, and with a scowl, immediately
returned her attention to her book.

Willow crossed over to the bed. "What are you reading?" she asked in a
friendly tone.

"A book."

"Mmm, I can see that." Willow also saw crumpled wrapping paper on the
floor. "A present from your aunt?"

"'Scuse me." Rolling away from her, Lizzie swung her feet onto the
carpet, and got up. Nose in the air, she stalked to the door. "I have to
go to the bathroom."

Seconds later, Willow heard the bathroom door crash shut.

The sound woke both Mikey and Amy. And as Mikey's fretty cries rent the
air, followed by a yelled "Shut up!" from Amy, Willow braced herself for
another pleasant afternoon.

Her employer didn't return home till late evening.

The children were in bed, asleep, and Mrs. Caird had retired to her
apartment. Willow was sitting at the harvest table in the kitchen,
sipping hot chocolate while she worked on the New York Times crossword
in the Sun newspaper.

She'd just finished it when she heard a key in the back door lock. The
door opened and Scott Galbraith came in.

When he saw her, he gave her his now-familiar faintly mocking smile.

"Hi, there," he said. "Willow."

She flushed. "I'm sorry your sister-in-law put you in an awkward
situation. You don't have to call me... that."

"Ah, but I do. Camryn would have my head on a plate if I reverted to
'Ms. Tyler'." He looked at her mug. "What are you drinking?"

"Hot chocolate." She started to rise from her chair. "Can I make you some?"

62

He waved her down again. "Thanks, I had a late dinner at the club, drank
too much coffee."

"How was your game?"

"Camryn beat the pants off me. She's a terrific golfer. Club champion of
the ladies' division last year, and for the past several years, too. I
haven't played much lately, but I'm looking forward to getting back into
it."

He'd got a touch of the sun, Willow noticed. And the glow in his cheeks
made his eyes seem more intense than ever.

"What does your sister-in-law do...other than play golf?"

"She has a boutique in Crestville. She designs most of the clothes
herself. Her line's called CM Works. Are you familiar with it?
Apparently one of her gowns was featured on the cover of Vogue in January."

"No." And if Camryn's designs were worthy of a Vogue cover, they
certainly wouldn't be something Willow could afford! "But I'm not really
up on fashion." She added, in a purposely offhand amused tone,
"Plain-Jane, that's me."

His gaze sharpened. And lasered into her as if he was trying to
determine whether that was a gibe. She could almost hear him asking
himself if Ida Trent could possibly have been that indiscreet. But her
own guileless expression apparently fooled him, because in a second or
two she saw the suspicion clear from his eyes.

"Well," he said vaguely, "it takes all sorts..."

Suppressing a chuckle over his momentary discomfiture, she waited for
him to leave.

But he seemed in no hurry. Leaning against the island in the center of
the kitchen, he said, "So...how was your day? Making any headway with
Lizzie?"

"I'm afraid not."

"How about Amy?"

"No."

He grimaced. "Look, I'm sorry-"

"No, I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I was so rude to you in Morganti's," she
added in a rush. "I don't think I ever apologized for that. I didn't
know the circumstances...but that's no excuse. Dr. Galbraith, I-"

"Scott."

"Dr. Galbraith, I find it hard to-"

"Call me Scott." He raised his eyebrows. "It's a simple word. One
syllable." He nodded toward the newspaper section on the table, folded
open. "Surely that's not beyond the scope of a young woman who can zip
her way through the New York Times crossword?"

"It's not the word that's difficult, you know that! It's the fact that
I'm the nanny, you're the boss."

"Can't you see me as...an ally, rather than a boss? Whatever battles you
may have with the kids, I'm on your side. We have to present a united
front. And if we're on a first-name basis, that would help make our
position clear."

"It might. But...I can't call you...by anything other than Dr. Galbraith."

"That's final?"

"Yes."

"Then," he said with a melodramatic sigh, "Camryn's going to have my
head on a platter."

She couldn't help smiling at that. "So you're going back to calling me-"

"Ms. Tyler." He pushed himself from the island. "And now, Ms. Tyler, I
shall go to my study and allow you to enjoy the rest of your hot
chocolate in peace."

64

As he exited, he called back, over his shoulder, "Good night, see you
tomorrow."

"Good night, Dr. Galbraith."

The door swung shut and Willow relaxed muscles she hadn't even known
she'd tensed. Whenever she was in the same room as Scott Galbraith, she
found he affected her that way. Her muscles tensed-and her nerves
hummed, her senses shivered. She was attracted to him, physically
attracted to him. There was no point in denying it.

And she just couldn't call him by his first name. It would be far
too...intimate.

Still...she was tempted to find out how it would sound on her tongue.

She inhaled a deep breath, and whispered: "Scott..."

But even as she pronounced his name she realized, to her dismay, that it
came out sounding like a caress.

Willow had Thursday off.

And on Friday morning, she and the family breakfasted together, in the
dining room.

After the meal was over, she told her charges to excuse themselves so
she could take them upstairs to supervise their teeth-cleaning. But as
she pushed to her feet, their father emerged from behind his newspaper.

"Hang on a minute, Ms. Tyler. Lizzie, you take Amy and Mikey upstairs.
Ms. Tyler will follow shortly."

Willow sat down again as the children took off.

"So," her employer said, "how did you enjoy your break yesterday? What
did you do last night?"

"Nothing too exciting. Mom made pizzas for supper and then I met up with
a friend who has a little boy, Mark, and we took the boys to the park
for a while.

Then Mark stayed at our house for a sleepover, and Brock took me dancing."

"Brock?"

"Mark's dad."

"He's on his own? Divorced? Or-"

"He's married but his wife-"

The door opened and Willow looked around.

"Excuse me, Dr. Galbraith." Mrs. Caird came in and put a package down in
front of her employer. "But this just arrived by courier and I thought
it might be important."

"Thank you." As the woman left, he set a hand on the package but kept
his gaze on Willow. "You were saying...?"

Was that a thread of disapproval in his tone? Had he jumped to the
conclusion that she was involved in a deceitful relationship with a
married man? The thought stung. Contrarily she decided not to enlighten
him. Yet.

Wrinkling her nose, she said, "Whatever it was, it's gone!" And with a
faint shrug of dismissal, added, "I guess it couldn't have been important!"

His lips thinned.

Frowning, he tilted the package and set himself to studying the return
address. When he looked up again, his expression was frosty.

"This is your uniform, Ms. Tyler." He dumped the package on the table
between them. "I suggest you start by wearing it for dinner tonight.''

"You're forgetting-you invited Camryn and her parents for dinner-''

"And you, Ms. Tyler, will join us. Do you have any objections to that?"

"No, I have no objections. It's just...normally, I don't join a family
when they have dinner guests."

66

"In this case, the guests are family." He exhaled an impatient sigh. "To
repeat, you'll wear your new uniform for dinner, and then, as we agreed,
you will wear it for a week whenever possible." He picked up his
newspaper again. "Thank you, Ms. Tyler. That will be all."

Willow got to her feet. And as he buried his face behind the newspaper,
she said lightly, "Oh, I've just remembered what I was going to say
before Mrs. Caird came in. It was about Brock's wife, Jo. I was going to
explain that she's my best friend but she doesn't like to dance, whereas
Brock and I have been dance partners since high school and we go to Jazz
Nights at the Grotto on a regular basis." She leaned across the table
and scooped up the couriered package.

As she did, he looked up and she added, very pointedly, "With Jo's
blessing, of course!"

Then she swung away from the table and sashayed out of the room.

She thought she heard him chuckle, even thought she heard a murmur that
sounded like "Touche!" But she couldn't be sure...

Still, she wouldn't have put it past him. One thing she had already
learned about Scott Galbraith...and it was something that she liked: the
man had a sense of humor.

Fortunately she had one, too, for she certainly needed it later that day
when she changed into her new uniform. She stared aghast at her
reflection in the bedroom mirror. Of all the colors in the spectrum, she
decided, this shade of blue suited her least! It was way too harsh and
totally drowned her out.

If she'd looked plain before, she looked positively sick now.

She'd dressed the children and settled them in Lizzie's room before
going into her own room to change for dinner. As she made her way back
to collect them, she wondered if they would notice what she was wearing.

They did.

And their reaction reinforced her own opinion.

"You look yukky!" Amy said, getting up from the carpet where she'd been
building blocks with Mikey.

Lizzie set aside her book and raked her with a scathing glance before
saying with a scornful sniff, "For once, Amy's right. You do not look
good in that color!''

Mikey stared at her as if she'd suddenly grown two extra heads. "Not!"
he said. "Not, not, not!"

Out of the mouths of babes.

Willow couldn't help laughing, and was about to say, "Thank you very
much!" when she heard the doorbell ring.

Lizzie rolled off the bed. "They're here! Let's go!"

"Before we do," Willow said, "let's go through to the bathroom and give
our hands a good scrub. And may I remind you all to be on your very best
behavior. Try to make your father proud of you."

Ignoring her, Lizzie and Amy took off, jostling irritably in the doorway
as each tried to beat the other to the bathroom. And once the hands were
all washed and dried, Lizzie and Amy took off again, running
helter-skelter to the landing and then clattering downstairs.

With Mikey in tow, Willow hurried after them, afraid the two would
barrel rudely into the drawing room. But shyness overcame them at the
last minute and they hung back when they reached the half-open door.

68

Willow finally caught up with them. And as Mikey tugged his hand from
hers, she took in the pretty scene before her.

A handsome silver-haired couple were seated on a sofa angled out from
the hearth, their faces turned toward Scott Galbraith and his
sister-in-law, who were engaged in conversation over by the drinks
table. Camryn was wearing an exquisite black cocktail dress; he was
wearing a superbly cut dark suit.

And the intimacy between them was unmistakable.

Willow felt as if someone had reached into her chest and squeezed her
heart, hard. They were indeed a beautiful pair...and they would be a
perfect match.

In the moment before she knocked lightly on the door, she saw the
silver-haired couple turn to each other and exchange satisfied smiles.

It was obvious to Willow that they were hearing echoes of exactly the
same merry sound she was...

The peal of wedding bells.

69

Lizzie was the first to find her tongue.

"Hi, Grandma." Her black taffeta skirt rustled as she walked across the
room. "Hi, Gramps."

"Lizzie!" The silver-haired lady held out her arms. "Darlings!" Her pale
blue eyes shone as she welcomed her grandchildren. "Come and give your
grandmother a huge hug!"

Once the grandparents had fussed over the children, Camryn's father
lifted Mikey onto his knee, while Lizzie perched on an ottoman and Amy
snuggled up on the sofa between her grandparents.

Willow hovered, and as Scott Galbraith came forward with his
sister-in-law, she turned toward him for guidance.

At sight of her in the blue uniform, he did a double-take while Camryn
stared at her, obviously taken aback, before pursing her lips.

The pair didn't say "Not, not, not!" as Mikey had done. They didn't have
to; their expressions said it all.

Willow wished the floor would open up and she could dive into oblivion.

The doctor switched his attention to the couple on the sofa. "Elly,
Craig, I'd like you to meet our new nanny, Ms. Tyler." He sent another
glance Willow's way and when she saw the amusement shimmering in his
eyes, she felt a stirring of outrage. "Ms. Tyler, these are the
children's grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Moffat."

Stifling an uncharacteristic urge to slap him, Willow

70

responded politely to his guests as they greeted her in an absent but
friendly enough manner.

Her employer invited Willow, with a casual gesture, to sit on one of the
occasional chairs, while he and Camryn moved over to a love seat by the
hearth.

The Moffats were genuinely fond of the children, and the children,
sensing this, chatted away quite happily and for once, didn't squabble
among themselves.

After about fifteen minutes, Scott glanced at his watch and said,
"Dinner should be ready around now. Lizzie, would you run through to the
kitchen and ask Mrs. Caird if we should make our way to the dining room?"

Before Lizzie could get up from the ottoman, Amy shot to her feet. "I'll
go, Dad!"

Lizzie scowled-and then to Willow's horror, shoved a leg out just as Amy
raced past her. Amy tripped and went flying, ending up in a sprawl on
the plush-ivory carpet.

The child burst into tears, and Willow wasted no time in going to her aid.

For once Amy didn't push her away. But as Willow helped Amy to her feet,
the redhead yelled, "You're a big pest, Lizzie Galbraith, and I hate you!"

Seeing his sister fall had upset Mikey and he started to scream.
Shrilly. Nerve-scrapingly.

Willow felt her cheeks turn scarlet with embarrassment, and her spirits
sank to a sickening low.

The evening was still in its infancy and already the children were
letting her down. She darted a panicky look at her employer, and it was
no great surprise to her to see that the amusement she'd spotted in his
eyes earlier had vanished.

Dark irritation had taken its place.

"Thank you, Scott, for a lovely dinner. You've found a real treasure in
Mrs. Caird. If you don't watch out I'll be stealing her from you," Elly
added with a chuckle, as he helped her into the passenger seat of their
silver luxury car.

"She's just teasing, Scott." Camryn ensconced herself in the back seat.
"Bettina's a superb cook as you'll no doubt remember from your lunch at
our place the other day!"

Her father started up the engine, and flicked down the windows. Camryn
looked up at her brother-in-law.

"Scott, why on earth did you put that poor girl in a uniform? It's not
like you to be so pretentious!"

"In the city," he began, only to be interrupted.

"Oh, pooh to the city!" Camryn waggled a red-tipped finger at him. "Get
rid of it, Scott. Folks in this part of the world don't put their
children's nannies in uniform. You're going to make the girl a
laughingstock!"

"Camryn!" Eleanor sounded scandalized. "Scott has every right to put the
girl in uniform if he wants to. Personally I thought it added...tone.
And let's face it, who ever looks at the hired help anyway. A nanny...
well, she's just like part of the furniture."

"Part of the furniture indeed!" Craig shook his head. "Elly, sometimes I
swear you're a bigger snob than your mother was!"

Scott laughed. And slapped the roof of the car with the flat of his
hand. "Good night, folks." He stepped back as the car drew away. "See
you again soon."

He stood there till the rear lights disappeared into the night, then he
strolled back toward the house.

It was almost midnight, but the evening was still warm. The moon, at
present, had hidden behind a cloud

72

and the only light came from the sensor beams above the front door.

The children were asleep. He had let them stay up past their normal
bedtime because after their little kerfuffle in the sitting room before
dinner, they'd behaved well enough. The girls had clung to Camryn,
though, and had ignored Ms. Tyler, so shortly after dinner was over he'd
told her she could take the rest of the evening off.

Ms. Tyler.

He shook his head wryly as he remembered his first sight of her in the
blue uniform. For a moment he hadn't recognized her. And when he had, it
was all he could do not to chuckle. But there was no doubt that she'd
noticed the mirth in his eyes and he chuckled now, recalling her
outraged expression.

What a funny little duck she was.

And-he cocked his head as he heard the sound of an approaching
vehicle-if he wasn't mistaken, the funny little duck was back.

He strolled out into the forecourt and when the car's headlights swept
the front of the house, he waved her down.

She drew to a halt beside him.

In the car's interior light, he saw that she'd changed from her uniform
into a white T-shirt and jeans.

"You want me to park here?" she asked through the open window.

"It's late, better not go into the garage and disturb Mrs. C."

He opened the door for her and with a murmured "Thanks," she swung
herself up and out. He smelled chocolate on her breath-mingled with the
soft feminine scent of the perfume she wore.

He caught her forearm as she would have made for the door. "Don't go in
yet," he said. "I want to talk to you."

She stiffened under his touch. "About the children, of course." The moon
chose that moment to sail out from behind the cloud and in its cold rays
he saw that her cheeks had become flushed. "I'm sorry, Dr. Galbraith. I
know they let you down-I know I let you down," she corrected herself.
"I'd hoped that by now I'd have been able to reach Lizzie-"

"Ms. Tyler." His tone was gently chiding. "I'm not blaming you for
Lizzie's meanness to her sister. And I told you at the beginning of the
week that I didn't expect miracles. What I want to talk about is...your
uniform."

"Oh. Do you have some problem with it?"

The stiffness had moved from her arm to her voice. And that was when he
realized that he still held her forearm. He released her. "It was a
mistake."

"A mistake?"

The moonlight made her T-shirt glow and its brightness acted like a
magnet to his eyes. His gaze slid down, and it was only with difficulty
that he dragged his attention up again from her small rounded breasts,
which appeared to be quivering under the thin white fabric. "I want you
to stop wearing it and go back to wearing your regular clothes."

"No."

"Why on earth not?"

"We agreed that I should wear the uniform whenever possible. And that's
what I plan to do."

"Ms. Tyler." Frustratedly he dug his hands into his trouser pockets. "Do
you enjoy being...difficult?"

"Dr. Galbraith." Her tone was sweeter than icing

74

sugar, and exaggeratedly patient. "I'm not trying to be difficult. I
just believe it'll be greatly to your benefit if I continue to wear the
uniform."

Alarm zinged through him. Surely she hadn't guessed the real reason he'd
wanted her to wear a uniform?

"Of what possible benefit," he asked warily, "could it be to me?"

Her eyes had a mocking glitter. "When you asked me on my first day here
what I thought of you, I said I figured you were under a lot of stress.
Which you undoubtedly are. And according to the experts, one of the best
things to relieve stress is laughter." She tilted back her head and
somehow managed to look down her straight little nose at him as she
added in a tone of unmistakable irony, "I certainly don't mind wearing a
uniform and being the object of your laughter, Dr. Galbraith, if doing
so will improve your health...and your disposition...in any way!"

She spun away from him, leaving him to stare after her as she stalked
across the forecourt, up the front steps and through the open doorway.

And as his startled gaze followed her petite figure- her neat shoulders,
her tiny waist, her pert behind, her long legs-even as he chuckled at
her impudence, he was dismayed to feel a sudden stab of desire.

The same desire he'd felt on seeing her naked by the creek. Sweet and
urgent. And totally inappropriate!

He rubbed a perplexed hand over his nape. Ms. Tyler was right about
laughter being good for alleviating stress, but did she know that one of
the best stress-relievers was sex?

He walked slowly up the steps, his thoughts drifting hither and thither,
first to this and then to that...

But mainly to "that."

Sex.

Of which he hadn't had any for a couple of years; which was probably the
reason he was now finding himself so easily aroused...and why he'd
recently started having erotic and highly disturbing dreams.

Dreams about his children's nanny.

Dammit, if he was having erotic dreams, surely they should be about
someone more...suitable. Someone in his social circle.

Camryn, for instance.

Now there was a woman who would make him a perfect mate. He latched
desperately onto the thought.

Camryn was beautiful, she was intelligent, she was warm-and, according
to the none-too-subtle hints her mother had tossed his way when her
daughter was upstairs putting the children to bed-not only available but
willing.

He should be thinking about getting married again. That way he could
have sex whenever he wanted it. And that way, he could stop fantasizing
about a certain funny little duck who, right now, would be upstairs in
her room stripping off her plain white T-shirt and her hip-hugging blue
jeans, stepping out of her panties, taking off her bra-

And there he was, back to "that" again. Imagining how "that" would be
with an entirely inappropriate person.

He groaned, and with an effort, forced his thoughts back to Camryn:
beautiful, charming Camryn, who was not only from an excellent family,
but she was also a delightful companion and a ready-made mother for his
unruly brood.

Squaring his shoulders, he made a decision.

First thing tomorrow, he would call her and invite

76

her out to dinner that evening. At a very elegant restaurant. And with
the help of good wine, soft candlelight and romantic music, he would
allow himself to be seduced into moving their longtime
brother-in-law/sister-in-law relationship onto an entirely different
footing.

When Willow brought her charges down for breakfast next morning, she
found her employer already seated at the dining-room table. Sunshine
streamed in through the window behind him, shimmering highlights into
his black hair and shadowing his face as he perused his copy of the
Vancouver Sun.

She'd been relieved last night when he hadn't asked her how she'd spent
her time off. She couldn't have told him that directly after leaving
Summerhill, she'd gone to place flowers on Chad's grave-and keeping that
information from him would have been another lie between them, albeit a
lie of omission. And he had made it plain that he prized honesty, hated
deceit. If he ever found out...

But he never would. She was always very careful when she visited the
Greenvale Burial Grounds; always made sure no one was around when she
placed her flowers or pruned the rosebushes she'd planted so tearfully
seven years ago.

