couldn’t blame his youngest sister for the way she felt. As she’d put it last week, what were her chances of finding a guy she might want to spend her life with if she stayed in what she called “this one-horse town”? Bryce knew the answer: slim to none.
Hence Grandmother Stella’s displeasure, which was now aimed not only at Claudia but at Bryce himself.
Bryce grimaced. On top of having to contend with his grandmother’s dark looks and heavy disapproval, there was also the immediate problem of a nanny for his daughters. The second one in less than six months had abruptly quit the previous Friday. Bryce guessed he understood why it was so hard for him to keep a nanny. Claudia wasn’t the only educated woman who didn’t want to be stuck in a small town like Morgan Creek. And even if these women didn’t mind the town, they did mind the six-days-a-week, live-in requirements of the job. Not even the generous salary and private suite of rooms seemed to make up for these negatives.
Plus there was Susan.
Bryce knew he should be angry with his younger daughter, but it was hard for him to stay mad at Susan, no matter how far she tested his patience, because she was so vibrant and full of life. In those dark months after Michelle’s death, Susan had been the only one who could make Bryce smile and forget his pain.
But the nannies employed since the death of his wife three years earlier weren’t as forgiving of Susan’s pranks and subtle forms of torture as he was. Even Stella’s sweetness couldn’t make up for her younger sister’s hijinks and sometimes aggravating behavior, as one recent nanny had told Bryce in exasperation.
“I’ve had all I can take,” the woman had said.
“Look, I’m sorry about the lizard—”
“Yes,” she’d said, “I’m sure you are, but I’m still leaving.”
The lizard in the jewelry box was only the latest in a series of calculated attempts to get the nanny to resign. Susan had made no bones about the fact she didn’t like Miss Reynolds, and no matter what kind of punishment he exacted, he also knew Susan would never change. Until he found a nanny she liked, she would continue to drive them away.
“Daddy, I’m ready.”
Bryce blinked, then smiled down at Stella. It always amused him that his grandmother’s namesake was totally unlike her in temperament, whereas Susan personified the phrase “chip off the old block.”
“And where is your sister?”
“She’ll be here in a minute. She’s fixing her hair.”
Stella’s own hair, a rich golden brown like Bryce’s, lay in perfect waves held neatly back from her face with a coral headband that matched her coral sundress. Around her neck was a strand of coral beads.
“You look very nice, honey.”
Stella ducked her head in shy pleasure. “Thank you.”
“I hope your sister has taken the trouble to look good for your grandmother, too.”
Before Stella could respond, Susan came racing down the stairs—hair flying, face flushed, eyes immediately zeroing in on Stella’s.
Bryce knew that look. Susan was up to something she knew he would disapprove of and was silently commanding her sister to keep her mouth shut. He also knew it would be futile to question either girl. Whatever it was Susan was planning, he’d just have to wait until it happened. Then he would deal with her.
He quickly inspected Susan, who—miracle of miracles—had chosen to wear a green flowered sundress just as pretty as Stella’s. Even her curlier hair—a shade lighter than Stella’s—looked good.
Bryce smiled his approval. “All right. Let’s gather up your grandmother’s presents and get going. You know how she feels about people not being on time.”
Susan made a face, then grinned at Stella.
Stella returned Susan’s smile.
Sometimes it pained Bryce to see how much Stella wanted to please—not just him, but everyone. He hoped she would outgrow this tendency and become more independent in her thinking. Otherwise he was afraid she was bound to have lots of problems in life, not to mention the very real possibility that she might decide she needed to please the wrong people. He knew he would have to keep close tabs on her, maybe even closer tabs than on Susan.
It was damned hard being a parent, and being a single parent was even worse, especially to daughters. Good thing he had three younger sisters. At least he had a better understanding of girls and the way their minds worked than a man who had never been around many females.
Even so, it was tough raising the girls on his own. He never knew if he was doing the right thing or not. Most of the time, he just muddled through each day and prayed for the best.
Thank God for Lorna, he thought as he and the girls walked across the park-like land that separated his home from the family mansion and gave at least an illusion of privacy. His favorite sister had no children of her own and, especially since her divorce and Michelle’s death, had lavished her motherly instincts and attention on his daughters. They, in turn, adored their aunt Lorna.
The lights of the big house, as Bryce and his siblings had always referred to the main residence within the family compound, were ablaze as he and the children approached.
“Daddy? Is Cameron going to be here tonight?”
“Yes, Susan, everyone’s going to be here.”
“Cool.”
Cameron was the daughter of Bryce’s sister Chloe and her husband Greg, who lived in Austin. Although Cameron was fourteen, six years older than Stella and seven years older than Susan, they both worshiped her. At the moment, she was their only Hathaway cousin, and the way things were going, Bryce was sorely afraid that situation wouldn’t change anytime soon. He knew Lorna had wanted children when she was married but had had some medical problems. Now, of course, she was no longer married. And Chloe didn’t seem inclined to have another, either. Claudia was their only hope.
By now they’d reached the wide, shallow steps leading to the massive oak double front door, which was flanked by flickering gas lamps. Although this was the house where Bryce had grown up, he never entered without either knocking or ringing the doorbell, a courtesy he expected to be returned when any member of his family visited him.
The door was promptly opened by Lucy, one of the maids. “Good evenin’, Mr. Bryce.” She gave him a big smile, then looked down at the girls. “And Miss Susan and Miss Stella. My, don’t you two girls look pretty?”
“Good evening, Lucy.” Bryce nudged the girls, who politely said their hellos and thank-yous.
“Everyone is in the drawing room,” Lucy announced.
Bryce mentally rolled his eyes. Calling the living room the drawing room was something his mother had initiated a few years back, after a trip to England. The affectation had always bothered him. The Hathaways made no pretense of being upper class. Like the Morgans, his grandmother’s family, the Hathaways had come from hardy pioneer stock—people who had worked hard for a living, doing mostly physical work.
Why his mother felt the need
