between you and your husband, Myla?”
“I…we’ll talk later, maybe.” Pulling away, she called to the children. “Jesse, Patrick, time for bed.”
Patrick immediately followed Myla to Henny’s room, but Jesse held back. Running up to Nick, she tugged on his jeans. “Daddy wasn’t a bad man, Mr. Nick. Momma told us to always remember that. My Daddy wasn’t a bad man. He just had some problems, is all.”
“Jesse!” Myla’s voice echoed through the house.
The little girl ran away before Nick could question her further. What did all this mean? Up until now, he’d believed Myla to be a grieving widow, but there was obviously more to this.
“Who are you really protecting, Myla?” he whispered. “Yourself and your children? Or your dead husband?”
Chapter Four
The next week passed in a busy rush for Myla. After getting the children back in school, and finding a church nearby to attend while she was working for Nick, she fell into the daily routine of cleaning and cooking, and learning more about Nick’s life. Each detail drew her closer to the man who’d reluctantly saved her from the streets, and each detail showed her that Nick needed to find his own faith again. He’d refused her invitation to attend church.
“I send them a hefty check each month,” he informed her. “I catch up on paperwork on Sundays.”
“You should rest, and spend the day in worship,” she replied. And have some fun, she wanted to add.
He’d shot her one of his famous scowls, but his words hadn’t been as harsh as he’d have her believe. “You should mind your own business.”
“Yes, sir.” She certainly knew her place, and she needed the money. She’d have to be more cautious in her resolve to help him spiritually. And more cautious about her growing feelings for her employer.
But how could she resist being drawn to this intriguing man? She watched him leaving the house in a hurry each morning at the crack of dawn. He hardly bothered to stop and sip the coffee and orange juice she had waiting. She watched him come dragging in at night to wolf down the dinners she prepared before he went straight into his spacious office and clicked on the computer. Nick often worked long into the night. She knew, because she couldn’t sleep very well in her new surroundings and she’d seen the light on in his office many times.
Myla had had an instinctive urge to go and check on Nick in the middle of the night, the way she used to do with her late husband. But that wasn’t part of her official duties. And neither was being so attracted to him.
Her duties this morning involved cleaning the master bedroom. As she stood in the wide upper hallway, she prayed for guidance.
Dear Lord, give me the strength to get my work done, and not think about the man who’s helped me so much.
But the minute she entered the big masculine room decorated with tasteful plaids and subtle stripes, Nick’s presence shouted out at her. His suit from yesterday was draped across the standing valet. Out of habit, she brushed it out and hung it up, so he could wear it once more before she took it to the cleaners.
His shoes were shelved in the long, well-lit closet off the dressing room. He had several pairs, some black and brown leather, some gleaming white athletics, all expensive and classic in design, just like their owner. His shirt, impeccably white, was tossed on a chair, waiting to be laundered and pressed at the cleaners, along with all his other tailored shirts.
So much about Nick’s habits reminded her of Sonny. Sonny had been a perfectionist, almost fanatical in his demands. Nick wasn’t quite that bad, as far as she could tell. He demanded loyalty, hard work, and the best in everything—but he demanded those things in himself first and foremost.
Myla picked up the shirt, catching the scent of his spicy, crisp aftershave. The shirt spoke of the man. Solid, honest, clean. And lost. He was a good man, but he was a lonely, sad man. His quiet, aloof nature drew her to him, then his rare burst through smiles and dry humor held her.
She couldn’t fight her feelings, but she reminded herself she’d been on the bottom for so long, coming up for air was scary. She couldn’t read anything into Nick’s smiles and concerned gestures. He was just being kind. And he was used to having someone wait on him hand and foot. He was selfish and stubborn at times, and other times, he was caring and compassionate. Just his nature. She didn’t think she was ready to deal with another domineering male just yet, though.
“Come on, Myla,” she told herself as she hastily cleaned the large, elegant room. “You work for him. He gave you a job and a place to stay and food for your children. Nothing more. He owes you nothing.”
Since she was alone in a twenty-room mansion, she could talk out loud. “And I owe him everything.”
Silently, she thanked the Lord for giving her this reprieve and remembered that she’d promised to do things differently this time.
Moving into the bathroom, she cleaned the large garden tub with a new vigor, putting images of Nick Rudolph’s handsome face out of her mind. Then she hurried out of the room, determined to stick to business.
And ran right smack into the arms of the very man she was trying to escape.
Myla’s dust rag and cleaning supplies went in one direction and her armful of laundry went in the other as she plowed into Nick, sending him back against the sturdy oak railing on the second floor landing.
Catching her just as his back hit the banister, Nick gripped her shoulders to keep both of them from toppling down the stairs. “Goodness, is there a fire in there?”
She leaned against him in relief. “Nick, you scared me!”
“I’ll say. Are you all right?”
Myla glanced up at him, embarrassed and acutely aware of his arms holding her. She had to learn not to be so clumsy! “I’m fine. What are you doing home so early?”
Nick hesitated, his smile as wry as ever. Then she noticed with a mother’s keen eye, he looked flushed and his dark eyes were glazed over with a red-rimmed heat.
Concerned, she automatically put a palm to his forehead. “Why, you’re burning up with fever!”
He pushed her away with a gentle shove. “Tell me something I don’t know. Don’t get too close. According to my friend and racquetball partner, Dr. Loeffler, I’ve got the flu. That’s the only way he’d ever beat me and he knows it.”
Myla kicked her scattered cleaning supplies out of the way and steered him toward his room. “You went to work like this, and played racquetball! Honestly, don’t you ever know when to quit?”
He drew his brows together, amused at her righteous indignation and her bossy nature. “I felt kind of tired this morning, but things got progressively worse as the day wore on. Dr. Loeffler checked me over after our game and told me to get home. Guess he couldn’t believe he’d actually beaten me.”
Myla clucked over him with all the vigor of a mother hen. “Will you stop making jokes and get into bed? I’ll make you some chicken soup and get you some medicine for that fever. What did the doctor tell you to do?”
Nick