He had looked up as she and the children came into the room. His eyes
narrowed as he ran his gaze over the uniform, but he made no comment,
instead just greeting her with a casual "Good morning, Ms. Tyler."

"Good morning, Dr. Galbraith."

The children ran over to him and he hugged them with a warm "Good
morning, kids!"

The girls then took their places at the table, but

Mikey curled his fingers like pincers around the leather belt at his
father's waist.

"Up, Dad!"

"No, Mikey, you'll have to sit in your high chair." He tried to
extricate his son's fingers but when a wincing Mikey only tightened his
grip, the doctor shot Willow an appealing glance.

"Ms. Tyler, would you... ? I don't want to hurt him."

Willow crouched down beside the child.

"There's a trick to this." Smiling, she glanced up at her employer. "If
you unlatch the baby finger, the others are easy." After she'd completed
the exercise, she scooped Mikey up and shushing his protesting grumbles,
strapped him into his high chair and set an empty bowl on his tray.

As she reached for the package of corn flakes on the sideboard, she kept
her back to her employer so he wouldn't see the flush that had seeped to
her cheeks after she'd glanced up at him. Their eyes had met for less
than three seconds, but in that brief space she'd surprised a look of
sexual awareness so blatant it had stopped her heart.

The man wanted her.

Oh, no, she must be wrong. He couldn't possibly want her. She was his
plain-Jane nanny. Drab, and boring, with a face that would never launch
a paper boat, far less a thousand ships. A man like Dr. Scott Galbraith
couldn't possibly be interested in-

"Ms. Tyler, what on earth are you doing?"

The astonishment in his voice snatched her back to reality... and she
noticed that Amy and Lizzie were giggling.

No wonder. Her face now went from pink to scarlet, for while she'd been
struggling with her thoughts, her

78

hands had apparently been busy. Too busy! She had poured half the packet
of corn flakes, not into the empty bowl she had set on Mikey's tray but
directly onto the tray itself. And Mikey was now sweeping the mounds of
cereal off the tray and onto the carpet, chuckling with every delighted
swipe.

"Oh, dear." Willow darted a horrified look at her employer.

And the expression in his eyes was so far removed from the expression
she believed she'd seen there earlier, that she knew she must have
imagined his sexual interest in her.

"I'm s-sorry," she sputtered. Gulping, she added, "I...my mind just
wandered for a moment..." Her throat felt tight, her voice sounded thin.
"I'll tidy-"

"Yes, you do that." He shoved his paper aside, lurched to his feet and
fixed her with a dark scowl. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a phone
call to make."

He made for the door, but paused briefly on the way, his eyes shuttered
as he turned to address her again.

"I'll be going out shortly, I'll be at the clinic with Dr. Black till
late afternoon. And then," he continued with distinct emphasis on each
word as if he were delivering a prepared and well-rehearsed speech, "I
shall be taking Ms. Moffat out for dinner tonight. Could you please tell
Mrs. Caird not to prepare any meals for me."

And leaving her staring after him blankly, he strode from the room,
disapproval emanating from his every pore.

Willow took her charges to the creek midmorning, and once the trio had
wriggled into their swimsuits they dashed into the lazily rippling
water, making enough

noise to frighten away every bird within a half-mile radius.

She seated herself on the grass with her back against a tree trunk, her
eyes on the children but her thoughts on their father. What a strangely
challenging expression had been in his eyes when he'd told her he was
going out for dinner with his sister-in-law. And the odd tone he'd
used...as if he'd been making a point.

But what that point was, she hadn't the foggiest idea.

Before she could puzzle it out, Amy tromped out of the water and plonked
herself down on her towel.

The child plucked a blade of grass from the ground and nibbled it. She
slanted Willow a surreptitious glance before looking away again quickly.
Then, plucking out another blade, she fixed her gaze steadily on it and
said, in a very quiet voice,

"I wonder why Lizzie's always so mean to me."

Willow jerked her mind to sharp attention. It was the first time the
child had initiated a conversation with her. Could this possibly be the
breakthrough she'd hoped for?

"I don't know." She used the same quiet tone Amy had used. "Why do you
think she's mean to you?"

"She calls me a pest."

"And I think that makes you sad."

"She di'nt used to. Call me that."

"So...when did it start?"

Amy lifted her head and fixed Willow with troubled blue eyes. "It
started after Sarah Anne left."

"Sarah Anne?"

"She was our last nanny. The one that came after Belinda. Sarah Anne was
really mean. She used to call Lizzie a pest, all the time! Well, 'cept
when Dad was around. Then she was all nice and soft."

80

So Sarah Anne had called Lizzie a pest. And Lizzie had stored up her
anger...and it seemed as if she might now be transferring it to her
sister. It would explain a lot.

"Was that why your dad let Sarah Anne go?" she asked gently. "He found
out she was being nasty to Lizzie?"

"No. He di'nt know that. He let Sarah Anne go 'cos she wanted to sleep
with him. That's what I heard cook say to Grandma Galbraith's chauffeur.
I don't know why Sarah Anne would want to sleep with my dad. She had a
really nice bedroom of her own." She squinted up at Willow. "Do you want
to sleep in my dad's bed?"

Willow was thankful that Mikey chose that moment to scream, "Amy, come
see fishies!" and Amy, easily diverted, jumped up and splashed into the
water to join him-leaving Willow blinking in reaction to her innocent
question.

Did she want to sleep in Scott Galbraith's bed?

If she were forced to answer that question, she'd have to say she'd
never actually thought about sleeping in his bed. Admittedly his bed had
featured in her dreams...but what he and she did together, in those
dreams, had absolutely nothing to do with sleeping!

Late that afternoon, Scott parked his car across the road from the
Greenvale Burial Grounds, and walked over to the cemetery's entrance.

He'd been at Summerhill for almost three weeks now, and had been putting
this moment off, unwilling to face all the memories that would
undoubtedly press down on him when he stood before his stepbrother's
grave. But his conscience wouldn't permit him to delay the visit

any longer. Bad enough that he'd let Chad down so badly in the past...

Nodding to a caretaker who was raking one of the paths, he strode along
another of the paths, noting absently that most of the plots had a
neglected air and that the lawns were sun-browned.

It was on a day such as this that they had buried Chad. It had been
stiflingly hot, with not the slightest breeze to ruffle his father's
graying hair, his weeping stepmother's black veil, his wife,
Genevieve's, wide-brimmed black hat.

His heart twisted now as he reached Chad's grave. And for several
moments he was so overcome with emotion that he didn't notice how
well-tended the plot was. When he did, it was with a sense of surprise.

The granite headstone was spotlessly clean, unlike most of the others,
which were white-stained with bird droppings. He raised his eyebrows at
the sight of the two neatly pruned miniature rosebushes with their
dainty yellow blossoms, and the sturdy glass vase with its colorful
display of flowers.

Intrigued, and curious, he glanced around and saw that the only other
cut flowers in sight were those at a fresh grave some distance away,
which was smothered in wreaths.

He crouched down and inspected the pretty bouquet-white nicotiana and
pink Michaelmas daisies and dark blue delphinium. They hadn't even begun
to wilt. Someone must have placed them here recently.

But... who?

Even as he asked himself the question, the past snared his attention and
he stood awhile, just thinking. Thinking of days gone by-days when he
should have

82

"been there" for Chad, days when he,* to his lasting sorrow, had not.

Finally, expelling a weary sigh and wondering why he always found it so
easy to forgive others for their shortcomings but impossible to forgive
himself, he turned and made his way back along the narrow path.

The caretaker was still raking vigorously. But as Scott approached with
an "Excuse me," he glanced up.

"Hi," he returned. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to ask about Chad Galbraith's plot." Scott indicated the
grave's location with a wave of his hand. "Who's looking after it? The
flowers...?"

"Got me on that one, I'm afraid."

"You've never seen anyone-"

"Uh-uh. Oh, somebody's tending it, but whoever it is-and my guess is,
it's a woman-she's a bit of a mystery. Never seen hide nor hair of her.
'Course, I don't work evenings or weekends. She could be comin' in then.
Whatever, that grave's the best tended in the park. Even in winter. If
there ain't a bunch of 'mums for color, there's sprigs of holly. Or
somethin'. Always somethin'."

Scott mulled this over as he returned to his car. And was still mulling
it over as he set off for Crestville. A mystery woman. Who could she be?
And why had she taken it upon herself to look after Chad's grave? The
questions niggled and niggled at him as he drove up the highway.

But when he arrived at his destination, where he was welcomed warmly by
his dinner date, he forgot all about Chad's grave and the mystery woman
who tended it with such devotion, as he concentrated his attention on
this other woman. The one who wasn't mysterious at all.

The beautiful and charming Camryn Moffat.

The lady he intended to make his wife.

83

"Where's Dad?" Amy grumbled. "How come he's never home anymore, Lizzie?"

"Because he's working at the clinic now."

"I know where he goes in the daytime, but where does he go after he
comes home from work and takes off again?''

"He's out with Aunt Camryn. He takes her out every night. I asked him
and he told me. They go golfing or for dinner or whatever! Now finish
cleaning your teeth and stop asking so many questions."

Later, as Willow tidied up the bathroom, she found herself recalling the
girls' conversation, which she'd overheard as she was putting Mikey to
bed. And when, shortly after, she made her way downstairs to the laundry
room with a bundle of towels, their words stayed with her.

Since their father had started work at the clinic four days ago, the
pattern of his life had changed. His days started early because he did
rounds at the local hospital before going to the clinic, and he was
usually gone before Willow and the children came down for breakfast.
After work he came home and spent a half hour or so with Mikey and the
girls, and then every evening he had gone out again.

During those four days, Willow had rarely seen him. And when she had,
he'd been aloof. Formal. And, she sensed, faintly disapproving.

She had actually wondered if he went out in the evenings

84

to avoid her. She'd assumed he'd gone back to the clinic to keep up with
his paperwork. Apparently not.

Apparently he was courting his sister-in-law.

And that, Willow reflected wanly, as she went into the laundry room, was
exactly what he should be doing. Camryn would be a wonderful mother to
the children; and she'd make a perfect doctor's wife. She and Scott
Galbraith were, after all, a perfect couple.

"Oh, rats!" she muttered. "Why do I always fall for the wrong-"

A brisk rat-tat on the laundry room door had her whirling around from
the washing machine. And she saw the man of her thoughts standing in the
doorway. Wearing a slate-blue jacket with a sand-colored shirt and
matching slacks, he looked tanned and fit and as potentially dangerous
as a charge of dynamite.

Nerves jangling, Willow turned back to close the lid of the washing
machine, and took a couple of seconds to steady her racing heartbeats
before turning again.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Why would you automatically think something's wrong?"

She resisted the urge to fold her arms defensively around herself. "I
rarely see you, so I can't help thinking that if you come looking for me
there must be a problem."

"There's no problem, Ms. Tyler. Not unless you choose to make it one."

"Make what one?"

"Let's go out to the patio." He seemed restless. "We can talk there.
It's too damned hot in here."

She followed him out of the laundry room, along the hallway, through the
dining room. He opened the screen

door and stood aside to let her precede him to the garden.

As she brushed past him, she caught the faintest echo of his spicy
cologne, and a hint of fresh male sweat. An erotic mixture. As she felt
her senses tingle in response, she crossed to the middle of the patio to
get away from him, and forced herself to focus on the silky richness of
the night, and the star-spangled dark of the purple-velvet sky.

"I'll get us something cool to drink." His tone was brusque. "Hang on a
minute. I'll be right back."

He went inside again, and after standing uncertainly for a moment,
Willow walked onto the lawn and wandered down the garden.

The countryside was hushed, the only sound the muffled hoot of an owl in
the forest, and the whisper of her crisp uniform skirt around her legs.

Her eyes gradually adjusted to the dark, and when she reached the giant
oak tree in the middle of the lawn and looked up, her searching gaze
soon located the square outline of the old tree house.

Chad's tree house.

She'd never been up there, of course-but Chad had told her about it.

He and she had been exchanging confidences, late on a dusky summer
evening, as they lay together on a secluded grassy bank near the
swimming hole.

She'd told him that her father had died when she was six, and her mother
had brought her up alone. Chad had told her that when he was three, his
father had walked out on his mother. But whereas Willow's mother hadn't
remarried, Chad's mother, Anna, had met and married the widowed Galen
Galbraith.

"I was eleven," Chad had reminisced, as he toyed

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absently with Willow's soft hair. "And I thought it really cool to have
a big brother. We hit it off right away. Actually he looked after me at
Summerhill when our parents went on their honeymoon, and the very first
thing he did was build me a tree house in the garden."

"He must have been a bit older than you then," she'd said.

"Yeah, he was twenty."

"He sounds like a nice person."

"He's the best."

Lost in the memories, Willow got a start when she heard her employer's
voice from behind.

"Here," he said. "Lemonade."

He held out a glass.

And with a murmured "Thanks" she accepted it.

But before she could drink from it, he held out his own and clinking it
to hers, murmured, "To new beginnings."

"New beginnings?" She hesitated, the glass half raised. "What kind of
new beginnings?"

"As of tomorrow, you'll no longer be wearing that uniform."

"As I recall, we agreed we'd talk the matter over at the end of a week and-"

"After that week, you'd decide whether you found the uniform
too...cumbersome, I believe was your word.. .for certain activities.
Now, Ms. Tyler, I defy you to tell me you haven't found this to be the
case. And I'm going to insist that you go back to wearing your regular
clothes."

Willow opened her mouth to say her piece, but before she could, he said
adamantly, "It was a mistake. Look, I don't want to get into a big
argument about this-"

"You're not going to get any argument from me."

He did a double-take. "I don't understood. You seemed to be hell-bent on
wearing it."

"I was hell-bent on wearing it...last week. Oh, I didn't want to at
first...but when you obviously got such a charge out of seeing me in it,
I decided I surely could put with its...cumbersomeness." Her mouth
twisted in an ironic smile. "I thought it would be worth it."

In the silence between them, she could hear the rustle of leaves in a
nearby shrub as a gentle breeze sighed past.

"But now," he said, "you don't?"

"I was mistaken. After your initial amusement, it was obvious you
derived no further benefit from seeing me in the dress-in fact, your
mood this past week-on the very rare occasions when you've been at
home-has been dour to say the least. So that's why you'll get no
argument from me. The uniform's history. The only reason I was wearing
it," she added sparkily, "was in the hopes it might relieve some of your
stress and put you in a better frame of mind. That hasn't happened, so
I'll be more than happy to shove it in a drawer...where it can wait till
the next nanny comes along!"

Willow wanted to snatch back her bold words but of course it was too
late. What was it about this man that made her want to goad him; to poke
a hole in his armor and find out what emotions he kept guarded deep inside?

Oh, she knew that where his children were concerned, his heart was
nothing but mush. A mush of love and confusion. But of his other
emotions she knew nothing. He was a mystery. She found him impossible to
read...like trying to study a book written in a foreign language-

88

"Ms. Tyler...are you still with me?"

"Oh! Sorry...my mind wandered..."

"How very flattering! It's obvious," he teased, "your mother never told
you that to keep a man's interest a woman should hang on his every word!"

"It's a long time," she shot back, "since keeping or even attracting any
man's interest held any appeal for me!"

"Ah." He chuckled. "Ida Trent was right, then, when she intimated that
you were a man-hater."

"I am not a man-hater! I'm sure Mrs. Trent didn't say that!"

"No," he admitted. "What she said was that the last thing you were
looking for in your life was romance. But doesn't it boil down to the
same thing?"

"No." She swallowed a mouthful of lemonade and felt the cold of it all
the way to her stomach. "Hating men and not wanting romance are two
entirely different things!"

"Doesn't every young woman, deep in her heart, long for romance? What
soured you on love, Ms. Tyler? You're very young to be so...jaded."

"I'm not jaded!"

"Then why this reluctance to give your heart? You're shutting yourself
off from the most wonderful thing in the world, that crazy feeling of
being head over heels in-"

"I don't really want to talk about-"

"Ms. Tyler, have you ever swum in the ocean?"

Startled by the seemingly unrelated question, Willow hesitated, before
saying warily, "No, I haven't."

"And have you ever seen a sunrise?"

"Well, of course, I've seen a sunrise! But why are you asking me these-"

"They say that in every person's lifetime, there are three things they
should have done. Firstly, they should have swum in the ocean. Secondly,
they should have seen a sunrise..."

"And thirdly?"

"Thirdly, they should have experienced what it's like to be in love. So,
Ms. Tyler, my last question to you is have you ever been in love?''

The directness of the personal question shocked her and made her
uncomfortable, but she wasn't about to let him know that. "I believed I
was," she said. "Once."

"With your son's father."

"You promised, no more questions."

"That wasn't a question, Ms. Tyler. It was...an observation. So...you
thought you were in love but it turned out to be-"

"Just teenage infatuation. Now,'' she went on quickly before he could
comment, "am I to have a turn?"

"At what?"

"Asking questions."

"Shoot."

"Have you ever swum in the ocean?"

"Sure."

"And seen a sunrise?"

What little light there was in the night glinted on his black hair as he
nodded. "Anyone who's had babies has seen more than their share of
sunrises," he responded with amusement.

She chuckled. "Yes, I guess so."

Silence hummed between them again. She knew he was waiting for her to
ask if he'd ever been in love, but she had gone just as far as she was
going to. She now

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regretted having let their conversation become as intimate as it had.

She turned away from him and started toward the house. "I should be
going in now, I'd like to check on the children."

He fell into step beside her, and walked up the lawn without speaking.

She was relieved that their conversation had come to an end. But she was
still intensely aware of him.

When they reached the patio, he opened the screen door. She was so close
to him, they were almost touching. And all of a sudden, her heart
started to ache, filled to overflowing with painful yearnings.

He stood back a little to let her precede him into the dining room and
when she brushed past him, she felt a frisson of...something...pass
between them. Pheromones, dancing in the air, fairies skimming back and
forth with tiny tantalizing invitations...

She'd never felt so weak, weak with longing to have a man sweep her up
into his arms.

In a daze, she walked with him into the front hall and then she paused
to say good-night before going upstairs. But before she could open her
mouth, he took the glass from her hand, startling her into looking up at
him.

His eyes had never seemed so blue, never seemed so deep. She'd told the
truth when she said she'd never swum in the ocean but at this moment she
thought she knew what it must feel like to be drowning in it. And she
knew the same terror she'd have felt if her lungs were filling with
water. Was she really falling in love with this man, this man who was so
far out of her reach?

His voice dragged her up from the treacherous silky waters even as her
heart told her the answer.

"You didn't ask me the third question," he murmured, "but I'm going to
give you the answer anyway. Yes, I have known what it is to fall head
over heels for someone. I loved my wife, Genevieve, dearly. But
nowhere," he added softly, "is it written that a man can give his heart
only once. I'm not closing the door to falling in love again. In fact,
Ms. Tyler, I'm already more than halfway there!"

As he got ready for bed a little later, Scott cursed under his breath.
How could he have been so careless, and so selfishly self-indulgent, as
to instigate such an intimate interchange with his children's nanny?
When he'd gone looking for her after coming home, his only intention had
been to tell her to stop wearing the uniform. It had all gone wrong and
it had all been his fault He'd been the one to take their conversation
to a personal level. And that had been one gigantic mistake.

But he hadn't realized it-until he'd chanced to meet her gaze as he'd
relieved her of the lemonade glass, and in her eyes he'd seen such
innocence and such vulnerability he'd wanted to gather her into his arms
and hold her close and swear he'd never let her come to any harm.

It was a feeling he had never had with his wife. Nor had he ever had it
with Camryn. And that was because both women had always been perfectly
able to look after themselves.

The two sisters had enjoyed a privileged upbringing, with every possible
advantage. And as a result they had both become poised, accomplished,
popular, successful and confident. More than anything, confident.

And while Ms. Tyler had lots of spunk, he sensed

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that under the sparky exterior lay a cautious heart, a heart that was
tender and easily hurt.

And the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

But in her gray-green eyes tonight he'd seen something more than the
innocence and vulnerability. He'd seen bedazzlement and confusion-the
expression of someone who was falling in love and didn't know what to do
about it.

She'd looked, in a word, starstruck.

At the memory, he cursed again, roundly.

