the hall to the boys’ room. The place was neat as a pin, and Robbie was lying on his bed, looking at a book. A book! Adam walked over and slipped his hands in his slacks pockets, noting that an egg timer from the kitchen was ticking away on the dresser.
“What’re you doing, Rob?”
The boy dropped the book. “I’m it,” he announced.
It. “Uh-huh. How come?”
He looked not in the least repentant as he confessed, “’Cause I spitted on Ryan.”
Nothing surprising in that. Adam sat down on the edge of the bed. “You shouldn’t spit, Robbie. It’s not nice.”
“I know. Laura told me.”
Adam glanced at the timer on the dresser. “Is this your punishment for spitting on Ryan?”
Robbie nodded. “I got to lay on the bed and read this book till it dings, then I’m it.”
It again. Adam nodded as if he actually understood what the boy was saying and stood, unbuttoning his collar and stripping off his tie. Obviously he was talking to the wrong person, if he wanted to know just what was going on here. “Where’s Miss Laura?” he asked nonchalantly.
Robbie shrugged. “I dunno.”
“You don’t know?”
He shook his head, all innocent eyes. Adam frowned. “Where are the other kids?”
“She hided them.”
“Hided? Hid them?” Oh, God!
Robbie nodded, smiling when the timer dinged. He tossed the book aside, threw his chubby legs over the edge of the bed and scooted over to drop down onto the floor. “I’m it!” he called, running out of the room. “Look out! I coming!”
It. They were playing hide-and-seek. Glory be. He hung his head, silently laughing at himself. In the distance he heard a sudden burst of laughter, followed by squeals and cries of dispute. He walked down the hall, back the way he’d come, past the bath and Wendy’s room on the right, the storage closets and the foyer on the left, then on past the living room and, finally, the formal dining room. The hall turned right, coming to an end at the expansive den. It was his favorite room, big and warm, with brick walls and a rock fireplace, comfortable, slightly worn furniture, a TV, bookcases, framed photos on the walls. This room had been a gift from Kate. Diana had assured him that his grandmother had been insistent on decorating it herself when they first built the house. Dear Kate. How he missed her! More, even, than his very proper, very patient, very aloof wife. The house had been nearly a year old, this room included, before he first saw it, but he’d never walked into this room without feeling his grandmother’s hand. Had he ever adequately thanked her for it? He couldn’t remember.
He caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head in time to see Laura crawl out from behind the big green suede couch, all three kids hanging on to her. They were giggling and wiggling and having a ball. Laura flipped her hair out of the way, then, with a dramatic groan, collapsed on her belly.
“I give! You win!”
Wendy, whose fine hair had pulled free of her pigtails to fall into her face, laid her head next to Laura’s and sprawled on the floor close at her side. The twins began clapping their hands and chanting as they piled all over Laura Beaumont. “We win! We win! We win!”
Suddenly Laura surged up into a sitting position, tossing her hair back and steadying wiggling boys with her hands. “All right, all right! Do your worst!”
To Adam’s intense amazement, his children began attacking Laura Beaumont with smacking kisses all over her lovely face, shoulders and arms, giggling as she made disdainful sounds. “Uck! Pooh! Yuck! Ick! Phooey! Oh, it’s awful! Torture! Torture!” Ryan wrapped his arms around Laura’s neck and gave her a larynx-crushing hug. She gagged appropriately, and the other two promptly followed suit. She collapsed back against the side of the couch, overcome by the sheer weight of their affection. Adam could not remember ever receiving more than a quick, dry peck from any of his children. He didn’t know who he envied more, Laura or the kids.
He knew the instant Laura realized he was in the room. Her smile faded, and she stiffened, communicating silently that the fun was over. The giggles died away. Little arms loosened. Small feet found purchase on the thick, sand-colored rug. Four pairs of eyes looked upon him with all the welcome of condemned prisoners awaiting the hangman.
“Hi,” Laura said, getting to her feet amid small bodies. She smoothed a hand over her hair, sweater and jeans. “We were playing.”
Adam allowed himself a tiny smile. “I noticed that.”
She seemed uncertain. Afraid, perhaps? He looked closely then, and saw it in all their faces—the fear of his disapproval. He made himself relax, picked up the newspaper from a table and dropped down onto his favorite chair. “How was your day?”
“Fine.” Laura sat on the couch. Wendy climbed up to sit next to her, her head leaning against Laura’s arm, while each of the twins picked a leg and wrapped himself around it. “Wendy’s kindergarten teacher called to ask why she wasn’t in school this afternoon. I didn’t know what to tell her.”
School. How could he have forgotten that? Adam forced a smile. “I’ll, um, call and explain tomorrow.”
Laura nodded and folded her hands.
He opened the newspaper and tried to read, but he couldn’t seem to find a single word on the whole page. His mind was reeling. Already they loved her. He didn’t know anything about this woman, but already his children loved her. And school. What was he going to do about that? Could she even drive? He put down the newspaper. “Do you drive?”
She seemed momentarily stunned. “Yes.”
He nodded. “It’s just that I prefer that Wendy be driven in to school rather than ride the bus. It’s so dangerous to wait out in this cold.”
Laura nodded, her brow creased. “That’s fine, except…”
He waved away the obvious concern, remembering that she had no car. “Oh, that’s no problem. You can take the station wagon. I prefer the truck, anyway.”
She almost visibly relaxed. “Well, that’s settled, then.”
He smiled and opened the newspaper again, but his mind just wasn’t on local news. “When’s dinner?”
“Any time now, I imagine. Beverly—uh, that is, Cook—said about six.”
Beverly, was it? Even the cook was on a first-name basis with the new nanny. He couldn’t remember that ever happening before. “Fine,” he said from behind his paper, uncertain why this was so difficult. He needed to draw her out, get to know her. He was getting nowhere fast this way, and yet he couldn’t seem to put that paper down. What would he say? What could he ask her without making her feel that he was interrogating her? To his relief, she took the matter out of his hands momentarily.
“Well,” she said, getting to her feet, “time to wash up. We can’t go to the dinner table with dirty hands and faces, now can we?”
Adam hummed noncommittally behind his paper as they exited
