The Nanny. Judith Stacy

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The Nanny - Judith Stacy Mills & Boon Historical

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he stepped around her and went to his desk.

      “The children are in bed,” Annie said. “Do you want to come up and tell them good-night?”

      “No,” Josh said. He shuffled through the stacks of papers on his desk, not looking at her.

      “You don’t tuck your children into bed at night?” Annie asked. “Why not?”

      He looked up at her. “Because, Miss Martin, that is your job.”

      Annie pondered his response while he continued to sort through his papers. “You don’t eat supper with them, or see them at bedtime. Why is that, Mr. Ingalls?”

      Josh stopped fumbling with the papers and looked at her as if he didn’t understand why she’d ask such an odd thing. “Because that’s the way it’s done,” he explained simply. He turned back to his papers. “Good night, Miss Martin.”

      He was dismissing her. Sending her on her way, telling her politely to mind her own business, reminding her of her place in his household. Annie wouldn’t let it go.

      “But don’t you miss them?” she asked, taking a step closer.

      Josh’s gaze came up quickly and landed on her with a force than shook her. Yet his expression wasn’t one of anger or irritation at her continued prying. Something else shone in his face.

      Maybe it wasn’t his children he missed, Annie realized. Maybe it was his wife.

      A knot jerked in Annie’s stomach. She should have kept her mouth shut. Should have minded her own business. Kept to her place.

      He picked up a single sheet of paper, forcing his attention on it. “Good night, Miss Martin.”

      Still Annie didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay, to do something to make him feel better. The urge overwhelmed her.

      But what could she possibly say?

      “Good night,” she mumbled. At the door she looked back and saw Josh hunched over his desk; from the expression on his face she doubted he saw a single word written on the papers there.

      As she climbed the stairs, Annie reminded herself that Josh’s feelings for his dead wife were none of her business. Yet, for some reason, her heart ached a little thinking he still grieved for her after all these months.

      But what about his feelings for his children? Weren’t they her business?

      Not if she wanted to keep her job.

      At the top of the stairs, Annie peeked into the children’s room again. Three little bulges under the covers slept soundly. She checked on the baby, as well, and found Hannah sleeping.

      In her room, Annie undressed, washed at the basin, and slipped into her pink nightgown. The cotton fabric seemed coarse, not nearly fancy enough for the room she’d been given. She sat in front of the mirror, unraveled her braid and combed out her hair.

      As she climbed into bed, footsteps sounded in the hallway. Annie froze, pulling the quilt over her. Josh. The heavy, measured steps could only be his.

      For an instant, Annie thought he stopped outside her door. She shook her head, sure it was her imagination. The footsteps faded and she heard a door down the hallway close softly.

      With a sigh she leaned back on her pillows, relaxing on the feather mattress. The book on child rearing rested on her bedside table, and Annie considered reading it. Surely she’d need all the help she could get taming the Ingalls brood.

      For her first day as nanny, things hadn’t gone so well, Annie was forced to admit. The children had rebelled at the sight of her. A food fight had erupted. She’d forgotten the book her employer had given her, invaded his private sanctum and splashed milk on him—not once but twice.

      Annie settled deeper against the pillow, sure tomorrow would be a better day. After all, they were only children.

      And tomorrow she’d do a better job of minding her own business. Somehow.

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