And his curses were aimed at Ida Trent. Hadn't he made a point of
telling the woman to send him a nanny who wouldn't see him as a
potential husband?

Willow Tyler, he was pretty sure, hadn't yet reached the stage of
picturing herself walking down the aisle with him, but her imagination
was going to get her there soon enough.

Unless he stopped her cold.

And that was why he'd told her, when he was speaking of love, that he
was "already halfway there."

She would understand that he meant with Camryn.

He hadn't mentioned Camryn by name; how could he? He hadn't talked to
his sister-in-law yet about marriage.

But the sooner the better. If anything was going to banish those
dangerous stars from Ms. Tyler's luminous eyes, it would be the news
that he was engaged to someone else.

Next day was Sunday, and Willow had the day off.

When she drove back to Summerhill that night, she found the household
asleep. She herself headed straight for bed.

Next morning, she tossed the uniforms into the washing machine and in
the afternoon took them off the line while the children were having
their "quiet time," and pressed them before packing them into a plastic bag.

Mrs. Caird came into the laundry room while she was adding the white
lace-up shoes to the bag.

The housekeeper saw what she was doing and said, "What are you going to
do with these now, Willow?"

"I thought I'd put them in the Salvation Army bin in the mall," Willow
said. "Unless you have a better idea."

"No, that sounds fine to me." The housekeeper lifted a bucket from the
laundry tub. "You must be glad to get back to wearing your own clothes.
Don't know what Dr. Galbraith was thinking about, to have you wear a
silly uniform. It's not as if this is Buckingham Palace and you're going
to be taking your charges to Hyde Park to be seen by all and sundry!"

Willow smiled. "I'm sure he had his reasons. But I must admit it feels
good to be in my shorts and tank top again--especially in this heat!"

Mrs. Caird ran steaming water into the bucket. "Only one good thing
about a uniform, it takes away the need to worry about what to wear on
special occasions. Like this Friday, for instance. That'll be a dressy
'do.' What are you planning to wear?"

"Friday? What's happening on Friday?"

"Didn't the doctor mention it? Oh, maybe not, you were upstairs when the
call came in and he left right after."

"What call?"

"His sister-in-law phoned him this morning, just before he left for the
clinic. Apparently it's her parents' wedding anniversary on Friday, and
Miss Moffat's going to throw a dinner party. So he-the doctor-told

94

me when he came off the phone that I needn't prepare a meal on Friday
night as you'd all be out." "But it's a family party. I won't be going."
"That's not the impression I got. But of course," Mrs. Caird added,
flicking the handle of her damp mop from its metal clamp on the wall, "I
may be wrong."

That evening, although Willow had meant to get to bed early, she was
still in the kitchen at midnight-struggling over the last corner of her
crossword, which was defeating her.

And she was determined to solve it.

She usually rattled it off in fifteen minutes. Tonight, she was whisking
through it as usual, till she'd hit this wall and just couldn't get-

The back door opened and her pulse tripped over itself as Scott
Galbraith came in. He looked so gorgeous in an oyster-gray shirt and
charcoal-gray slacks that if she'd been standing, she feared she just
might have keeled over.

Fortunately she was seated, and was able to present him with a bland
questioning glance-while at the same time unable to resist taking in
other details of his appearance.

His black hair, she noted, was slightly-rakishly- disarrayed.

And his eyes were as dark as the night outside, and just as filled with
secrets.

But one thing was no secret: he'd been out with Camryn.

A smudge of her tomato-red lipstick adorned his cheek.

Willow felt as if someone had ran a rusty nail through her heart.

"Hi," she said brightly, dragging her gaze from the red smear in the
same ghoulish, reluctant way passing drivers dragged their eyes from a
bloody car smash at the roadside. "Can I get you something? Hot
chocolate? Or a-"

"No, thanks." He threw her a lopsided smile. "How come you're not in
bed? You waiting up for me, checking up on me?"

"Hardly! I'm not your mother!"

He laughed. "No, that you're not! So...why are you up so late?"

"This dratted crossword. I was almost finished, but I got stuck. And
that was an hour ago! It's infuriating me...but I just can't let it go!"

He crossed the room and stood by her chair. "Let's have a look."
Casually he rested a hand on her shoulder.

Her breath caught...and she barely managed to keep her shoulder from
stiffening under his light touch.

"Ah," he said, "I see where you've gone off track. This is the New York
Times crossword so it's U.S. spelling. You've got defence here, it
should be defense. And that makes this not c i r e but n're,.." He took
the pencil from her hand, and leaning over the table, changed the c to
an s. "And that," he said, "would make this word-''

"Desire!"

"Right," he murmured. "Desire it is."

He gave back the pencil, and she expected him to move away. He didn't.

Uncomfortably aware that he was watching her, she slotted in the
remaining missing letters to complete the crossword. And the moment
she'd finished, she pushed the paper aside and got to her feet. Since he
didn't seem

96

disposed to leave, then she would. Being alone with him was as
tantalizing as being alone in a chocolate factory-who knew what she
might be silly enough to do in the face of such temptation!

"Thanks for your help," she said, and stepping toward the door added
over her shoulder, "Good night, Dr. Galbraith."

"Hang on a minute..."

She stopped in the doorway, and turned around.

He had come after her. And was too close for comfort. "I just wanted to
ask you," he said, "if Mrs. C. mentioned that we'll be going to the
Moffats's on Friday night?"

"She said you and the children had been invited to a party to celebrate
your in-laws' anniversary."

"That's right. Dinner's at seven, we'll leave here around five-thirty."

"That's late for the children. I'll make sure they all have a nap in the
afternoon then I'll give them a snack around four and have them dressed
and ready for you by five-thirty."

"You'll get yourself ready, too, Ms. Tyler."

"You...want me to come with you? But Camryn's so good with the children,
you won't need me-"

"My sister-in-law's going to have her hands full- she's invited forty
guests, her hostessing duties won't leave her much time to spare for
Mikey and the girls and she specifically asked that I bring you. So
there you have it, Ms. Tyler. Any questions?"

"No." None that she would care to ask him! But she was already asking
herself the age-old one: What on earth was she going to wear? She
certainly had nothing in her wardrobe that was suitable for a party at
the Moffats's.

"Oh, one last thing," he said. "Camryn wants to treat the girls to new
outfits for the 'do.' She says she has some specially attractive dresses
in her boutique right now. So could I ask you to drive Amy and Lizzie
there tomorrow afternoon? I'll make a point of being home from the
clinic by one to keep an eye on Mikey."

"Wouldn't you like to take the girls yourself, and leave Mikey with me?"

"Camryn said shopping for dresses is a 'girl thing'- and besides, it
might give Lizzie a chance to soften her attitude to you. I have to tell
you, I'm beginning to lose patience with her. I've been considering,
lately, whether I should take her aside and give her a good talking to-"

"No amount of talking can make her accept me- and it might only increase
her hostility if you intervened."

He grimaced. "I guess you're right."

"If she and I are to be friends, I have to win her over by myself. I'm
sure she believes that if she continues to challenge me at every turn,
I'll eventually hand in my notice. It's not going to happen. And once
she realizes that I'm here for the duration-or at least till you no
longer require my services and let me go-''

"That is not going to happen! Don't even talk about giving in your
notice. The very thought of having to start over again with another
nanny makes me shudder! Now," he added, "it's time you were getting off
to bed."

"Yes, it's late. Good night, Dr. Galbraith." But as she turned to leave,
she tripped over her own feet. And if he hadn't grabbed her quickly by
the shoulders she'd have landed with a splat on the floor. Breathlessly
she looked up at him. "Thanks!"

98

Their eyes met and his gaze was so intense, it caused a shock of
awareness to rocket through her. Stunning her. For the longest moment,
they stood there together, their eyes locked...and she felt again the
sensation of drowning in the depths of a silky deep blue pool.

Finally he blinked. Twice. And released her.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Yes, sorry about that, clumsy of me." Embarrassedly she murmured
another "Good night" and then fled.

Her bedroom, when she reached it, was like a haven. She swung the door
shut behind her, and running across the carpet, threw herself down on
the bed. Rolling onto her back, she stared with stark dismay at the ceiling.

She had seen it again, just as she'd seen it before. But last time, she
thought she'd been mistaken. Dr. Scott Galbraith surely couldn't want
her, mousy little her.

But he did. Oh, yes, he did.

The desire in his eyes had been as clear as the word had been on the
page, when he'd printed it shortly before.

99

Hannah Ho, the medical clinic's receptionist, showed Scott's final
patient of the morning into his office at noon.

Scott finished scribbling a few notes in the file of the previous
patient, before turning his attention to the middle-aged woman who had
taken the seat by his desk.

"Mrs. Roberts. How are you today?"

"I feel just awful." She snuffled, and taking a tissue from her bag,
blew her nose loudly. "My head feels all plugged up and my throat's
sore, and..."

Scott listened while she talked, and then after asking her a few
questions, he examined her thoroughly. Concluding that she had nothing
more nor less than a case of the common cold, he told her so.

She sneezed into a second tissue. "Could you give me a prescription?''
Her voice was thick.

"I could, Mrs. Roberts...but you know what? You're going to get better
if you take medicine...but I guarantee you're going to get better even
if you don't-"

"I saw this medicine advertised on TV that would make me feel ever so
much better!"

"Most of the cold remedies you see advertised on TV are useless. The
only people who feel better from them are the drug companies when they
tally up their enormous profits!"

She grimaced. "That's what my hubby always says. He's a great believer
in letting nature take its course."

"He sounds like a man after my own heart! Why

100

don't we give that a try," he said coaxingly. "And if you're not feeling
a bit better by Monday, come back and see me again. In the meantime,
I'll tell you a few things you can do on your own to help alleviate the
sore throat."

After she'd gone, he rolled his chair back and stretched out his arms to
ease tightened muscles. It was the first time that morning that he'd had
a moment to relax...or to think about anything except his work. But now,
as he stared out his office window, he found himself thinking about Camryn.

Last night he'd taken her to a dinner/dance at the country club.
Afterward, he'd driven her home but had declined her offer of a
nightcap, so they'd parted company at her front door. He'd embraced her
lightly and she'd planted a kiss on his cheek. She'd been lovely and
feminine and scented; and in no apparent hurry to go in. So why hadn't
he done what she'd surely expected him to do? Why hadn't he pulled her
close and claimed her lips in a passionate kiss that would have brought
their relationship to a different level?

He compressed his mouth grimly as he answered his own question. He
hadn't taken advantage of the moment because what he felt for Camryn
Moffat was what he'd always felt for his wife's sister: pure and simply,
brotherly affection.

And what did he feel for his plain-Jane nanny? What was there about that
girl that fascinated him so? When he'd looked into her eyes last night
after she'd tripped, he'd been...lost. Totally lost...and what he'd felt
for her then had certainly not been brotherly affection. It had been desire.

And he didn't know how to handle it.

Neither, obviously, did she. She'd taken off like a scalded mouse as
soon as he'd released her.

And the situation he found himself in was untenable.

He wanted her...but he didn't want to want her!

Camryn was the right woman for him; and the affection he felt for
her-surely it would deepen to love come time? Perhaps the reason he
didn't desire her physically was that she had, for so long, been his
sister-in-law and he'd seen her as only a friend. But things were
different now. And all he had to do was get used to that idea. Which he
would.

In the meantime, he'd give Ms. Tyler a cold, hard look and try to figure
out what it was about her that tantalized him so. And once he'd pinned
it down, whatever it was, he'd dissect it ruthlessly till it lost its
seductive powers over him, and then he'd be able to focus all his
attention where it belonged: on courting Camryn.

"I wanna see Aunt Camryn, too!"

Willow scooped Mikey up out of his high chair and gave him a hug. "I
know, sweetie. Next time, you will. But today's a girls' shopping outing."

"Besides," Amy said, dipping her spoon into her plate of strawberry
mousse, "you're a lucky boy 'cos Dad's going to look after you, and we
hardly ever get to see him."

"That's because he's a busy doctor." Lizzie gave a supercilious sniff.
"Who do you think would pay for our house and everything else if we
didn't have a dad to go out to work?"

"Willow's little boy doesn't have a dad," Amy pointed out. "And he has a
house. Why doesn't Jamie have a dad, Willow?"

As Willow wondered how best to answer Amy's

102

question, she sensed someone watching her. Turning, she saw Scott
Galbraith standing in the dining-room doorway. He was staring at her in
a hard, assessing way that gave her goose bumps.

Why was he...examining her like that? Was he remembering last night? Was
he wondering if she'd faked that stumble so she'd end up in his arms? At
the notion, she felt her stomach give a leaden twist. He'd wanted a
nanny who wasn't man mad; did he now believe that that's what she was?
Did he now believe he'd made a mistake in hiring her? She prayed not.
She needed this job; and she desperately wanted to keep it.

Struggling to ward off a feeling of apprehension, she said, "Oh, hi. I
was about to take Mikey upstairs and get him ready for his nap."

"I'll take him." He walked across the dining room, and held out his arms
for his son.

She lowered her eyes, kept them fixed on Mikey during the exchange, but
when her employer's fingertips brushed her wrists she felt a whisper of
electricity pass between them; and unable to help herself, she darted a
glance at him.

He was frowning.

And he stepped back abruptly.

But even as tension clenched Willow's stomach into a knot, Amy finished
her dessert and said casually, "I was asking Willow where Jamie's Dad
is. Where is he, Willow?"

Her father said, "Don't ask personal questions, Amy. You know it's rude."

"Sorry," Amy mumbled. "I didn't know it was personal and I didn't know
it would be rude to ask about Jamie."

"That's all right," Willow said. "I don't mind your

asking. Jamie's dad died several months before Jamie was born."

For a moment, silence reigned in the room. It was broken, unexpectedly,
by Lizzie.

"Excuse me," she said roughly, pushing her plate aside, the strawberry
mousse half-uneaten. She lurched up from her seat. "I'm going to clean
my teeth."

She ran from the room, leaving Willow staring after her in surprise.
Lizzie loved strawberry mousse. Besides which, she was never in any
hurry to clean her teeth. Like most children, she had to be prodded into
it. Usually, but not, for some unknown reason, today. The child was as
much a mystery to Willow as her father was!

"Let's go upstairs, Amy." She pulled out Amy's chair. "We'll get your
teeth cleaned, too, then we'll be on our way."

Amy ran off, and the doctor swung Mikey up onto his shoulders, falling
into step beside Willow as she walked out to the hall.

On their way upstairs, he said quietly, "You didn't tell me...about
Jamie's father."

Willow experienced the shrill clang of alarm she always felt when he
spoke about Chad-although, of course, he didn't know it was his
stepbrother they were discussing.

"I told you," she said in a tone that indicated she had no interest in
further discussing the matter, "that my son's father was no longer in
the picture."

"Yes, but I had no idea you'd had to go through your pregnancy without
him. That must have been hard for you-''

"I didn't think there was any need to go into detail," she broke in
firmly. And realizing that she had, here, a

104

perfect opening to let him know, albeit subtly, that if he suspected
she'd tripped deliberately the night before, he was wrong, she added,
"What you and I have is a strictly business relationship. And as I've
mentioned to you before, I like to keep my business life completely
separate from my personal life. In my own mind, I see a distinct line
between the two and it's a line I don't wish to cross."

While she was talking they'd reached the top of the stairs. And the
girls were just coming out of the bathroom.

Before he could make any response, Amy called, "We're almost ready!" and
she and Lizzie crossed to their bedrooms, Amy skipping, Lizzie flouncing
along behind in a disdainful way that didn't bode well for their
upcoming outing. "I just have to get my dolls," Amy called as she
disappeared from sight, "and Lizzie has to get her book."

"You won't forget to clean Mikey's teeth?" Willow said to the man
standing beside her.

"No, I won't forget to clean Mikey's teeth-"

"And don't give him anything else to drink, not before his nap."

"No, I won't give him anything else to drink, not before his nap."

"And after his nap, he likes milk and a cookie."

"And after his nap, he likes milk and a cookie."

She'd avoided looking at him as she gave the instructions, but something
in his tone made her flash him a sharp glance. He had sounded...teasing.

And yes, there was a definite twinkle in his eyes.

He was laughing at her.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "What have I said to amuse you now?" He
chuckled. "I don't know. You just make me laugh."

He had the most disarming smile. And when he looked at her like that, as
if he just enjoyed being with her, it made her melt like chocolate in a
child's hot little hand. But it also made her wonder why on earth he'd
inflicted such an icily assessing glare on her earlier.

Lizzie and her sister emerged from their rooms, and Willow knew she
didn't have time to wonder about him now.

It was time to be on their way; she didn't want to keep Camryn waiting.

But she did say to him before taking her leave, and with a completely
deadpan expression on her face, "Isn't that wonderful, I'm so glad I
continue to be a source of amusement, even without the blue uniform. If
this keeps up, Dr. Galbraith, you'll soon be totally stress-free. And we
shall all be the fortunate beneficiaries of your resulting consistently
cheerful disposition!''

Scott stood at Mikey's bedroom window and watched Ms. Tyler escort Amy
and Lizzie across the forecourt to her car.

She had been so serious as she gave him the instructions for Mikey, as
if each little item were a matter of life and death. He couldn't help
but laugh. And then, when she'd teased him in return, without as much as
a twitch of her lips to indicate that she was having fun at his expense,
he'd felt a stab of shame that he'd scrutinized her so ruthlessly when
he'd spied on her from the dining-room doorway. He cursed under his
breath now, as he recalled the bewilderment in her eyes when she'd
caught him giving her that cold once-over-

"Drink, Dad."

106

He winced as Mikey tugged his hair. "Ouch, you little rascal! No, no
drink! You'll have your milk later. Now let's get your teeth cleaned and
put you down for your nap."

Ms. Tyler, he noticed, had settled the girls in the back seat of the car
and was walking around the vehicle. She had just reached the driver's
door when the housekeeper appeared from the direction of the garage. She
had a young man with her. Tall, blond, good-looking, the stranger was
wearing faded jeans and a black muscle shirt.

When Mrs. Caird called, "Willow!" the nanny turned, her hand on the door
handle.

The bedroom window was open, so he could hear their voices-couldn't
actually hear what was said, but it was obvious that the housekeeper was
introducing the nanny and the young man. Or maybe not. It seemed- from
their interactions-as if the two already knew each other.

They all three chatted briefly, and then Mrs. Caird and her companion
moved away and walked toward the house.

Scott expected that Ms. Tyler would then jump into the car and be on her
way. Instead, to his surprise, she stood staring after the young man and
on her face was an expression of dismay-no, more than dismay, an
expression of horror. She looked appalled. And she looked frightened.

As he watched, puzzled, she put a hand against the car as if to steady
herself, and pressed the fingertips of the other hand against her mouth,
as if to keep back a cry.

What the devil was going on?

But even as he asked himself the question, Amy

rapped sharply on the car window and he saw the nanny start.

Even from this distance, he could see her gather herself together. When
she turned to Amy, she was smiling.

And a few seconds later she was in the car and the car was wending its
way down the driveway.

He was left lost in a sea of questions to which he was well aware he
might never know the answer.

And the answer, of course, was none of his business anyway.

"So, Lizzie, the choice is yours." Camryn smiled at her niece. "The
buttercup-yellow or the periwinkle-blue. Which is it to be?"

"Dunno." Lizzie glanced at Amy, who was pirouetting in front of a
three-way mirror, as dainty as an elf in the leaf-green dress she'd chosen.

"Which one do you prefer, Willow?" Camryn asked.

Amy danced over. "I like the yellow one best."

"I think I do, too," Willow murmured. "The color's wonderful with your
hair, Lizzie."

Camryn took Amy by the hand. "While your sister's making up her mind,
let's find you a fancy pair of socks."

They moved to another part of the boutique, and while Willow looked on,
Lizzie took first one dress and then the other, holding each in front of
her at the three-way mirror.

"Why don't you try them both on again?" Willow suggested.

"I don't need to." Lizzie's tone was terse, "I can remember what they
looked like."

Willow almost shot back a sarcastic "Sorreeee!" Instead she leaned back
against the counter behind her,

108

feeling suddenly weary. She still felt drained after the shock of
learning that Mrs. Caird's foster son was in town. She'd barely been
able to hide her horror as she and the housekeeper and Chad's old friend
had chatted in the forecourt. But once they'd left, she'd felt faint,
and terrified. Then Amy had rapped on the car window and brought her
back to her senses. And she'd forcibly pushed all her worries to the
back of her mind, and was doing a good job of keeping them there, for
the time being.

