Miss Foster. You appear well qualified for work in your own field. Why would you want a job as a nanny?”
Her lush mouth twitched in a sardonic smile. “I may be qualified, but times are tough. Right now I’m working twenty hours a week and camping out in my mother’s guest room. She sells real estate, so she’s struggling, too—and she has my younger brother to support. I’d like to contribute instead of feeling like a burden.”
“So it’s all about money.”
“No!” She stared down at her hands. When she looked up again he noticed her eyes for the first time. Framed by thick, black lashes, they were the color of aged whiskey with intriguing flecks of gold.
“There are many factors involved. Most of my friends have children.” The words sounded rehearsed. “I’ve been thinking that down the road a few years from now, if I don’t get married, I might try adoption, or even have a child by a donor. Meanwhile, I’d love the experience of caring for a little baby. Of course I can’t promise to stay for a long time....” Her husky voice trailed into a breath. “If you’re still interested, could you tell me more about the job? Otherwise, I’ll just leave now.”
She clasped her hands on her knees, looking so vulnerable that Wyatt almost melted. He was interested all right—interested in getting to know this woman better. But he couldn’t do or say anything that might make her hesitate to take the job. He needed a nanny for Chloe’s baby, and right now Leigh Foster was his only option.
On the other hand, he had to make sure she wasn’t out to exploit the situation.
Clearing his throat, he reached for the briefcase he’d left under the desk. “I’ll need to run a background check, of course,” he said, lifting out a manila folder. “But before we pursue this any further, would you be willing to sign a confidentiality agreement?”
Her eyes widened. “Of course. But why—?”
“You’re a journalist.” He slid a single page across the desktop. “And even if you weren’t I’d demand your signature on this document. Protecting the privacy of my family is incredibly important to me. You must agree that whether you take the job or not, nothing you see or hear will be carried away—starting right now. You’re not to publish it or share gossip with anyone, not even your own mother. Do I make myself clear?”
She leaned forward to scan the page—a boilerplate document outlining the legal consequences of sharing information in any form. The open neck of her blouse gave him a tantalizing glimpse of creamy flesh and black lace before he tore his eyes away. If he wanted her to take the job, it wouldn’t do to be caught ogling her cleavage or any other delicious part of her. Especially since she’d be sharing his home.
“Any questions?” he asked her.
She straightened, impaling him with her stunning eyes. “Just one, Mr. Richardson. Could you spare me a pen?”
* * *
Leigh scrawled her name along the blank line at the bottom of the page. Maybe if she did it fast enough, he wouldn’t notice that her hand was shaking.
The confidentiality agreement was no problem. Even without that piece of paper there was no way she’d reveal what she hoped to learn. But that didn’t ease her nervous jitters. If Wyatt Richardson knew why she was really here, she’d be up to her ears in you-know-what.
The truth was she knew a lot more about the man than she was letting on. Even under that silly baseball cap she’d have recognized the local celebrity who’d put Dutchman’s Creek on the map. In his younger days he’d been a daredevil downhill skier, winning several Olympic medals and enough product endorsements to make him rich. Coming home to Colorado he’d bought Wolf Ridge, a run-down resort that was little more than a hangout for local ski bums. Over the past fifteen years he’d built the place into an international ski destination that rivaled Aspen and Vail in everything but size.
That much was public knowledge. Discovering the details of his private life had taken some digging. But what Leigh learned had confirmed that she needed to be here today. There was no guarantee she’d be hired for the nanny job. But either way, she had to take this masquerade as far as it would go.
Right now, everything depended on her playing her cards carefully.
“Satisfied?” She slid the signed contract back across the desk. “I’m not looking for a story. I’m looking for a job.”
“Fine. Let’s see how it goes after we’ve talked.” He slid the baseball cap off his head and raked a hand through his thick, gray-flecked hair. He’d be a little past forty, she calculated. His athlete’s body, clad in jeans and a gray sweatshirt, was taut and muscular, his strongly featured face scoured by sun and wind. His eyes were a deep, startling Nordic blue. The year he’d won Olympic gold, a popular magazine had named him as one of the world’s ten sexiest men. From the looks of him, he hadn’t lost that edge.
It was public record that he’d been divorced for more than a decade. He looked as virile as a bull and, along with that, was certainly rich enough to have women falling at his feet, but he’d managed to keep his sex life out of the public eye—though, of course, in a small community like Dutchman’s Creek there was always talk. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t here to become one more notch on Wyatt Richardson’s bedpost.
Although the notion did trigger a pleasant sort of tingle between her thighs.
“Tell me about the baby,” she said.
“Yes. The baby.” He exhaled slowly, as if he were about to wade into battle. “My daughter’s. She’s sixteen.”
“You have a daughter?” Leigh feigned surprise.
“Her mother and I divorced when she was young. I didn’t see much of her growing up, but for reasons I won’t go into now, Chloe and the baby will be staying with me.”
“What about the father?” Her pulse shot to a gallop, the pressure hammering against her eardrums. She willed her expression to remain calm and pleasant.
“Chloe won’t give me a name. She says he’s history. I take it he’s just some boy she met while she and her mother were living here. But if I ever get my hands on the little bastard...”
One powerful fist crumpled the baseball cap. He released it with a muffled sound that could have been a sigh or a growl.
“That’s the least of my worries now. Chloe insists she wants to keep her baby. But she doesn’t know the first thing about being a mother. Lord, she’s barely more than a baby herself.” His cerulean eyes drilled into Leigh’s. “The nanny who accepts this job will be taking care of two children—the baby and his mother. Do you understand?”
Leigh had begun to breathe again. “I believe I do, Mr. Richardson.”
“Fine. And please call me Wyatt.” He rose, catching up the briefcase and jamming the cap back onto his head. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” She scrambled to her feet as he strode around the desk.
“I’m taking you to the hospital to meet Chloe. If she thinks you’ll do, I’ll be willing to hire you for two weeks’ probation. That should give me time to find someone else if things don’t work out. We can discuss salary on the way back here.”
Two