It would have helped if Lizzie hadn't been bent on ruining their outing.
She'd slumped in the car all the way to Crestville, and had shown little
interest in looking at the dresses Camryn had brought out for her,
although she'd finally deigned to try on a couple. Willow suspected she
really liked both dresses, but was determined not to show it.

Now as Willow glanced over at Camryn and Amy who were having a grand old
time looking at socks, Willow found herself wondering if and when Lizzie
ever had a grand old time. Certainly never when Willow was around to see
it; then she was usually dour and uncooperative...and often quite rude.
On more than one occasion, Willow had been tempted to smack the child's
little bottom, but she knew in her heart that she never would. What the
child needed was not a spanking; what she needed was love and a feeling
of security.

And Willow was determined to give her both.

Sometimes, though, she wondered if she was fighting a losing battle.
School would be going in next week, and Lizzie would be away all day.
Their time together would be shorter, the opportunities to win her over
would be fewer.

Heaving out a sigh, Willow drew her attention from

Camryn and Amy, and returned it to Lizzie...only to find that the little
girl was watching her...staring at her with an oddly defensive
expression in her eyes, one that Willow had never seen there before.
What was the child going to come out with now? What little nastiness had
she thought up to further ruin the outing?

Willow pushed herself from the counter and straightened to her full
height, before addressing Lizzie in a quiet voice. "What is it, Lizzie?
Don't keep it all bottled up. Spit it out. You'll feel better if you do."

Lizzie clamped her forearms over her waist. And then after a pause that
seemed endless to Willow, said, in a voice even lower than Willow's had
been, so low it was almost a whisper, "When are we going to get to meet
your little boy?"

Willow couldn't have been more astonished if the child had asked when
she was going to get to meet the Dalai Lama.

"Jamie?" she asked. "You want to meet Jamie?"

Lizzie pressed her lips together. And nodded.

"Why, sweetie? Is there some special reason?"

For heaven's sake, Willow thought...are those tears in the child's eyes?
But even as she asked herself if it could possibly be, and if so, why,
Lizzie turned her back on her and said, in a muffled voice, "Can
we...meet him?"

"Yes, of course. I'll talk to your father. Actually he already suggested
to me a while ago that it would be a good idea for you and Amy to meet
Jamie before school went in. How about we do something together on
Saturday?"

Again, the child nodded. Then in a muffled voice, she said, "You like
the yellow dress best?"

110

"Yes, they're both lovely but the yellow one is special."

Fully expecting that Lizzie would then be her usual contrary self and
say, "Then I'll take the blue!'' Willow got a shock when the child
scooped up the yellow dress, and walked away across the store.

And as Willow watched, stunned, the little girl handed the dress to her
aunt. "I've decided, Aunt Camryn. This is the one I want. Thank you very
much."

Totally unaware of the little drama that had been going on, Camryn
smiled at Willow, who was still trying to come to grips with what had
happened.

''And now, Willow, we have to find a dress for you."

Willow hastily said, "Oh, no, Camryn, I can't possibly afford to shop here!"

"Perhaps not normally," Camryn said. "But I have a lovely dress that was
custom-made for a client's trousseau but the wedding was called off and
I told the client I'd try to sell it for her. I assure you the price
will fit your pocketbook-no," she said firmly as Willow attempted to
protest again, "you must at least try it on. And you'd be doing me a
favor by taking it off my hands. It's not a size or style that would
suit any of my regular clients, but since you're petite I think it's
going to be perfect on you. Now just let me find a pair of socks for
Lizzie, and we'll go through to the back and you can try the dress on."

Scott was playing ball with Mikey in the backyard when he heard the car
purring up the driveway.

He glanced at his watch. Seven-thirty. He'd have expected them earlier
if Camryn hadn't phoned to say that she was taking the children and the
nanny out for dinner.

"We've all had a wonderful time shopping," she'd said enthusiastically.
"Just wonderful."

"And you managed to kit out the girls for Friday night?"

"They're all set. But you mustn't ask to see their dresses, they want it
to be a surprise."

"A surprise it shall be, then," he'd said, amused. "And thanks, Camryn.
It was kind of you."

"What's the point of having a boutique if I can't treat my favorite
people to outfits once in a while! Scott, I have to run, our table's
ready. Bye..."

So here they were, home at last.

"Let's go inside, buster." Scott scooped the big blue ball and rolled it
under the picnic table. "Your sisters are home."

"Willow's home!" Mikey cried excitedly, taking off toward the back door
as fast as his sturdy legs would carry him. "Willow, Willow, Willow!"

Scott strolled after him, trying to tamp down his own feelings of
anticipation, the tingles of excitement dancing through his veins. He'd
expected to enjoy his afternoon off, alone in the house with Mikey who
had slept for the best part of two hours and given him all the solitude
he'd thought he wanted. But instead of savoring the peace and quiet,
he'd been unable to settle. The house had been too quiet, too...lonely.
Without Ms. Tyler's presence, Summerhill felt like the empty shell it
had been when he and the children had first taken up residence.

But that would all change, he assured himself as he followed Mikey's
thudding little footsteps along the corridor to the front hall. Once he
married Camryn and brought his bride to Summerhill, he'd never be lonely
again.

112

Camryn. She was the one who should excite him.

What was he thinking, allowing himself to be drawn to his children's
nanny like a desperately cold moth to a softly glowing flame? He must be
out of his mind.

He stopped abruptly in the corridor, and stood there, hearing the front
door burst open, hearing the girls bound into the entry, hearing Mikey
scream, "Willow, Willow!" and hearing Ms. Tyler's sweet voice greeting
the child.

"We brought you a present, Mikey!"

"It's a spinning top!" Amy said eagerly.

"And it's got every color in the rainbow," Lizzie added. "I can't wait
to show you! It spins so fast it'll make your own head spin just
watching it-''

"And it sings," Ms. Tyler said, with a laugh. "It really sings. Let's go
upstairs, children. First of all, we must put away the dresses-"

"We're going to hide them." Amy giggled. "We don't want Dad to see them
till Friday, it's to be a surprise..."

"Where's your father, Mikey?"

Scott didn't catch what his son said, but apparently it had satisfied
the nanny for he then heard the sound of the group ascending the stairs,
the children running, Ms. Tyler saying, "Give me your hand, Mikey."

And then in a few seconds, he heard them all laughing and the children
talking over each other as they crossed the landing and went into one of
the bedrooms. Then he heard a door slam. Followed by silence.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and scowling, he picked up his
step again and made his way through to the sitting room. Feeling
frustrated and impatient and-yes, he admitted it-left out, he crossed to
the liquor cabinet and poured himself a nip of Scotch. He

walked over to the window, and with the heavy crystal glass in his hand,
stood there, staring moodily out, lost in his thoughts.

He was still standing there fifteen minutes later, the drink barely
touched, when he heard Ms. Tyler's voice come tentatively to him from
the doorway.

"Dr. Galbraith," she murmured, "may I talk to you?"

115

Scott gulped down a mouthful of his drink. And felt it burning right to
his stomach as he turned around.

She-Ms. Tyler, this burr under his skin-was hovering just inside the
door, and in a fresh white shirt and neatly pressed black jeans, she
looked as prim as Mary Poppins. Or she should have done, and might have
done, if her cheeks hadn't been flushed and her eyes hadn't been
sparky-bright and her silky hair hadn't been sun-streaked as summer itself.

Suppressing a groan, he gulped down the last of his drink and set the
glass on the top of the nearest bookshelf.

"Yes." He sounded gruff. Impatient. But he was impatient only with
himself, though of course she wasn't to know that. "What is it?"

Her eyes had dulled. She stood rebuked-for she knew not what. And he
felt like a heel.

"I had a chat with Lizzie," she said. "I'm not sure what brought it on
but she told me she'd like to meet my son."

"Lizzie's coming around, you think?"

"I don't know, But...I sense there might be a little chink in her armor."

"Well, you know you don't have to ask me if Jamie can come here. I told
you a while ago that I'd like Amy and Lizzie to meet him before the
school term started, but you nixed the idea."

"Yes, I remember. And I still don't want him to come here. What I
thought was-if you don't mind-I might take the children to my mother's
tomorrow afternoon."

"But that's your day off-"

"I'll be spending it with Jamie anyway and it'll be fun for him, to have
Mikey and the girls to play with. What I thought was, I'd go home as
usual in the morning, but I'd come back for the children after they have
their quiet time. And maybe they'd like to stay at my mom's for dinner.
If you don't mind."

"Of course not."

"Then that's settled. Thank you, Dr. Galbraith. That's all I wanted to
ask." She made to turn away, but he said,

"Hang on a sec."

She waited, her expression questioning.

"I was just wondering...who was that lad visiting Mrs. Caird this
afternoon? I saw the three of you talking, just before you left for
Crestville."

At his question, her cheeks paled. And a shutter came down over the
questioning expression in her eyes. She swallowed, before answering. But
when she answered, her voice was very steady.

"He's Daniel, Mrs. Caird's foster son."

"Ah. Does Daniel live in the area?"

"No, he lives in Toronto. He's just visiting for a few days."

"You knew him before?"

"Not really. He was ahead of me in school. By a couple of years."

"So you didn't know him well."

"No." The reply was clipped, as her previous replies had been. And her
stiff attitude told him plainly that she wanted no part of this
conversation.

116

He himself wanted to press for more information, wanted to find out what
it was about this Daniel that had frightened her. But he was pretty sure
she wasn't about to spill out any answers so he decided to leave
it...for the time being.

"I want you to know," he said, "that if you ever have any problems, any
problems at all that you can't cope with, you're to come to me and I'll
help if I possibly can. Okay?"

For a fraction of a second, he thought she was going to cry. Her lower
lip certainly trembled...but she got herself under control right away.
"Thank you," she said, all at once as prim and crisp as her outfit-and
her eyes had a spark again, a spark of independence. "But I don't have
any problems, Dr. Galbraith...at least none that I can't handle."

"Good." He smiled in a bland and indulgent way that he hoped would
assure her it hadn't even wildly occurred to him that such a capable
young woman as she, with such a well-ordered life, could ever have any
troubling problems.

Gesturing with an open hand toward the door, he added, "Then that's all
for now, Ms. Tyler. You may go back upstairs and tend to your charges."

Willow stood at her bedroom window, staring out over the pitch-black
landscape. She shivered, even though the room still held the heat of the
day. Why was it that in the night hours, every worry seemed intensified,
every problem insurmountable?

She'd been trying for ages to get to sleep, but in vain. She couldn't
stop thinking about Daniel. What if he should find out that she had a
six-year-old son? He would remember that she and Chad had been lovers

seven years ago; it wouldn't need the brain of an Einstein to figure out
that Chad must be Jamie's father. And wouldn't Daniel then mention this
to his foster mother, since Mrs. Caird was now working for Chad's
stepbrother and living at Summerhill?

Willow sighed, and fluffing her nightie away from her heated body, asked
herself what would happen then. Would Mrs. Caird tell Dr. Galbraith that
his children's nanny was actually the mother of his stepbrother's child?

How would he feel about her then, knowing she'd been so deceitful? Oh,
she hadn't actually lied to him, but wasn't lying by omission just as
bad as telling an outright untruth?

What would he do if he found out?

First off, he'd fire her. No doubt about that. He wouldn't want her
around his children, not when she was so deceitful.

But he'd loved Chad. So he would want Jamie. He would want to take Jamie
into the bosom of the Galbraith family.

She would fight him, of course.

But she'd be without a job again, and with his resources and background,
how could she win? She might have had a slim chance if he'd been single,
but he was going to marry Camryn. The couple would be able to offer
Jamie the kind of family life any judge would applaud.

She could take Jamie and run, of course. But that would break her
mother's heart.

So she was trapped. Trapped at Summerhill, with the walls starting to
close in around her.

She had asked Mrs. Caird's foster son-in a deliberately

118

casual tone-how long he was planning to stay in town. He'd told her he'd
be leaving on Wednesday.

So he'd be here for three more days.

In the meantime all she could do was carry on as best she could...and
pray that Daniel wouldn't stumble on her secret.

"This is your house?" Amy asked, peering out of the car's side window as
Willow drew up in the narrow driveway. "It's really pretty, like a
storybook picture,"

"Yes, it's a sweet little house," Willow said. "But it's not actually
ours. It belongs to a couple who used to live here when they were
bringing up their children, but now they live in California and they
rent the house out to us."

Mikey was bouncing up and down in his car seat. "Out, Willow, out!"

Lizzie had had her nose stuck in a book during the trip from Summerhill
but now she looked out, too.

"There's my mom," Willow said, as Gemma appeared at the front door.
"She's looking forward to meeting you all."

"I thought your little boy was going to be here," Lizzie said in a tone
that gave nothing away.

"Oh, he'll be here," Willow said. "Probably hiding, he's a little bit
shy of meeting new people."

She ushered her charges from the car as her mother, all smiles and
neatly attired in a white-and-turquoise blouse and white pants, walked
down the driveway to meet them.

After all the introductions were made, Gemma said, "Let's go around the
back, Willow. Jamie's there."

They followed the path that ran along the side of the house, and entered
the backyard, the bottom part of which had been transformed into a play
area, with a swing set, teeter-totter, paddling pool, sandbox and a
trampoline that Willow had inherited from friends who had moved abroad.

Amy's eyes grew round. "Ooh," she gasped. "Look at that! Can we go play,
Willow?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

"Me, too!" Mikey's sturdy legs carried him fast after his sister.

Lizzie hung back, looking around the garden'- searching, Willow guessed,
for Jamie.

She herself knew where he would be hiding: in his favorite spot on the
corrugated iron roof of the toolshed adjacent to the house.

She darted a quick look there and was just in time to see a flash of red
before it disappeared. His baseball cap.

Glancing at Lizzie, she saw she was looking in the same direction. She,
too, must have seen the flash of red. Ah, well, he'd come down in his
own good time.

"Mom," she said, taking her mother's arm, "let's go down to the bottom
of the garden, I want to keep a close eye on the little ones. Coming,
Lizzie?"

"No," Lizzie said, hi an airy nonchalant way that didn't fool Willow. "I
want to finish my chapter."

Willow hid a smile. She and her mother exchanged glances as Lizzie
walked over to the picnic table by the toolshed. Gemma gave an almost
imperceptible nod, and Willow knew she had read her own thoughts.

So she and her mom sauntered off down the close-cropped lawn, leaving
Lizzie to approach Jamie in her own way and possibly try to coax him
down from his hiding place.

"I still don't know," Willow murmured to her mother, "why Lizzie wants
to meet Jamie."

120

"Mightn't she just want to say she was sorry for having spilled his tray
in Morganti's?"

"But why take such a long time to come around to it? Surely if she'd
been ashamed of herself and wanted to apologize, she'd have brought the
subject up ages ago?"

"Mmm, I agree. Then it must be something else. You've no idea what it
could be?"

"No, Mom," she said. "I really don't have a clue."

After a while, she peeked around and saw that instead of Lizzie having
coaxed Jamie down from his hiding place, her son had apparently invited
Lizzie to come up. The little girl was scrambling over the roof and as
Willow watched, she sat down with Jamie and started talking to him.

"Look at that, Mom," she murmured. "I wonder what on earth Lizzie's saying?"

Willow found out, eventually...but not until after she'd driven her
charges back to Summerhill that evening and then returned home again.

When she walked into the kitchen she found her mother alone, giving the
counters one last swipe with a damp red-and-white checked cloth.

"Where's Jamie?" Willow asked.

"He's in bed-he's bushed. He almost fell asleep in his bath-"

"Mom!" Jamie's voice drifted through from his bedroom. "Is that you?"

"He's waiting for you to read him a story," Gemma said.

"Coming, Jamie," Willow called. "So Mom, what did you think of the
Galbraith children?"

"Adorable," Gemma said. "Beautiful children, and very well-mannered. I
liked them. Especially Lizzie- although she was very quiet, wasn't she?
Is she always so reserved?"

Willow laughed wryly. "Reserved? I'd hardly say so, Mom. She's never
pulled any punches when it came to letting me know she resents me. But
you're right, she was very quiet today. Unusually so."

"Are you going to ask Jamie what they were talking about?"

"Mmm, when I find the right moment."

Jamie was sitting propped up in bed against his pillows, his book open
on his lap. His hair was neatly brushed, his face glowing pink after his
bath. As always when she saw him, Willow felt her heart overflow with love.

"Hi, sweetie." She sat on the edge of the bed and when she gave him a
bear hug, she noticed that his blue-and-white striped pyjamas still
smelled of the sunny summer outdoors after hanging on the line in the
backyard.

"Grandma's reached the second last page," he said and yawned. "Can we
finish the story tonight?"

"Sure."

Willow started reading, and by the time she reached the end, Jamie's
eyes were heavy.

"There." She closed the book and set it aside. "Grandma will have to
start a new book tomorrow night."

"I want her to read that one to me again," he said, snuggling under his
light covers. "I really liked it."

"And did you like the Galbraith children after all?" she asked, tucking
him in.

122

"Mmm," he said. "We had a lot of fun..."

"Did Lizzie say she was sorry for spilling your tray?"

Jamie's eyelids closed and he said, very drowsily, "Yeah, she did...and
she said she'd have told me before if she'd known..."

"Known what, sweetie?"

"If she'd known I didn't ever have a dad. She said she didn't have a mom
now, but at least she'd had hers for six years, but I never did have a
dad and she thought that was the saddest thing she'd ever heard...but
she thought I was doing really well for being a kid without a dad and I
should keep it up...and she said she'd be looking for me at school and
we'd be friends even if she's older..."

His voice trailed away and seconds later, he was sound asleep.

Willow felt her eyes mist and she swallowed a lump in her throat as she
absorbed what he'd told her.

But as she recalled Lizzie's flight from the dining room the previous
day, she remembered it had happened right after she'd told Amy that
Jamie's dad had died before he was born. She'd been puzzled at the time
by Lizzie's behavior; now she realized Lizzie must have been upset by
what she'd heard. What a soft heart the child had. The reason Lizzie
felt such empathy for Jamie was that she had firsthand experience of
being without one parent. And learning of Jamie's loss had not only
moved her, but it had made her feel remorse for her rudeness to him in
Morganti's and had made her want to offer him kind words of support.

Support that Jamie had obviously appreciated.

Blinking back a tear, Willow brushed a tender kiss over her son's brow,
and then tiptoed from the room.

Someday, she would have to tell Jamie who his father was. But she
couldn't tell him yet; she'd have to wait till he was old enough to keep
a secret. And old enough that Scott Galbraith wouldn't be able to take
him away from her.

She had no doubt that the good doctor and his soon-to-be-wife Camryn
would provide a warm and loving family life for her treasured little
boy, but she was not about to part with her son...not for anything or
anyone in the world.

"Hey, Willow...wait up!"

Willow skidded her bike to a halt as she heard Daniel's voice. Tuesday
evening, the children were in bed and she'd been given a couple of hours
off. She'd decided to go for a ride... and had just trundled her bike
from the garage when the familiar voice had stopped her.

One foot on the ground, the other on the pedal, she glanced around
apprehensively as she saw Daniel approach.

"Hi." He stopped by her bike. "Where are you off to?"

"Just for a ride, I need some exercise-all that rain earlier today, we
were cooped up for hours. So," she said in a deliberately offhand tone,
"you're away back to the big city tomorrow."

"That's right."

"Safe trip, then. It was nice of you to come back and visit Mrs. Caird.
I know she really appreciated it."

"Least I could do for the old lady. She's all right, is Mrs. C. One of
the best, How'd you get on with her?"

"I like her a lot. She says what she thinks, you always know where you
are with her."

124

"Yeah, she hasn't changed." Daniel ran a hand through his blond hair,
and his silver earrings glinted in the sun. "She never stood for any
crap from me or any of her own kids when she was bringing us up... and
we respected her. None of us got involved in boozing or drugs, we'd
never have wanted to let her down. Besides, we'd never have dared to-she
had an uncanny knack for knowing when somebody was lying."

"I'm sure you never told her any lies," Willow teased, trying to inject
a lighter moment into their conversation.

"Not as a rule. Only time I used to was when old Chad would have me
cover for him. After he'd been out with you, he always told his mother
he'd been with me...and once in a while she'd call our place to
check...and I always covered for my pal. Mrs. C caught me out once and
grounded me for a week." He shook his head. "Poor old Chad. Shame what
happened to him." His eyes became wary. "I left here soon after but I
gather his folks-being buddy-buddy with the powers-that-be-got the real
story hushed up?"

Willow tried to keep her breathing steady, her gaze steady. And her
voice steady. "I don't know about anything being hushed up, Daniel. It
was an accident, wasn't it? I mean," she forced herself to go on, "you
were with Chad when it happened. I only know what was in the local
paper-the two of you had climbed up to the roof of the Marsden Tower,
and in the dark he stumbled over the parapet and...fell."

"You think that's all there was to it? I mean, you really believe that?"

Willow heard the incredulity in his tone and she had a hard time keeping
up her show of calm. "Are you telling me that's not how it happened?"

"Sheesh, Willow, you and Chad were like that!" He whipped up his right
hand, the middle finger crossed tightly over the index finger. "You knew
him better'n anybody else at that point in his life-and you couldn't
have not been aware that the guy was as sure on his feet as a mountain
goat! Are you trying to tell me you believe he... he just stumbled, and
fell to his death... and it was an accident?"

"Well, what are you trying to say." Willow struggled against a feeling
of desperation. "That it wasn't an accident?"

The air between them sizzled. Willow was sure he must feel it, too. Her
nerves screamed as she waited for his response.

"I always thought you of all people would have figured out what happened
that night." His voice was so low she could scarcely hear it. "You must
have known that he-"

"Daniel!" Mrs. Caird's voice came floating to them from her apartment
window. "Phone call."

"Coming, Ma," he shouted back, without taking his gaze from Willow.
"Look, Willow, it's water under the bridge now, but I'm glad I've had
this chance to talk to you. It never sat well with me, that Chad died
that way, and what made it worse was I could never talk about it with
anybody. I wish I could have stopped him, but the state he was
in...well, I doubt anybody could have stopped him. Mind you," he said,
with a sigh, "I can understand why the family hushed up the truth...they
wouldn't have wanted the world to know that he didn't stumble and fall,
that he actually jumped off that tower-"

Willow choked back an anguished sob.

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She hadn't realized, till that very moment, that in her very heart of
hearts she had hoped she'd been wrong. She hadn't realized that
somewhere, way deep, deep down, she had hoped that Chad's death really
had been an accident; that he had really stumbled and fallen, the way
the papers had said.

Now, faced with the harsh reality of his suicide, and knowing she had
been responsible, she couldn't bear it.

Whirling blindly away from Daniel, she pushed herself up onto her bike
again, and ignoring his urgent "Wait, Willow!" She pedaled off down the
driveway, hardly able to see where she was going, but knowing only that
she had to get away, without a single moment's delay, so that she was
alone with her grief when she broke down and wept.

From his study window, Scott watched with a troubled frown as Willow
jumped on her bike and took off down the driveway.

He'd been standing there, his mind focused on an article he was studying
in a medical journal, when he'd heard a shout outside. And on glancing
up casually, he'd seen the nanny skid her bike to a halt and turn to
talk with the person who had hailed her.

Daniel Firth. Mrs. Caird's foster son.

Ms. Tyler had told him she barely knew the guy... yet their ensuing
conversation had seemed far too intense for mere acquaintances.

She had been facing the house as they spoke, and he had had a clear view
of her face; and in the moment before she sped away, he had seen that
her expression had become distraught. She'd looked as if she was
fighting tears.

Dammit, what had that young whipper-snapper said to upset her?

He paced the study, the article forgotten as he wondered what was going on.

And he made up his mind that he wasn't going to bed till she came home
and he could ask her what had upset her.

Two hours had elapsed before he caught sight of her trundling her way,
wearily, up the hill from the main road.

He knew she would come in through the back door so he quickly made his
way there, and by the time she came in, he had a pan of milk simmering
on the stove.

"Oh, hi," he said, casually, without looking up. "I thought you'd be
back around now-I'm making us some hot chocolate. Take a seat, I'll be
right with you."

"Thanks, but I want to go straight to bed-"

"Nonsense. Can't waste this milk!" He arranged his lips in a smile and
finally glanced up. And had to exert all his self-control to stifle an
angry oath that tried to hiss out when he saw her blotchy face, her
swollen red eyelids. Pretending to have noticed nothing out of the
ordinary, he said again, "Take a seat." And seeing her hesitate, he
said, coaxingly, "I'd like a bit of company."

Her lower lip trembled, and he saw a tear pearl in the corner of one
eye. She nodded. But didn't speak. He wondered if she was afraid she
might not get any words out.

"The kids have been good," he said, with an assumed cheeriness. "Not a
cheep out of any of them..." He chatted on, while he made the hot
chocolate, set one mug on the table in front of her, the other on the table

128

across from her and took the chair there. "So," he said hoping she'd had
time to relax a little, "did you enjoy your bike ride?"

She cupped her hands around the mug, then obviously finding it too hot,
took her hands away and set them on her lap. He could tell by the play
of muscles in her forearm that she was fidgeting, nervously. "Yes." She
cleared her throat and gave a tight smile. "Yes, it's a lovely evening.
Nice and fresh, after the rain."

"The nights are beginning to close in already," he murmured. "Before we
know it, summer will be over. The winters here are pretty harsh, as I
recall. Lots of snow. I'm looking forward to taking the kids on the
slopes. Do you ski?"

She shook her head.

He gave a light chuckle. "Well, that's four of you I'll have to
teach-because you'll have to take the kids to the slopes when I'm on
call. Of course, maybe I'm taking too much for granted...! didn't even
ask if you'd be interested in taking up the sport. Maybe you're not a
cold weather person...?"

"I've always wanted to learn...but it's an expensive hobby. And I've had
other...priorities."

"What did you plan to do with your life-before you got pregnant?"

"From the time I was a little girl, I'd wanted to be a teacher. Santa
gave me a blackboard when I was seven and from then on, I used to line
up my dolls and play school every chance I got. Teaching was my dream."

Her eyes had taken on a faraway look, and he thought how sad it was that
she hadn't been able to fulfil her dream. He himself, from the time he
was ten, had wanted to be a doctor. He wondered now how he would

have coped had that goal been denied him. "You're still young," he said.
"One day, maybe..."

"No, it's too late. Heavens, before I know it, it'll be time for Jamie
to go to college! Anyway, I'm very happy with what I'm doing now, I'm
still working with children, and that's what's important to me."

Their hot chocolate had cooled a little, and he saw her gulp down a
mouthful. And then another. He realized that in a moment she'd be
getting up from her chair and excusing herself. If he was going to ask
her his questions about Firth, he'd better make his move now before she
escaped.

"So," he said, tilting back his chair casually, "I saw young Firth out
there a while back. You were having a chat with him..."

Her fingers tightened around her mug. She lowered her gaze. "Yes. He's
leaving tomorrow."

"You said you didn't know him very well...in the past."

"That's right."

"I just wondered..." He leaned forward and the chair legs snapped to the
floor again with a crack like the sound of a whip. "You don't really
know him that well...yet you seemed upset this evening, after you talked
with him-just as you were after you talked to him on the day he arrived."

He saw her eyes widen, and he knew he'd shocked her. She hadn't, of
course, been aware that he'd been privy to those tense interchanges.

"Look," he said, "if something's wrong, I want to help. If Firth has
been harassing you, or threatening you in any way, I'll put a stop to
it. Something's going on between the two of you, Ms. Tyler, but I can't
deal with the problem until I know what that problem is. Will you

130

please tell me what Daniel Firth said to you that was so traumatic-"

"It wasn't traumatic!"

"Then why," he asked with a weariness that was surpassed only by his
impatience, "have you been crying your eyes out ever since you spoke
with him!"

131

Willows initial rush of dismay was drowned out by a feeling of panic.

She had to convince this man, somehow, that nothing was wrong. And yet
how could she? He was looking at her now in that intensely penetrating
way he had, his blue eyes boring into her with such force she was sure
he must know every single thought spinning around in her head.

"Ms. Tyler?" His urging was gentle but determined.

She gripped her hands together in her lap, and though her stomach was
churning and her pulse tumbling madly, she made every effort to present
a composed exterior.

"Thank you," she said, "for your concern, but I'm all right. What Daniel
and I were talking about...it was from the past. He mentioned something
I hadn't thought about in years... and you know how it is with memories,
they can take you by surprise, throw you off balance, as all the
forgotten emotions well up to the surface and..." With a rueful smile,
she allowed her words to trail away.

His gaze had hardened. I am not convinced.

He didn't utter the words, but he didn't need to; they were written all
over his face. She tensed, her throat dry, as she waited for him to
press her further.

Glowering at her, he planted his fists squarely on the table. "And you
don't want to talk about it?"

"Talking about it won't change anything." And

132

wasn't that an untruth! Talking with him about Chad's death would change
everything. Even thinking about it about her part in it, threatened to
spill tears from her eyes. She realized she'd better take off before she
broke down again.

Abruptly she stood. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go up to my room.
It's getting late."

Frustration had darkened his eyes, but politeness brought him to his
feet. She sensed he was still bursting with questions, so before he
could start in on her again, she said, "Good night, Dr. Galbraith," and
without waiting for a response, she hastened from the room.

He didn't follow her, didn't even call after her.

And for that, she was truly thankful, because before she got to the
stairs she could barely see for her tears.

"Don't forget, Dad, you have to take us to school this afternoon." Amy
addressed her father across the breakfast table the next morning as she
slipped onto her seat. "For enrollment...and what's the other thing,
Lizzie?"

"Orientation." Lizzie pronounced the word with great care. Settling
herself in her chair, she added, "Dad, will you take your nose out of
your newspaper and listen?"

"Willow says it's rude to read at the table." Amy reached for the cereal
packet. "She never allows Lizzie to bring her book to the dining room."

Willow strapped Mikey into his chair and avoided looking at her employer
as he snapped the newspaper aside. She'd been hoping he'd already gone
to the clinic. No such luck.

"So," he drawled, "Ms. Tyler has been telling you I'm guilty of bad
manners."

Startled, Willow flicked her head up and said, "No, of course not. I
didn't-"

"You didn't use me as an example?" His eyes had an amused gleam. "An
example of how not to behave at the table?"

"I'm concerned with the children's manners." She poured Mikey's cereal,
and added milk. "But it's certainly not my place to criticize yours."
Taking her own seat, she helped herself to toast and butter. "And I
never have."

"It's okay, Dad," Amy reassured him. "Willow never says bad things about
you. Just good stuff."

"Ah." The corners of his mouth twitched. "What kind of good stuff?"

Amy wrinkled her nose as she cast her mind back. "We...ell, at her house
on Sunday, I was hiding behind a bush, being real quiet when we were
playing hide-and-seek with Jamie, and Willow walked by with her mom and
I heard her say you were prob'ly the nicest man she'd ever met."

Willow blushed wildly. What else had she said? Even as she racked her
brains trying to remember, she said in a rush, "Amy, do eat up, your
cereal's going to get soggy!"

Amy waved her spoon, dismissing Willow vaguely as she continued, "And
not only that, she said you were drop-dead gorgeous and she was having
an awful job trying to stop herself from falling in love with you." She
finally came to a stop, and beamed at her father. "That's all good
stuff, Dad...isn't it?"

Willow prayed for a miracle; for an earthquake that would crack the
floor open right under her feet-

A choking sound came from across the table and she saw that Amy's father
looked as if he were about to

134

have an apoplectic fit. The sounds coming from his mouth could have
meant any thing... Willow wasn't sure if he was trying not to laugh...or
trying not to cry.

Whatever, it didn't bode well for her. Or for her continued tenure at
Summerhill. Even as she felt nervous perspiration prickle her upper lip,
and she braced herself to hear whatever he had to say next, the door
opened and Mrs. Caird came in.

"Dr. Galbraith, I've just had a phone call from my daughter Angie's
husband. Angle's in labor, she seems to be having problems, he's taking
her to the hospital now and he wants you to come. Right away."

It wasn't an earthquake, but the effect was as good as.

Muttering "Excuse me," the doctor pushed himself to his feet, and
without letting his eyes so much as flick in Willow's direction, he
followed Mrs. Caird from the room. Seconds later, Willow heard the front
door slam shut. Then another minute later, she heard his car roar away
down the driveway.

She slumped back in her seat, as limp as if she'd been churned through a
wringer. What a disaster...

Lizzie was old enough to know it, and was tittering.

Mikey was shoveling cereal into his mouth, oblivious to the little
melodrama that had gone on around him.

Amy was looking eagerly at her nanny, her guileless blue eyes wide, her
expression seeking approval.

Willow gave the child a helpless smile. Oh, Amy, she thought in despair.
What have you done! In trying to defend me, you've put me in an
impossible situation. And put your father in a worse one.

How on earth was she going to face him now?

And how long would it be before he came back from

the hospital and said to her the words she was dreading: pack your bags,
Ms. Tyler. You're fired!

"Thank you so much, Dr. Galbraith." Angie Pratt brushed back a lock of
damp hair that had fallen over her brow. "I don't know how I'd have
managed without you!"

Scott looked down at the new mom and her first baby, nicely settled in
the maternity ward after a long and very difficult birth. "You're the
one who did all the work, Angie-and I'm sure you think it was worth it,
now that it's all over."

"They say women forget about the pain as soon as the baby's born-and
they don't remember it until they go into labor the next time
around...and by then it's too late!"

Scott laughed. "Yeah, I've heard that before. Well, I'll have to be on
my way. I'm taking my own kids to the school this afternoon, have to
enroll them."

Angie's husband, Tom, rounded the bed and shook the doctor's hand.
"Thanks again, you were great. I have to admit that when we heard Dr.
McRae was retiring, we were worried, she'd been our family doctor for
years. But you're great, top-notch, one terrific doctor."

As Scott drove home, he found Tom Pratt's words echoing in his
head...and he blew out a heavy sigh. This, it seemed, was his day for
receiving compliments. Not only was he apparently one terrific doctor,
he reflected ironically, but he was also "drop-dead gorgeous."

He hadn't had time since leaving Summerhill that morning, to think about
Amy's remarks at the breakfast table. Now they returned with the force
of a slap.

136

Good grief, he'd almost choked when he'd heard her repeat what Ms. Tyler
had said to her mother. His fears had been realized. The nanny did fancy
him. Was actually on the verge of falling in love with him.

And dammit, he didn't want that to happen.

She was an excellent nanny and he didn't want to lose her. Didn't want
to fire her.

He and Ms. Tyler were going to have to talk.

But they wouldn't have time to discuss the matter now; they had to be at
the school by three. It was already twenty to the hour. This evening,
then, after the children were in bed. He'd discuss the matter with her
then...and he'd just have to hope the right words would come out.

The words that would kill her budding attraction to him.

When he pulled the car up in the forecourt, he saw her come out the
front door. Alone. Pausing on the top step, she raised a hand to her
brow to shade her eyes from the sun. And then, she walked down the steps
to meet him.

He got out and slammed the car door.

"Where are the children?" he asked. "Are they ready?"

"Well, no... they're still in their rooms."

"Don't we have to be at the school at three?"

"No, three-thirty."

"Oh. I thought it was three." So...what did she want with him? Why had
she come to meet him?

"I wanted to talk to you where Mrs. Caird wouldn't overhear." Her face
seemed very pale. "About...what Amy said to you this morning."

He had to admire her for her courage. This couldn't have been an easy
step for her- "I know you can't want me around anymore, but..." Her eyes
were anguished but she went on bravely. "It's the children, you see.
Mikey, and Amy, and Lizzie. We've formed a...bond-oh, I can't claim to
have won Lizzie over yet, but I'm making headway, slowly... and..." She
took in a deep breath and went on in a rush, "I think it would do great
harm if I were to disappear from their lives now. Another rug being
pulled from under their feet. I honestly don't think they could cope
with it...Lizzie especially. She's so vulnerable, they all are." She
twisted her hands together, the movement as anguished as her expression.
"So won't you please try to forget what happened this morning? Not for
my sake, of course, but for-"

"Ms. Tyler." She was going to start weeping. And he couldn't stand it.
She talked about Lizzie being vulnerable? For pity's sake, she herself
was more vulnerable than any female he'd ever met. And he had to prevent
her from weeping because if he saw tears spilling from her eyes he
wouldn't be able to stop himself from reaching out to her, taking her in
his arms, comforting her...and that would be disastrous. What he had to
do was distance himself from her. And distance her from him. He knew
there was only one way to do it. Make her angry.

"Yes?" She quavered.

"You're making far too much of what happened this morning. Did you think
I was surprised by what Amy said? Did you think I was shocked to hear
you were falling in love with me?" He gave an amused laugh. "Actually my
only surprise has been that it didn't happen sooner, since I'm far from
being an unattractive man-"

She gave a little gasp. He barged on ruthlessly.

138

"I do see myself daily in the mirror when I shave, Ms. Tyler. I know
that I'm what writers of romantic novels describe as 'tall, dark and
handsome,' a combination the opposite sex apparently find irresistible.
I'm also a widower, which appeals to the female's mothering instinct.
And lastly, but certainly not leastly!-I'm a doctor. Women find it
amazingly easy to fall in love with doctors...maybe it's because we seem
like gods to them, or maybe it's because of our bedside manners-''

"Dr. Galbraith." She had drawn her petite figure to its full height and
outrage sizzled from her every pore. "You have the bedside manners of a
skunk and you have the tact of a...a rhinoceros and you have the conceit
of a...a peacock!" She tossed her head and he couldn't help noticing how
beautifully her silky hair glinted in the sun.

Out of nowhere, he was reminded of a long-ago fishing trip in the
Scottish Highlands, of silver trout slipping through a brandy-colored
stream-no, not a stream, over mere they called it a burn-the estate
factor had referred to it as "a burrrn."

"You're not even listening!" Ms. Tyler had planted her dainty fists on
her dainty hips. "Well, listen to this, Dr. Tall Dark and Handsome. I'm
staying here. I'm not going to desert your children. And if you try to
fire me, I'll take the case all the way to the Supreme Court if
necessary. So I was in danger of falling in love with you." She curled
her upper lip as if she were smelling something unpleasant. "But you may
rest assured that after this little conversation, that danger is now
well and truly over!"

She spun around and stalked regally back to the steps, while he watched,
torn between admiration for her guts,

and a deep heartfelt regret that he'd had to give this sweet young woman
such a false impression of the man he really was.

But it had been necessary.

He was going to marry Camryn.

That was his Perfect Plan.

And he was going to let nothing get in its way.

Especially not the insistent but totally inappropriate drag of
attraction he felt for his plain-Jane nanny!

From that day on, though Willow's attitude to her three charges remained
the same as it had always been, her attitude toward their father
changed. She was always polite and cooperative, but she was withdrawn.
Distant. Her tone was flat when she talked to him; her gaze was flat
when she looked at him.

If he noticed-and how could he not?-he made no comment. His attitude had
changed, too. He had taken to treating her in a way she could describe
only as "vigorous." His smiles were wide but impersonal; his manner
brisk; his conversation-on the occasions when communication was
necessary-was blunt.

He addressed her in the way she'd heard sailors address each other in
old pirate movies: bluff and hale and sturdy. She wouldn't have been in
the least surprised if he'd started sprinkling his speech with salty "me
hearties!" or started calling "Avast there!" after her when he needed
her, instead of his customary "Hang on a minute!"

The atmosphere between them was highly charged and by the time Friday
rolled around-the day of the Moffats's party-Willow had a constant
tension headache.

She hated discord of any kind, and though she and

140

her employer weren't openly fighting, the under-the-surface conflict was
even more upsetting than outright hostilities.

She dreaded the evening ahead.

She dreaded having to present a happy front to the Moffats, dreaded
being in the same room with Scott Galbraith for what would be hours on
end. The very last thing she felt like doing was going to a social function!

The children, of course, were looking forward to it immensely and their
bedrooms were filled with noise and squeals of excitement as Willow
supervised their dressing.

Once the trio were ready, she lined them up in the girls' room, like
soldiers.

"Inspection time," she said, smiling. "And I have to say-" she
straightened Mikey's bow tie "-you all pass muster."

"But I don't like mustard," Amy fretted.

"That's not what it means," Lizzie said.

"What does it mean?" Amy asked anxiously.

"It means," Lizzie said, "that we're okay."

"Oh. Well, goody!" Amy twirled around so fast she lost balance and
bumped into Mikey who fell sideways against Lizzie and jolted her so she
tumbled back onto her bed.

Willow could see a fight in the offing. Before it could get going, she
said quickly, "Oh, my goodness, will you look at that!"

"What?" they chorused.

Willow crossed to the window. "It's raining." She hadn't noticed that
the day had darkened, but now she could see that black clouds covered
the sky, and heavy rain was sweeping the countryside.

"We'll need to wear coats," Amy said, wrinkling her nose. "We don't want
to get our new dresses wet!"

"Dad's home." Lizzie pressed a fingertip to the windowpane, pointing
down to the forecourt where her father's car was drawing in. "He'll have
to hurry up and get dressed or we're going to be late." She swiveled her
gaze to Willow and ran a frowning glance over Willow's T-shirt and
jeans. "You'd better hurry too. You can't go in that old outfit."

"She's not." Amy looked up. "You're going to wear the dress you bought
at Aunt Camryn's, aren't you, Willow?"

"I'm going to change now. While I'm doing that, will you get out your
rain slickers and rubber boots? We'll pack your shoes in a bag and take
them with us."

"We'll put on our raincoats now," Lizzie said. "And then Dad won't see
our dresses till we get to the party. That way, he'll get an even bigger
and better surprise!"

"Oh, goody!" Amy jumped up and down. "And you, too, Willow. You put your
coat on and when we get to the party we'll all whisk them off together
and Dad will get such a surprise he'll be-" She gnawed her lip. "He'll
be what, Lizzie? What's the word that he'll be?"

"He'll be stunned." Lizzie loved being asked for help when it came to
finding the right word. "He's going to be absolutely stunned."

The day at the clinic had been even busier than usual. Scott had seen
eight patients by lunchtime, and in the early afternoon he'd had to
hurry to the hospital to perform an emergency C-section. When he
returned to the clinic, his appointments had backed up, and it was
twenty to five before he'd seen the last patient.

142

When he left the clinic, the day had become dark. It was starting to
rain, and by the time he got home it was coming down heavily. As he
dashed from the car to the front door, the rain sluiced over him.

Once inside, he stood for a moment, catching his breath, shaking off
raindrops. From upstairs, he could hear giggles and the sound of light
footsteps as his children scampered around. They'd be up to high doh, of
course, anxious to get to the party. He himself would have given
anything to be able to stay home, with his feet up, a glass of beer in
his hand-

"Get changed, Dad!" Amy's disembodied voice drifted down to him. "We're
all ready-but you can't see us because we want to give you a surprise!"
Doors slammed. The house became quiet.

Where, he wondered, was Ms. Tyler?

Not that he was keen to see her, he reflected as he ascended the stairs.
Since Tuesday, anytime they'd been in the same room the tension in the
air had been so thick he'd wanted to punch a hole in it. He hated the
feeling of discord between them. Actually he hated discord of any kind.

He reached the landing and heard muffled sounds from behind bedroom
doors. Still no sign of Ms. Tyler.

Which was good. Wasn't it? He needed to relax and there was no relaxing
when that woman was around!

He went into his own room, and shut the door firmly.

After a quick shower, he opened his closet door and was hesitating over
which suit to wear, when he noticed a navy blazer tucked at the end of
the rack, at the back.

The blazer had been there since his last visit to Summerhill...but he'd
been so distraught when he left to go home that he'd somehow omitted to
pack it. He'd taken off right after Chad's funeral... taken off quickly,

as had the rest of the family, unable to bear another moment in this
place, fresh as it was with its painful memories.

He wondered, now, if the jacket would still fit him. He'd spent a lot of
time at the gym in the months after Chad's death-had driven himself
mercilessly, in the same way as he'd driven himself relentlessly at work
in an attempt to obliterate his grief...and the feelings of guilt that
he hadn't been there for Chad when-

With an effort, he tore his thoughts from the unhappy past and
concentrated on the present.

He slipped the blazer on, and when he found it still fit perfectly, he
decided to wear it. Chad was dead; he had come to grips with that some
time ago. What mattered was today. Only today.

And today held its own problems. Problems that were all tied up with Ms.
Tyler-who had fancied herself in love with him but now despised him.

The Moffats would surely notice the tension between them and he didn't
want to mar their evening by bringing discord into their home. He'd have
to talk privately with Ms. Tyler and ask her-order her, if necessary!-
to put her contempt for him on the back burner.

A few minutes later he left his bedroom, sporting the blazer with a pair
of gray flannels, a crisp white shirt and a navy-and-silver striped tie.

The children, and Willow, were waiting in the hall. They looked up at
him as he ran down the stairs, Amy and Lizzie smiling, Mikey jumping
around, Ms. Tyler still and silent, sending out invisible waves of dislike.

His offspring were wearing yellow rain slickers and red rubber boots;
she was in a shiny black cape and black rubber boots. Like the children,
she had pulled the hood of her cape over her head, and the darkness

144

of the cape was reflected in her eyes. Eyes that were regarding him now
with a gaze that cut him, and made him want to swear.

Instead he addressed the children. "All set?"

"Yes, Dad!"

"Right, then." He took his golfing umbrella from the hall closet and
opened the front door. A gust of wind blew a spatter of rain into the
entry way. "Give me a sec to open all the car doors and then the rest of
you make a run for it. Lizzie, I want you to sit in the front with
me-Ms. Tyler can sit in back and keep Mikey and Amy amused."

By the time her employer drew his car up in front of the Moffats's grand
Tudor house, Willow felt sick with nerves. When he had come downstairs
earlier, she'd noticed how strained he looked. He'd had an exhausting
day, that was obvious. And no matter that she knew she ought to despise
him for his arrogance and conceit, she still found herself worrying
about him. A man as busy as he was at work needed peace and quiet in his
leisure hours. He'd expected her to keep Amy and Mikey amused on the
drive and she'd made a poor job of it. They were high with excitement
and she couldn't get them to settle. They'd squabbled all the way, and
it wasn't till they left the main road and turned onto the Moffats's
driveway that they finally gave up on their bickering.

Their father hadn't said a word, but his shoulders had become rigid, and
Willow had seen his knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip on the
steering wheel.

When he switched off the engine, she wasted no time in opening the car
door and ushering the two little ones out onto the driveway.

The rain had stopped about fifteen minutes earlier, and the air smelled
pleasantly of damp earth and roses. Lizzie had shoved her door open and
as she got out, she grabbed Mikey's hand and took off.

"Where are you going?" Amy shouted.

"Around the back!"

"Wait for me!" Amy scurried after them.

Willow made to follow, but her employer slammed his door and walked
around the car, saying "Hang on a minute."

His voice, for the first time in days, didn't have that "Avast, me
hearties!" tone. It was low, and serious.

Taking in an apprehensive breath, Willow turned to face him. He was
going to let her have it, she guessed, for being unable to control Amy
and her brother. Now, even as she steeled herself for his reprimand, she
was hopelessly aware of how attractive he was in his navy blazer and
flannels. Just looking at him made her knees weak.

"We have to talk." He came to a halt in front of her. "Before we go inside."

"I know." She sighed. "I'm sorry, I should have been able to keep them
quiet, and I could see how uptight you were getting with all their
squabbling-"

"Yes, I'm uptight...but not about that. It's this- whatever's going on
between the two of us that's bothering me. A party should be a happy
occasion. Can we agree-for the sake of the Moffats and the rest of their
guests--to put all our differences aside, just for the next few hours?
Then-" his eyes took on a sardonic, mocking gleam "-you can go back to
despising me openly, as you have been doing for the past several days."

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"A truce?" Willow was surprised-and relieved- that this was what he'd
wanted to discuss. "I don't have any problem with that. And pretending
not to despise you shouldn't be too hard," she added, dryly. "I studied
drama in high school and always got straight A's for acting."

She saw his lips twitch, but before he could reply, Camryn came out the
front door, looking elegant in a black dress with bold silver
accessories. She greeted Scott with a peck on the cheek. "Where are the
children?" she asked. He said, "They've gone around to the back door."
"Good. Mom's in the kitchen with Cook, she'll give them a snack to hold
them till dinner." Camryn turned to Willow. "It's lovely to see you
again, Willow. Come away inside, I'll take you upstairs and you can take
off your cape."

She looped her arm through Scott's as they all walked to the front door.
"What a blessing the rain has stopped. Wasn't it ghastly there for a
while? I imagine the drive here was pretty hairy. Anyway," she went on
as she ushered them into the house, "you're the first to arrive so
you'll have a chance to relax before the other guests start turning
up-we don't expect them till closer to seven."

She closed the front door behind them and Willow had scarcely time to
take in the enormous foyer with its Persian carpets and dark furniture
and sparkling chandelier,

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before Camryn was escorting her up the staircase while calling back to
Scott, "Dad's in the lounge, he'll pour you a drink."

Camryn chatted away to Willow as she led her along a corridor, and into
what was obviously a guest room. Decorated in peach and sage-green, with
a bow window looking out over rolling hills, it smelled of lavender and
was one of the prettiest rooms Willow had ever seen. She was admiring it
when Camryn murmured a soft "Tsk!"

"I forgot I had this window open," she said. "The rain has come in, it's
all over the sill. Excuse me for a moment, Willow, while I get a cloth
to wipe it up. Take your cape off, you'll find hangers in the closet."

After Willow had disposed of her cape, she scrutinized her reflection in
the closet's mirrored door.

She had debated earlier whether to pull her hair back into a ponytail,
or leave it loose. In the end, she'd decided to leave it loose. But
somehow, she didn't look right and she wasn't sure why. Oh, the dress
was lovely-though it had looked nothing on the hanger at the boutique,
just a slither of shapeless silk. But when she'd put it on, she'd been
amazed at how the fabric had clung in just the right places, and how the
glorious shade of sea-green had suited her, making her eyes glow.

"That dress could have been made for you, Willow!'' Camryn swept across
the room, waving a rag toward Willow. "But your hair should be up. I'll
style it for you, if you don't mind, once I've mopped up this mess." She
busied herself at the window. "You don't mind, do you, dear?"

"No of course not, but it's not necessary, really."

Camryn turned to Willow and said with a teasing

148

twinkle in her eye, "Oh, but it is. You're wearing a Camryn Moffat dress
so you're a walking advertisement for my designs and I won't settle for
anything less than perfection."

Scott felt frustrated beyond belief.

And it was all because of his children's nanny.

Not that he could fault her attitude toward him; she'd behaved
impeccably all evening, particularly during the buffet-style dinner
where by chance they'd ended up sitting together. Now they were in the
lounge, where everyone had drifted after their coffee, and while guests
fussed over the children, she'd remained discreetly in the background,
obviously attempting to blend into the woodwork as any good nanny would.

The problem was...she wasn't blendable.

Not in that slinky sea-green dress, not with her hair swept up in that
sexy little top-knot, not with her long legs so tantalizingly set off by
those strappy high-heeled sandals.

And just look at her now, he reflected morosely as he stood alone,
nursing a drink. Look at her smiling as she's chatted up by Lex Brennen,
the Moffats's twenty-something bachelor neighbor, just back from a
successful Everest climb. Tanned within an inch of his life and a dead
ringer for Pierce Brosnan, the guy oozed charisma and had knocked every
woman in the room for six-

"Scott..."

He dragged his gaze away from the couple as Camryn appeared at his side.
"Oh, hi, there..,"

"Oops, why the surly growl? Are you annoyed with me for inviting the
children to sleep over? After Willow and I put them to bed, it did occur
to me that it was a

bit presumptuous of me to whisk them off the way I did, but they were so
tired and I was afraid that if you noticed they were getting cranky
you'd pack them into the car and take them home, and I didn't want you
to cut your evening short-"

"No, it's okay that they're staying over." Oh, sure. It was okay that he
was now stuck with driving the nanny home, alone; it was okay that he
was now stuck with spending the night at Summerhill with her, alone. It
was okay that every time he looked at her, he wanted to drag her into
his arms and kiss her till her head spun? "I appreciate the thought and
I certainly wouldn't want to break up the party. I'll drive over
tomorrow morning and pick them up."

"Why don't we wait and see how things go? They start school next week,
it would be nice for us to have them for the weekend. I'll call you
tomorrow, let you know. Meanwhile," she added, "would you do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to ask everybody to stand to one side for a bit and could you
get hold of... let me see... Lex... and ask him to roll back the carpet?
Then could you take Willow through to the den and show her where the
stereo is? I've had more speakers put in since last you were here-the
music gets piped through to the lounge now."

"Why do you want Willow to know where the stereo is?"

"I've delegated her to go through our collection and choose the
music-did you know she's won umpteen medals for dancing?" Camryn walked
away, saying over her shoulder, "Apparently she's studied jazz and
ballet since she was old enough to walk!"

150

He hoped that Willow would stay in the den for the rest of the evening,
so he wouldn't have to look at her!

Putting down his glass on the nearest surface, he tried his best not to
scowl as he threaded his way across the room to where she was still
standing with the Everest hero.

"Excuse me," he said. "Sorry to break this up, Brosnan-''

"Name's Brennen." The man interrupted mildly. "Three ra's, two e's."

Scott could have kicked himself for the slip. And could have kicked the
man for his movie star good looks and for standing so close to the nanny
that their arms touched. "Brennen. Sorry. Camryn wants you to roll back
the carpet for dancing."

"Dancing? Terrific!" Brennen flashed Willow a smile that was all white
teeth and mahogany tan and bedroom eyes. "Sweetie, we'll have a dance
later so save me a place on your card!"

He strode off, whistling, and Scott scowled after him.

"You seem annoyed with me," the nanny said somewhat stiffly. "What have
I done to upset you?"

Scott swiveled his gaze back to her. And when he saw her troubled
expression, he felt a wave of shame. The fact that he desired her,
physically, was his problem. Taking his frustration out on her was
unfair. She'd never in any way set out to attract him. On the contrary.

He said quietly, "You've done nothing to upset me, Willow. Absolutely
nothing, You've behaved perfectly, and I want to thank you for hiding
the way you feel about me. I appreciate it. Now...Camryn tells me you're
going to be choosing the music for dancing, and she's asked me to take
you through to the den and show you where the stereo is."

"I hope you don't mind my helping Camryn out-I really wanted to stay
upstairs with the children."

"They're sound asleep. What would be the point? And of course I don't mind."

What he did mind was the effect her perfume had on him as she walked
beside him along the corridor. He hadn't noticed it in the car because
she'd been sitting in the back. But now it drifted to him, elusive,
subtle, sensual. Essence of Temptation. If that wasn't its name, he
decided with a feeling of despair, then it should be.

"Here we are," he announced as he escorted her into the den. "And
there's the stereo system."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, my, what an elaborate

setup."

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind having one like it installed at Summerhill." He
opened a cabinet packed with discs, all neatly arranged, alphabetically
labeled.

"Thanks." She crouched by the cabinet, her expression eager. "Oh, some
of my favorites..." She pulled out discs, setting them on the carpet.
"Wonderful..."

He knew by her tone that she was speaking to herself, and had forgotten
he was there. He also knew he should leave her to it, and not give in to
his desire to run a hand over her top-knot, feel the silky texture of
her hair.

He cleared his throat. "I'll be off then."

Vaguely she murmured, "Mmmm..."

So he left the room, but instead of returning to the lounge, he made his
way to the back of the house, and into the kitchen where the cook was
taking a load of steaming plates from the dishwasher.

"That was a terrific meal," he said as she gave him a smile, her round
face flushed and damp with perspiration. "Once again you outdid
yourself, Bettina."

"Thank you, Dr. Galbraith. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

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"We all did." He rounded the island and crossed to the back door. "I'm
going to take a turn outside," he said. "I need to get away from the
crowd for a bit. If anyone comes looking for me, Bettina, you haven't
seen me!"

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him blankly. "Seen who?"

He chuckled, and was still chuckling as he closed the door behind him
and strolled out into the starry night.

"I thought I'd find you hiding up here!"

When Willow heard Camryn whisper the words to her from the doorway of
the darkened bedroom, she got up silently from the chair by Amy's bed
and tiptoed across the carpet.

"I'm not really hiding," she whispered. "After I got the music going I
popped up here to check on the children and I found Amy awake-she said
she was thirsty. I got her a glass of water but she was grumpy and out
of sorts, and it took some time for her to fall asleep again, and since
she seemed restless I decided I'd better stay awhile."

"And now?" Camryn looked over her shoulder. "As far as I can see, the
child's still as a mouse!"

"Yes, she has settled now but-"

Camryn took her by the arm and tugged her out into the corridor. "No
buts, Willow." Shutting the door firmly, she drew a reluctant Willow
along to the landing. "It's a lovely party. You must come down and have
some fun."

"I'm not here to have fun, Camryn. I'm here to look after the children."

"Which you have done admirably. But all work and no play make Willow a
dull girl. And I promise I'll

allow you to go upstairs and look in on them every fifteen minutes!"

She was teasing, but she was so nice, and so friendly, Willow decided
not to protest further. And she had to admit-if only to herself-that she
didn't really want to. While up in Amy's room, she'd heard the insistent
beat of the stereo, as it drifted faintly upstairs, and she'd found
herself tapping her feet. The urge to dance, when she heard music, was
as always, an irresistible temptation. So with a wry sigh, she picked up
her step...and felt her heartbeats quicken, too, as she and Camryn ran
lightly down the stairs.

Lex Brennen was crossing the hall toward the lounge. When he saw them,
his face lit up in a charming smile. "Camryn," he said, "your knight in
shining armor has finally turned up, just as your mother was about to
send out a search party-apparently he went for a walk, and lost his
bearings. But all is well, and the warrior has returned-he was recently
spotted out on the patio, communing with the stars."

Camryn laughed. "It's like drawing blood from a stone," she said, "to
get that man onto a dance floor. Genevieve swore that the only time
she'd ever succeeded was at their wedding reception...and then only
because it couldn't be avoided."

A man who didn't like to dance. Willow felt sorry for him. What he was
missing!

As they all walked into the lounge, Willow saw that several couples were
jiving to the lively music. Camryn's parents were seated around a coffee
table with Snead Gallagher, a retired lawyer. The French doors were
open, and a dark figure stood outside, alone, at the far end of the
patio. Scott. He looked...solitary.

154

Camryn's mother called out, "Camryn, darling, come here a moment-we need
you to settle an argument..."

Camryn excused herself, and Lex said to Willow, "Now, sweetheart-" he
grasped her hand in a masterful grip "-we'll have that dance you
promised me!"

She certainly wasn't his sweetheart, and she certainly hadn't promised
him a dance. But it would be rude to refuse, so Willow let him lead her
onto the dance floor.

Her partner, she soon discovered to her surprise and delight, was &
fabulous dancer. And so-as she always did when she landed so lucky-she
gave herself up to the joy of the moment and the rhythm of the music,
and within moments had forgotten about everything else.

He was being rude and he knew it.

Scott turned irritably from his mindless scrutiny of the Moffats's
garden, with its discreetly lit paths, its illuminated fountain and its
pretty white-painted gazebo. He should go inside...the only reason he'd
taken off was that he couldn't stand being around Willow.

What was wrong with him? Why was he so obsessed with her? And no,
obsessed wasn't too strong a word; it was his obsession with her that
was ruining his evening.

And it was ridiculous.

If he were any older, he'd think he was having a midlife crisis.
Hankering after a child-bride. But he was nowhere near midlife...still,
he should be hankering after someone closer to his own age.

He should be hankering after Camryn.

What he had to do, he decided grimly, was get a hold of his
sister-in-law, take her to some shadowy corner of the garden, haul her
into his arms and kiss her. Kiss her

till they were both awash in lust and passion...kiss her till he ached
to make love to her.

And then, at that point where he'd forgotten the nanny and everything
else...he had to propose marriage.

Marriage to Camryn.

It was a Perfect Plan.

And as he opened the French doors and entered the lounge, he decided to
move on it without a second's

delay-

He stopped short just inside the room, his Perfect Plan momentarily
forgotten.

The music was pulsing in the kind of primal beat that stirred a man to
primal lust; stirred him at least! But the only people dancing were
Brennen and the nanny. The other dancers had moved to the fringes of the
floor to watch-and boy, were the two ever something to watch.

But he himself had eyes only for Willow as she laughingly teased her
partner with her spinning and her weaving, and with provocative body
movements and steps so fast her long legs were a blur...and all the
while, the beat drummed on, till his head pounded with it.

And all the while, she was oblivious to him and to everyone else but the
man she was flirting with-her eyes sparkling, her smile teasing, her
sea-green dress fluttering around her like the silken wings of a
tropical bird.

Scott leaned back against the doorjamb, his mouth dry, his knees weak.

She was a woman transformed.

Seduction personified.

The music rose to a climax, Brennen snaked out a hand to catch hers, and
in a final triumphant whirl, they

156

brought the dance to an end as the music ended in a reverberating drumroll.

Silence reigned...and then wild applause broke out. Everyone crowded
around the couple, voices raised in praise.

"That was wonderful-"

"Wow, what a stupendous performance!"

"Ms. Tyler-" that was his father-in-law "-I used to think Ginger Rogers
could dance, but..."

Everyone's voices joining in the clamor.

Urgings for an encore.

Scott swiveled around and went out again to the patio. Dammit, he
thought desperately, what am I to do? Rubbing a distraught hand over his
nape, he walked across the patio, and started down the path leading to
the gazebo.

He had almost reached the picturesque white structure when he heard a
voice coming from behind. "Scott..."

He turned. -It was Camryn.

The timing, he realized, couldn't have been better.

He waited for her to catch up with him. And as she stepped lightly
toward him, he let his gaze run over her-over her beautiful familiar
face; over her mane of glorious black hair; over her tall and voluptuous
figure.

"Hey," he said when she reached him, "I'm glad you came out." He took
her hand, twined his fingers with hers. "Let's find somewhere we can be
alone. I have something to say to you, Camryn, and I don't want us to be
disturbed."

Willow saw him take off.

She'd noticed him just before he turned to leave, and the expression on
his face had chilled her.

She'd really done it now, she thought despairingly. She'd made an
exhibition of herself; had drawn attention to herself, which was an
absolute no-no where nannies were concerned. They were supposed to be
seen and not heard-and preferably not even seen!

As her employer disappeared out onto the patio, she turned her attention
to Lex, who was laughingly saying he was far too exhausted for an
encore, he couldn't keep up with his partner. Willow joined in the
laughter, but inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. And within minutes she
was able to slip quietly away.

She went upstairs to check on the children. She found Lizzie and her
brother both asleep; and when she checked on Amy, she found her asleep, too.

She wandered aimlessly over to the bedroom window, which looked down on
the gardens. They were deserted-except for a tall dark figure walking
toward the gazebo.

Scott.

She knew she had to apologize to him, and now, perhaps, would be a good
opportunity while he was alone.

Ignoring the way her heart had leaped at the sight of him, and without
giving herself time to mull over her decision, she hurried from the
room, ran down the stairs, and wanting to avoid the party, went outside
via the kitchen door.

She made her way to the gardens, and walked over the lawn toward the gazebo.

But when she reached it, no one was there.

He must have walked farther on.

Or perhaps he'd already retraced his steps and returned to the house.

A puffy cloud drifted over the moon, putting everything into deep
shadow. At the same time, from the trees

158

nearby came the soft hoot of an owl, followed by the increasingly loud
roar of a motorcycle, passing by on the main road.

Willow mounted the wooden steps leading up to the gazebo, and sank down
on a cushioned seat. Closing her eyes, she leaned back with a sigh, and
listened as the harsh sound of the motorcycle gradually faded away,
leaving the night once again enveloped in silence. It was then that she
heard a voice. Her employer's voice. So close that her heart almost stopped.

Then, before she could move, she heard another voice. Camryn's.

Heart thudding, Willow pushed herself to her feet, preparing to make her
presence known. She peered into the shadowy night, uncomfortable that
she was intruding on a private conversation.

The cloud that had glided over the moon now glided on past it; and in
its white beams Willow saw the couple. And when she saw them, dismay
sucked the breath from her lungs.

Scott and his sister-in-law were standing a mere ten feet from the
gazebo, and he had his arms around her. But even as Willow tried to
decide whether she ought to cough to announce her presence or try to
sneak away unseen, she heard Scott say, in a voice that held more than a
hint of desperation,

"Will you marry me, Camryn?" Clamping a hand over her mouth to suppress
a cry of distress, Willow finally managed to move. Wrenching off her
sandals, she clutched them in her hands as she crept silently from the
gazebo and fled back into the house.

Thankfully, when she burst breathlessly into the kitchen, there was no
one there to see her distress.

And she was fortunate that she met no one as she slipped upstairs. But
as she stumbled along the corridor leading to the children's rooms, she
noticed that Lizzie's bedroom door was open. And across the way, the
bathroom door was ajar, the light was on, and as she hurried to
investigate, she heard sounds of retching coming from inside the bathroom.

Hesitantly she pushed the door open.

Lizzie, shivering and sobbing, was kneeling over the toilet, her hands
clawed around the toilet seat as she choked and gagged, sick but with
nothing left to come

up.

"Oh, Lizzie!" Willow quickly kneeled beside her. Stroking her back, she
felt it chilled even through the long white T-shirt the child was
wearing. "Why didn't you come down and tell me you weren't feeling well."

"It was my own fault." Lizzie sat back on her heels, and wretchedly
shoved back her damp, sticky hair from her flushed cheeks. "Cook warned
me after dinner not to eat any more chocolate cake but I snuck another
two slices. Then when I started to feel sick a little while ago, I...I
did go looking for you," she said, gulping back tears. She leaned over
the toilet again, gagging, and then fell limply against the edge of the
bath.

"I think," she said in a small voice, "that I won't be sick again. I
feel it's all up now."

She didn't fight as Willow used a warm damp cloth to wipe her face and
brush back her damp hair. All the while, she fixed glassy blue eyes on
her nanny, eyes that were so miserable that Willow felt her heart go out
to her.

160

"So you came looking for me," Willow murmured. "Couldn't you find me?"

"Well, I crept downstairs but when I peeked in the lounge I saw you
dancing with Mr. Brennen and you were having fun and I didn't want to
spoil-"

"Oh, Lizzie." Willow couldn't help herself; at the risk of being
rejected, she tenderly drew the chilled, thin figure into her arms and
held her close. "I don't care two hoots about dancing with Mr. Brennen.
What I care about is you. You and Mikey and Amy. I'm here to look after
you, that's my job but it's not just a job. It's what I love doing. I
love you all and I want to look after you."

Lizzie slumped bonelessly against her, and hugging her close, Willow
started to hum, and then sing softly, Brahm's lullaby, which never
failed to soothe Jamie if he was out of sorts.

Willow felt her heart leap with joy as Lizzie's slender arms crept
around her and small fingers clutched the back of the sea-green dress.
With her face buried against the nanny's bosom, she whispered, "That's
the song Mommy used to sing to me."

"You loved her a lot, didn't you, sweetheart, and you still miss her."

Lizzie nodded, and her chin nudged Willow's breastbone. "But I don't
miss her as much," she murmured on a hiccup, "since you came to
Summerhill. I'm sorry, Willow, that I've been so difficult. I've been
really mean to you 'cos I was trying not to like you."

"That's all right, sweetie. I think you were testing me, to see if I
would be like the others and leave, or if you could trust me to stay."

Lizzie looked up and Willow saw that her eyes were heavy, her smile
sleepy. "I do trust you to stay,

Willow." She yawned, and her eyelids started to drift shut. "I know now
that you are going to stay. Forever."

Tears suddenly blurring her eyes, Willow scooped the child up in her
arms and carried her through to her bed. By the time she reached it,
Lizzie was sound asleep.

After tucking her in, Willow returned to the bathroom, and locked
herself in. She stayed there, distraughtly pacing the small room, back
and forth as she tried unsuccessfully to hold back her tears.

She wouldn't be staying at Summerhill forever. There was no doubt that
she had enraged Lizzie's father with her exuberant exhibition on the
dance floor.

Before this night ended, she knew that he would be sending her packing,
and once again Lizzie and Mikey and Amy would be left swinging in the
breeze.

By the time Camryn came looking for her to tell her the party was over,
Willow was sitting quietly in Amy's darkened room...and had earlier
sponged her eyes with cold water so often there was no sign that she'd
been weeping, and she had-at least on the surface-become calm.

She felt totally washed out, though, and exhausted; and she prayed that
Scott wouldn't try to make conversation on the way home. He didn't. He
did usher her into the front seat, though, after escorting her to the
car, but he could hardly have done otherwise. And she could hardly say
to him that she'd rather be in the back, alone.

So they traveled home in silence. Not a companionable silence, a silence
that throbbed with tension.

She fully expected that when they reached Summerhill, he'd turn on her,
tear a strip off her. So she braced herself for a tirade after he
switched off the engine... but

162

when he spoke, he didn't seem angry. He seemed... withdrawn.

"You must be tired." He didn't look at her, she could see the outline of
his profile as he stared ahead into the dark. "It's been a long night,"

"Yes," she said. "Before I go in, though, Dr. Galbraith, I have to
apologize for-"

He interrupted wearily, "I don't know what you think you've done now,
but for heaven's sake, stop saying you're sorry-"

"The dancing, I know I shouldn't, I know it was out of place, I know you
were furious with me, I know I should have stayed in the background, I
know I've let you down badly on every front, you wanted a plain-Jane
nanny, you made that clear from day one, a nanny who'd blend into the
woodwork-"

He jerked around in his seat and faced her; she couldn't see his
expression in the shadowy dark, but she sensed it was grimly set-and
there was no mistaking the intense frustration in his voice. "You aren't
blendable! Will you get that through your head, once and for all? You're
the very opposite of being blendable, dammit. You're a standout!" She
saw a flash of gold from his cuff links as he raked a hand through the
glossy strands of his jet-black hair. He hissed something under his
breath. It sounded like a curse. "We need to talk!"

It was even worse than she'd thought. He was absolutely livid. She felt
as if her stomach had become a leaden lump-a lump that was as heavy as
her heart. This was it then. He was going to fire her.

Gathering up every shred of poise that she possessed, and it certainly
didn't amount to much, she said, "About what, Dr. Galbraith?" As if she
didn't know!

"For God's sake, will you stop calling me Dr. Galbraith? If I'm going to
marry you, woman, you're going to have to start calling me Scott!"

165

Willow had bungee-jumped. Once. And though tumbling down in free fall
had absolutely terrified her, it had also charged her with a feeling of
incredible joy.

She felt the same kind of joy now, a crazy wild joy that made her head spin.

But within moments her brain started to clear, and as she recalled that
this was a man who had proposed marriage to someone else just a few
scant hours earlier, she came down to earth with a sickening thud.

Camryn must have turned him down. And of course that had shattered him.
But he hadn't taken long to recover... no sirree! If he couldn't marry
for love, then he'd marry for convenience-and what could be more
convenient than marrying the family nanny!

She felt a welling-up of fury and resentment. And afraid of what she
might say to him if she opened the floodgates of her wrath and contempt,
instead she got out of the car quickly and half walked, half ran toward
the house.

Scott Galbraith was cold, calculating and selfish-an opportunist with
his eyes fixed ruthlessly on the main chance.

And his main chance, now, was her.

Oh, she despised him!

She leaped up the steps to the front door, and was extricating her key
from her purse, when she heard his heavy steps on the gravel and then he
was pounding up the steps behind her.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he spun her to face him.

In the unforgiving beam from the lamp above, she could see his
expression. She thought it seemed anguished. Anguished? Huh! A trick of
the light. It must be. What did he have to look anguished about?
Certainly not because she'd fled from him. If he was anguished, it was
because Camryn had rejected his proposal and broken his heart.

And that thought-the thought of his broken heart-blunted the sharp edges
of Willow's rage. Oh, not enough that she didn't want to make him
grovel. She still did!

And she planned to do it in such a subtle way he wouldn't even see it
coming.

"Was that-" she flicked up an eyebrow "-a proposal?"

"Yes." He nodded vehemently. "It was. A proposal of marriage. Willow-"

"And when, exactly, did you decide to make this offer?"

She saw his Adam's apple bob up and down, and as she awaited his
response she took a certain grim pleasure in his obvious agitation.

"I, um, actually, earlier this evening. Willow...let me explain-''

"And why, exactly, did you decide to propose to me?" She tilted her head
to one side and regarded him with a little smile. "Am I to understand,"
she asked with deceptive softness, "that...earlier this evening... you
suddenly discovered you were in love with me?"

"Dammit, yes! Madly in love, hopelessly in love-"

"And would that discovery-" she set a fist on one

166

hip and challenged him with a scornful glare "--have been before, or
after, you proposed marriage to your sister-in-law?"

He gaped at her, his eyes abulge, his mouth wide-open.

He resembled, mused Willow, a fish out of water-one that had been
stranded on a sandy beach under a blazing tropical sun without a tree or
a sheltering bush in sight.

She felt not one scrap of pity for him. "Before," she repeated her
question relentlessly, "or after?"

"What...?" he choked out. "How...? I don't...! didn't...I'm not...she
wouldn't...we're not...we weren't... I can explain-"

"Oh, pullease!" Rolling her eyes, Willow slipped her key into the lock.
"Spare me the details."

She shoved the door open and stepped regally into the hall. Over her
shoulder as she stalked across the foyer to the stairs, she called back,
"Even if I were in love with you, which I am not, I wouldn't marry you
for all the gold in all the banks in the world. I may be just a
small-town girl with a small-time job and a smalltime life, but I've
never played second fiddle to anyone and I certainly have no intention
of starting now!''

Behind her, the door crashed shut. She heard his steps as he came after
her. With a feeling of panic, she made for the stairs and ascended them
with deerlike speed.

When she reached the landing she hurtled on toward her room, bolted
headlong inside and slammed the door. Scott skidded to a halt, just in
time to hear the lock click into place.

Dammit, she was determined to avoid him.

But he was just as determined not to go to bed till he'd had this out
with her. He had to explain...

He knew she was in love with him...or at least, she had been till he'd
doused the flame when he'd turned her off by pretending to be arrogant
and full of himself. But once he'd cleared that up, surely she would
tumble right back into love with him again? He prayed it would be so.

He knocked again. "Willow...I'm not going to go away. If necessary, I'll
kick the door in."

No answer.

He turned and leaning his back against the locked door, stared down at
his polished black shoes. "Just listen," he pleaded. "I have three
things to say to you and once I've said them, if you want me to go, I'll
go. But...just hear me out."

The door opened suddenly and he lost his balance and almost fell
backward. Staggering upright, he grabbed the doorjamb for a moment to
steady himself, before swiveling around to face her.

She stepped back but kept her cold gaze fixed on him.

"All right." Her voice was thin and even colder than her wintry-gray
eyes. "But nothing you can say is going to make any difference to how I
feel about you."

"First of all," he said quickly, "after Amy spilled the beans about your
having told your mother you were falling in love with me-" he saw dull
burgundy color seep into her cheeks "-and I made all those cutting
remarks about not being surprised and about being used to females going
gaga over me because I was-"

"God's gift to women," she snapped. "Don't remind me. It's not something
I care to remember. Of all the male chauvinists I've ever met, you are-"

"I faked it." He took a step toward her, she took two

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steps back. He halted. "Willow, I don't think I'm God's gift to
women...far from it. In fact, I'm a dead loss where women are
concerned-I haven't a clue how their minds work-they're an absolute
mystery to me! Not only that, I forget birthdays, and I forget
anniversaries-"

"And when you look in the mirror every morning-'' her upper lip curled
in something close to a sneer "-you don't see the most attractive man
within a thousand miles?"

"No, I damn well do not. I see a man who's doing his best to stumble
through life, after losing his wife. A man who's trying his best to
bring up their three children-and was making a sorry mess of it till you
came along. I see a man who fell in love again when he least expected to-''

"With Camryn, of course." The wine-dark flush had seeped from her
cheeks, leaving them pale as champagne. She had clasped her hands around
her elbows, and despite the warmth in the room, she looked as if she
were chilled to the marrow. "But she turned you down."

The defeat in her bearing gave him hope. Just a shred of hope that
perhaps he still had a chance with her, but enough to propel him on.
"Which brings me to my second point. Yes, I did propose to Camryn and
yes, she did turn me down."

He saw a sparkle in her eyes. Tears? Oh, Lord, he hoped so. "And that-"
he inhaled a deep breath and went on softly "-is why I'm here."

"Second fiddle..."

He took two steps forward. She took three steps back and came up against
the edge of the bed. She could go no farther. He took four steps forward
and took her in

his arms. "Never second fiddle!" She was trembling, but when she tried
to pull away, he just held her tighter. "I'm not in love with Camryn and
she's not in love with me. But she did tell me something I'd been
denying to myself for the longest time-which brings me nicely to my
third point. I'm firing you from your post as nanny-"

She stiffened. But before she could try again to pull herself free, he
said, tenderly, "Because the woman I'm in love with is you, and I want
you to be, not the family nanny, but...my wife."

Her eyes had become dazed. "I don't understand. Why did you propose to
Camryn if-"

"If I'm not in love with her?" His laugh was wry. "Because marrying my
sister-in-law seemed like a perfect plan. I've known her for years, we'd
always been good friends, we enjoy the same things, the kids love her,
she loves the kids-''

"But why did she turn you down?" "She said that like me, she'd thought
in the beginning that it would be a perfect plan, an ideal partnership.
But last night, before I even proposed to her, she'd changed her mind.
She had decided a marriage of convenience-which is what it would have
been-was not for her. She'd decided to wait for the right man... a man
who would look at her the way she saw me looking at you while you were
dancing...as if I loved you more than life itself."

"Oh." The sound was barely a whisper. "I saw you looking...and you
seemed so...intense...I thought you were...angry with me."

"I was jealous. Bile-green with jealousy! But at the time, I didn't
recognize the feeling. It wasn't one I was familiar with! And I was
still struggling to deny that

170

what I felt for you was more than just physical desire. I panicked. I
took off, and when Camryn came after me, I didn't waste any time in
proposing. And that's when she told me what she'd seen in my face as I'd
watched you, and I knew I couldn't deny it any longer." She was crying
now. A tear rolled over her lower eyelid and trickled down the side of
her nose. With a gentle fingertip, he caressed it away. "Oh, Willow, my
love, you will marry me, won't you, and put me out of my misery?"

As she lay in bed that night, Willow choked back sob after sob, her
heated cheek pressed to a pillow that was wet with tears. She loved
Scott desperately but she couldn't marry him. And she could hardly bear
to remember the look on his face when she'd told him so.

"But why?" he'd cried.

She hadn't been able to answer. Not at first. But finally, when she'd
gathered herself together sufficiently to get the words out, she'd said,
"I just can't. And I'm sorry, the reason is...private."

"Is it me? You don't love me? I was wrong...Amy was wrong, you didn't
tell your mother you were falling for-"

"I did," she said, her voice thick with unhappiness. "I did tell Mom I
was falling in love with you."

"Then why won't you marry me? Do you still think me selfish and
chauvinistic and conceited and-''

"No, no, no! I think you're wonderful."

"But you won't marry me."

She'd shaken her head. "I can't."

He'd framed her face in his hands then, tightly, so she couldn't move.
"Willow, you have to tell me why."

"It...it's got to do with Jamie." She'd choked out

I the words. "About his...father. I'm sorry, I can't say anymore. I
won't, but believe me, if you knew the story, knew how I've deceived
you, you wouldn't want me anyway."

He must have seen, in her face, or heard, in her voice, that she was not
going to change her mind.

So in the end, with his expression grimly set, he'd wheeled away and
walked out of the room.

She'd thrown herself onto the bed and cried her eyes

out. If only, she thought despairingly, if only she and

Chad had never met. If only she hadn't written him that letter, telling
him she no longer loved him and didn't

want to see him anymore.

She was the one responsible for his death.

She had delivered the letter to Summerhill-had actually given it into
the hands of Scott himself, though she hadn't known his identity at the
time. And later, when Chad had read what she'd written, he'd been so
heartbroken he'd jumped off the Camden Tower.

It had been cowardly of her to write him a Dear John letter; she would
never forgive herself for that. If she'd given him the news
face-to-face, she would have been there to talk to him, to calm him
down, to reassure him that he would eventually fall in love again.

But she hadn't been there for him, and she had been a coward. And she
was sentenced to have that on her conscience for the remainder of her days.

And she knew that if Scott ever found out she was responsible for the
death of his stepbrother, he would never be able to look at her without
thinking of it.

And because she had deceived him so outrageously, he would despise her
as much as she despised herself.

She had to leave Summerhill.

She couldn't possibly stay on, after what had happened

172

this evening. It would tear her apart to leave the children and she knew
it would hurt them enormously. But what alternative did she have?

Scott woke up next morning with a blinding headache- a headache that
intensified when he recalled what had transpired the evening before.

Growly as a bear, he got out of bed and looked blearily around. The
place was a mess: clothes everywhere, lying on the carpet where they'd
landed after he'd ripped them off.

Moving around the room, he swept up his shirt, his tie, his pants. As he
picked up his blazer, an envelope slid out of the inside breast pocket
and fell to the floor.

He picked it up and looked at it blankly. He knew nobody had given him a
letter last night. How long had this one been in that pocket? Curiosity
stirring, he turned it over. And saw, printed neatly, his stepbrother's
name.

He blinked. The letter was for Chad? How odd.

It must have been lying in his pocket since the last time he wore the
jacket...which was seven years ago.

But how had he come to have it? Why had it been in his pocket? Who could
possibly have-

Aah.

He nodded his head slowly as a vague memory started to stir. A memory of
a summer night...seven years ago...he'd come to Summerhill on a short
visit to his parents.

He'd been in the kitchen alone, after dinner, when the back doorbell had
rung. He'd gone to answer it, and someone-a young girl who'd skulked in
the shadows-had thrust a letter at him and asked him to give it to Chad.
He'd said "Sure." But before he could add,

"He's out at the moment, I'll give it to him when he gets home," she'd
taken off into the darkness.

He'd stuck the letter in his pocket, intending to give it to Chad when
he turned up later. But Chad hadn't turned up. The next person to arrive
at Summerhill had been the local police chief, who had arrived just
before midnight to inform the family of Chad's tragic death.

Frowning now as he became swamped in painful memories, Scott fingered
the envelope, turning it over and over. Chad was gone. This letter,
whomever it was from, had never been delivered, had never been answered.

Should he open it, see what it said?

Or should he toss it, unread, into the garbage?

"You're looking tired this morning." The housekeeper took a batch of
chocolate chip cookies from the oven as Willow drank the last drops from
her mug of black coffee. "Are you sure I can't fix you a nice cooked
breakfast?"

Willow shook her head. "Thanks, Mrs. Caird, but I'm not hungry."

"Overate at the dinner last night, did you?"

"Maybe I did," Willow murmured, but she knew she had not. She'd been so
painfully aware of the man sitting next to her, the man she so
desperately loved, that she'd hardly eaten a thing. And now...she
dreaded seeing him again. "Where's Dr. Galbraith?"

"His mother-in-law phoned earlier-apparently the children were all
restless and wanted to come home, so he's gone to collect them. He
should be back soon."

Willow's heart gave a quick leap. She had already stuffed her belongings
into her backpack and had come downstairs, expecting to have to face
him. But now, if

174

she hurried, she could leave without seeing him. It was the cowardly
way, of course, but then she was a coward. That was something she had
always known.

And he wouldn't really be surprised, when he came home and found her
gone. He would understand that after what had transpired between them
last night, it would be impossible for her to remain in his employ.

She started toward the door. "Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Caird. I'm
going to-"

"Oh, just a second, Willow."

Stifling an impatient exclamation, Willow said, "Yes?"

"The first time we met I said Daniel had talked about you, but I
couldn't remember what it was he said. It came back to me this morning."

Willow's stomach muscles clenched. After Daniel had returned to Toronto,
she'd thought she was safe. But now...

"It did?" She tried to sound casually interested, while all the time her
nerves were screaming.

"It was about your dancing. He'd gone to a show the school had put
on-Grease, I think it was-and you had the lead part. He raved on for
days about how outstanding you were-" The housekeeper broke off,
frowning. "Willow, you do look so white this morning! Why don't you go
upstairs and lie down for half an hour? Take a break before the children
come roaring in-you'll need it!"

Heady with relief that Daniel hadn't given her secret away, hadn't told
his foster mother that she and Chad had been lovers, Willow actually
managed a pale smile. "Thanks, Mrs. C. Yes, I think I will go upstairs now."

But not to lie down. Instead she would gather up her

backpack and using the front door, she would sneak away from Summerhill,
like a thief in the night.

Like the coward that she was.

On reaching her bedroom, she hurried over to close the window before
leaving. As she curled her fingers around the handle, she heard the
sound of an approaching car.

And froze at sight of the familiar green car skimming fast up the driveway.

He was back.

She was too late.

Dismayed, she watched the vehicle pull to a halt on the graveled
forecourt. Seconds later, the doctor and his children emerged from the
car, and Willow's dismay intensified when he ushered them toward the
front door.

Blocking her means of escape.

She would have to hang around up here till the coast was clear.

In the meantime, she knew that this bittersweet moment, this bittersweet
image, would remain with her forever. She stared yearningly at this
wonderful family who would never be her family. Mikey, so adorable. Amy,
so sweet. Lizzie, so loyal. And their father, so strong, so kind, so
loving. So honest.

If only...if only...

She swallowed the huge lump that had formed in her throat.

Suddenly Mikey took off toward the side of the house, to the path that
led around to the back. "Willow!" he shouted. "I'm going to find Willow!"

His father called after him, "Hey, Mikey, we're going in the front!" but
the child kept right on going.

"C'mon, kids." Scott's voice drifted up to Willow. "We'll go in by the
kitchen door, too."

176

"Willow's upstairs," Mrs. Caird said to the children, as they sat at the
kitchen table, munching on chocolate chip cookies. "I told her to go and
have a lie-down- she wasn't looking well at all. Not used to the late
night, I expect," she added, pouring a mug of coffee for her employer.
"It might have been a bit too much for her."

Scott said, "Thanks," as he took the coffee. He was glad the nanny
wasn't around. He hadn't been looking forward to seeing her again. He'd
given the situation a lot of thought since last night, and he still
wasn't sure how to handle it. How could he continue living in the same
house with her, feeling the way he did now? It would be impossible. If
only he knew what her secret was, but it was obvious she never meant him
to find out and, therefore, they had reached a permanent impasse.

"Mrs. Caird," he said. "I'm going through to my study for a minute and
then I have to go to the clinic and catch up on some paperwork. Could
you keep an eye on these three till Willow comes downstairs?"

"Of course."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. Be good, kids."

"We will, Dad!"

Mug in hand, he left the kitchen and walked along the corridor to the
front hall. As he crossed the hall, he heard a voice come from the
stairwell.

"Dr. Galbraith-"

He jerked his head up and he saw the nanny coming slowly down the
stairs. His heart missed a beat, as it did every time he saw her-and he
felt a stab of concern when he saw how dark and enormous her eyes looked
in her parchment-pale face. She was wearing a white T-shirt and black
jeans, and carrying a bulging backpack in one hand. "Yes?" Worry about
her gave his voice a sharp edge and he sounded curt.

She paused for a second and then resumed her slow descent, trailing her
backpack behind her so it landed with a bump on each step. "I...want to
talk to you." She sounded as if she were on the verge of tears.

In a gentler tone, he said, "Sure. Come into my study. Can I get you a
mug of coffee?"

She shook her head.

And followed him into the study.

He crossed to his desk and set his coffee mug down. When he turned
around to face her, she was standing in the middle of the room. Her
backpack was at her feet. He tried to ignore it, tried not to think of
what it meant. He couldn't. She was leaving. She had taken the decision
out of his hands. And she might as well have ripped out his heart.

"So," he said, dragging a hand through his hair, "you're going."

She nodded, and he thought her eyes misted with tears, but she blinked
and the sheen disappeared. "I have something I...need to tell you first."

"Do you want to sit down?" He indicated one of a pair of leather
armchairs by the hearth.

"I'd rather stand."

He perched his hip on the edge of his desk. "Okay. So...shoot then. I'm
all ears."

"This...is going to be very difficult." She smiled. At least, her lips
twisted, but her eyes told a different story. They were filled with
sadness. "You see, I'm a coward, and...if I hadn't been...I would have
told you this a long time ago, and I should have. And if I hadn't, which
I didn't, I should never have come to work at Summerhill-''

"Does this go back to last night? When you said you had a
secret...concerning your son?"

178

She bit her lip, and then nodded.

"And...you're going to tell me now? But why? What's changed since last
night? Why is it okay to tell me this morning?" There was a tension in
the air that hadn't been there before; simmering, escalating. She'd told
him he would despise her if he knew her secret. Was it possible that she
was right? He felt as if he were balancing on a tightrope strung
precariously between two high-rises. With no net to catch him if he fell.

She said, with a tremor in her voice, "I'm telling you because when I
saw you and the children come home just now, as I watched you from my
bedroom window... you and your family...I knew that you had a right to
know the truth, and I had no right to keep it from you. Even though, for
my own selfish reasons, I desperately wanted to."

"It's to do with my family?" Scott felt bewildered. "But...what secret
could you possibly think you know about myself and the children? There
are no secrets!"

He saw her throat muscles move convulsively, saw her clasp her hands
tightly together at her waist.

"It's not about you and the children." Her voice was almost a whisper.
"It's about...Chad."

181

"Chad? I don't understand. What do you know about my stepbrother? You
said I had the right to know the truth. What 'truth' can you possibly be
talking about?"

Willow knew that if she didn't tell him now, she never would. She could
feel trepidation sucking away her courage.

Grabbing on to every last scrap of grit she possessed, and feeling as
recklessly self-destructive as a kamikaze pilot, she said on a quaver,
"Chad and I...had an affair."

"Chad? And you?" He was looking at her with an expression of stunned
disbelief.

She nodded. And added, unsteadily, with a feeling of desperation, "Jamie
is Chad's son."

Now he looked as if she'd just fired a gun point-blank at his head.
"Jamie is Chad's son?" His electric-blue eyes had widened, his
expression had become dumbfounded. "You're telling me your little boy
is... a....Galbraith?'"

Numbly Willow nodded. And felt her muscles knot, her nerves judder, as
she prepared for the stormy outburst ahead. She'd realized, years too
late, that she'd had no right to keep the truth from Jamie's family,
especially from Chad's mother. And now she would have to bear the
consequences.

"Good God, Willow!" He threw out his hands in a bewildered gesture.
"This is the secret you thought would keep us apart? On the contrary,
the fact that your son is a Galbraith would-or should-have only brought
us closer together!"

"That's not all-''

"Willow, dearest Willow, what kind of a man do you think I am that I
would condemn you for having a teenage affair-'' As he spoke he moved
toward her, reaching out to her, his intent obvious.

She stopped him with swiftly raised palms.

"Don't," she said hoarsely. "There's...more-"

"Sweetheart, there's nothing you can tell me that-"

"Please." Her mouth felt lined with dry sand. But she had to go on. "I
haven't told you the...awful...part yet. And it's not going to be easy
to talk about it, about what happened...so please...don't interrupt. If
you do, I may not manage to finish."

"Go ahead," he said softly. "I won't interrupt. I promise. Just tell me
everything... from the beginning."

Willow didn't really know how she'd managed to get this far; would she
be able to finish what she'd started? All she could do was pray that she
would. To get it off her conscience, once and for all.

"Chad and I met when I was sixteen, he was two years older. We were
attracted to each other, and we dated-secretly because he said his
mother was a snob and wouldn't approve of us going out together. He
swore he was in love with me and I...thought I was in love with him.
I'd... never had a real boyfriend before." Unclasping her hands
nervously, she walked over to the tall window, and stood with her back
to the room.

"We spent that summer together, late in the evenings, whenever we could,
but as I got to know him...well, he started to change. He became very
moody. Unpredictable. He...started to frighten me." Her voice cracked.
"Twice, I tried to break off our relationship, but both times there was
a big scene and he begged me to give him another chance, he swore he'd
kill himself if I left him. And then he'd be so sweet and caring for a
while and I'd...fall for him again. But at the end of the summer, he
became sullen and withdrawn and unkind...he was making me really unhappy
and I realized I wasn't in love with him anymore."

Outside, a blue jay swooped past, a flash of lapis in the summer sun. "I
decided then," she said shakily, "to break it off but I wanted to avoid
a scene like before so instead of telling him to his face I...took the
coward's way out. I wrote him a letter. You probably don't even
remember, but you were here on a visit and you're the one I gave it to,
that evening, to deliver. And-" she closed her eyes as the horror of
that night returned to her "-when Chad read it he climbed up the Marsden
Tower and...jumped off."

She heard a sharp hiss from behind her. An appalled hiss. And she could
imagine the expression on his face, the shock he was feeling now that he
knew about the awful way she'd behaved. Swallowing hard, she went on
miserably, "So you see, I was responsible for Chad's death, and I can
never forgive myself for that-nor could I expect you to."

The tension in the room was so thick it made her want to scream. What
was he thinking? Why was he so quiet? Why wasn't he lashing out at her?

And why was she still standing with her back to him? Screwing up the
tattered remnants of her courage, she turned to face him, bracing
herself in expectation of his contempt.

She looked around-and blinked with surprise.

The room was empty.

182

He was gone.

Her life had never felt blacker, her heart never heavier. She had
foolishly dared to hope-in view of his loving response when she'd
revealed that Chad was Jamie's father-she'd actually dared to hope he
might be equally loving and generous when he discovered her letter had
driven Chad to his death.

It had obviously been far too much to expect. Why, the man couldn't even
bear to stay in the same room with her-perhaps he'd left because he
couldn't trust himself to keep his bitter emotions under control.

And he certainly wouldn't want to see her again.

Fighting back tears of self-pity, she wearily dragged her backpack from
the carpet and slinging a strap over her shoulder, trudged mournfully
from the room.

Upstairs, she could hear heavy steps moving around.

From the kitchen, she could hear the children laughing.

Wondering if she'd ever been unhappier in her life, she walked toward
the front door-but halted suddenly when she was only halfway there.

She'd fully intended to sneak away without saying goodbye to Mikey and
the girls. She dug her teeth into her lower lip so hard she winced. No,
she was not going to sneak away. She was never going to be a coward again.

It would be agonizingly difficult to face the children and see their
faces crumple with disappointment and betrayal when she told them she
was leaving. But someone had to tell them, and she should be the one.

Like a robot, she turned and started toward the kitchen.

She'd taken only five steps when heavy steps pounded on the stairs.

"Willow!" Scott's tone was harsh. Demanding. "Where are you going?"

She turned and saw him leap down the last few steps and come striding
over to her.

"Don't worry," she said quietly. "I'm leaving. But it's my place to tell
the children I'm deserting them, no matter how difficult it's going to
be. It's important that they hear it from me because-''

He held out an envelope.

"Is this the letter?" he asked.

For a moment all she could do was stare at it. What letter? And then,
with a sickening lurch of her stomach, she recognized the pink envelope,
with its deckle-edged trim. It was the notepaper she had used seven
years ago; the notepaper she still used. And as she gazed at it, her
stomach lurched again when she recognized her own black printing on the
front. The printing that read: Chad.

"Where... did you find it?'' Her voice sounded strangulated. "How long
have you had it? When did you read it? How long have you known-"

He laughed, and the free and easy sound grated on her ears. How could he
laugh when the situation was so unbearably tragic.

"I haven't read it, sweetheart."

He...was calling her "sweetheart"? Despite what she'd told him? Despite
what she'd done? She couldn't wrap her mind around what was happening.

"I...I don't understand." She felt dizzy. Faint. "You haven't read it?"

His laughing expression faded and his eyes became serious. "Willow,
nobody has ever read this letter. When you gave it to me that night, I
stuck it in my pocket, meaning to give it to Chad when he came home...he
was out when you called. But later, well, he

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didn't come home, it was the police who turned up. And with everything
that followed, the letter slipped my mind. It's been lying in my blazer
pocket-unopened- for the past seven years. It didn't come to my notice
till this morning. And when I saw it, I decided to toss it, unread, into
the garbage can in my bedroom. Which is where I retrieved it from just now!"

Willow swayed and he swiftly closed the space between them and took her
in his arms. "You weren't responsible for Chad's death, my darling. You
had nothing to do with it!"

Willow's mind felt socked in by fog. And her voice came out foggily when
she spoke. "Let me see it, let me see the envelope."

She took it from him and as she turned it over and saw that yes, it was
still sealed, incredulity soared through her, making her feel as if she
were dreaming. She looked up into Scott's eyes, and wondrous relief made
her own eyes glisten with tears. "You really didn't manage to give Chad
my letter? You mean he never saw it, never read it-''

"Never knew, Willow, that he had lost your love."

"But, I don't understand. I thought you said once that your father
hushed things up so people would believe Chad had tripped, that his
death was an accident. If he didn't jump then surely it must have been
an accident."

"It wasn't an accident." Scott knew that after her years of being
tormented by guilt, she deserved to know the family's closely guarded
secret. "You said Chad had changed, and he had. The reason was that
during that summer, he'd started dabbling in drugs. And he was high
when-despite a friend's attempts to stop him- he stepped off the Marsden
Tower believing he could

fly."

"Oh, no!" Horror-stricken, Willow could only stare at him. "How awful,"
she whispered, a sob in her voice. "How sad. Oh, poor Chad..." She
started to cry, and as she did, Scott took her in his arms.

He let her weep, while he held her and murmured tender words of comfort,
knowing that was all he could do for her; she had to come to terms with
the truth but she would also find peace, knowing she'd not been to blame
in Chad's death.

When she finally raised her head, she said, shakily, "Daniel Firth was
the friend who was with Chad. Dan used to cover for Chad when we were
out together... you noticed how seeing Dan distressed me...it was
because I was afraid he'd find out I had a six-year-old son and he'd
guess it must be Chad's."

"Obviously he never did. But now you needn't worry about that.
Everybody's going to find out soon enough. As long as you don't mind."

"I'll be happy to have no more secrets to hide! How can I ever thank you
for finding the letter, for taking away all my fears. I always felt so
painfully guilty over Chad's death."

"You're not the only one." Scott touched his fingertips gently to her
hair, caressing back a tendril that had wisped over her brow. "I always
felt that if I'd come home more often, if I'd spent more time with Chad,
things might have been different. But there's no changing the past, we
must put it behind us. Only one more question before we do, Willow..."

"What is it?"

"You must have known what it would mean to Chad's mother to know she had
a grandson. Chad told you she was a snob, but did you really think she'd
have turned her back on Jamie?"

186

"No, the very opposite. I was afraid that if your family knew about my
baby, they would try to take him away from me...and I couldn't take that
risk."

"Willow, that would never have happened. I, for one, would never have
allowed it to happen. Do you believe that?"

"I believe it now because I know you. But I didn't know you then...I
didn't know what a kind and compassionate man you are. All I knew then
was that the Galbraiths were rich and influential, and I was sure I
wouldn't have had a chance against them in court if they fought me for
custody."

"Chad's mother has been a changed woman since his death. She'll welcome
you into the family, as warmly as she'll welcome Jamie. And now," he
said, "we'll put the past truly behind us, and look to the future. There
are two things I want you to do. The first-you must stop calling me Dr.
Galbraith!"

She blushed. "It's not going to be easy."

"Try."

She wrinkled her dear little nose. "Scott...?"

"Oh, Willow!" He held her even closer. "I love you so much. What a fool
I was, wasting all that time courting Camryn!"

"But you had a plan!" She was teasing him, and he was delighted to see
the same spark in her eyes that he'd first seen the day they met in
Morganti's. "A Perfect Plan!"

"A Perfect Plan indeed, and one I was hell-bent on carrying out. But I
hadn't counted on the charms of a certain plain-Jane nanny who was far
from plain and stole my heart...even as she healed the wounded hearts of
my children."

"You said there were two things I had to do." Willow tilled her head
shyly. "What was the second?"

"The second is...you must marry me!"

"Oh, Scott, I can't think of anything I'd rather do!" Willow beamed at
him. "Won't it be fun, bringing up our four children together?"

He framed her face in his hands. And with a smile that made her heart
sing, he whispered, in that brown velvet voice she now loved so much,

"Who said anything about stopping at four!"