Max reached for her elbow. “Mr. Lotorto? You can’t be that angry about an oversight.” Holding her arm, he guided her calmly toward the living room. “Come on, let’s sit down while we have the chance. Not even 9:00 a.m., and I’m beat already.” His smile was tired as he pointed her toward the sofa and settled himself on a large chenille-covered easy chair. “Embarking on fatherhood and a new business at the same time isn’t exactly what I’d planned.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t the children’s father?”
Facing her, he wiped the smile from his face and said, “I just didn’t think about it. Honest. Does it make that big a difference?”
D.J. thought a moment and decided that yes, it made a very big difference, though she’d have a hard time articulating why. She knew that decent men, good men, accepted the responsibility of single parenthood. But how did one characterize a man willing to take in four kids he hadn’t even fathered? Also, D.J. had expected Loretta to be mighty pleased at the news she had grandchildren. Now D.J. would have to find out whether Loretta was related to the kids at all.
“Actually, I’m not their uncle,” Max said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Terry was my cousin. Let’s see, that would make me…”
“A saint.” D.J. gaped at the man before her. Good Lord, not only hadn’t he fathered the children, he wasn’t even their immediate family. Nor was he being paid. The foster families who’d taken her in had been compensated fairly well by the state.
“I’m their second cousin,” Max corrected, quickly disabusing her of the saint notion. “Believe, me, Daisy, I have never been in line for canonization. I’m just a guy muddling through.”
Exactly what she’d expect a saint to say. So Terry, the woman whose picture he’d looked at with such tenderness, had been his cousin. “Why?” she asked bluntly. “Why are you raising your cousin’s children?” A thought occurred to her. “Is this a temporary setup?”
“No, it’s not temporary.” Max looked angry, even offended. “The kids are going to stay with me. Right here. I don’t consider family a temporary arrangement.”
Sorry. His tone might have cowed someone else into abandoning her questions. But if anything, D.J. was more curious than before. What made a single man willing to turn his life upside down?
“Where is your cousin?”
Max’s jaw tensed. A distant, unhappy expression entered his eyes. “She passed away.”
So this really was permanent. “Look, Max, I’m not implying you can’t handle this, but aren’t there other people who could help out? Other relatives?”
Max’s expression turned more intense than she’d yet seen it. “I didn’t mean to snap at you before, but you’re not the first person to ask whether this is temporary. Or to suggest that it should be.” He leaned forward. “The kids and I are on our own, Daisy. Except for you.”
Nerves and a growing sense of foreboding made D.J.’s deliberate laugh a little too loud. “That’s not saying much, Max. I’m a…a waitress.”
“How dedicated are you to waitressing?”
“How dedicated?”
“Do you see yourself waiting tables a year from now?”
She hadn’t seen herself waiting tables for five minutes. Not until the idea of going undercover had entered her mind. “I suppose I don’t really have a career plan,” she fibbed, since she couldn’t tell him that in five years she planned to own one of the most successful P.I. firms in Portland, Oregon.
“Stay with us, then.”
The pancakes D.J. had eaten seemed to fall to her feet. She didn’t know how to respond, so Max filled in the silence.
“Let’s sign a year contract—you, me and the kids. We’ll jump into this thing together. We need you, Daisy.”
Holy cow. Holy cow. He wasn’t kidding. She’d expected him to ask her to stay a couple of weeks—three on the outside—while he looked for a professional child care provider. “But…I’m not a nanny,” she stumbled.
“You’re great. The kids like you. I like you. Last night I came home to a clean house and kids who were fed and in bed at a reasonable hour. It finally looked like someone knew what they were doing around here.”
Visions of burnt hot dogs and fried chicken coating ground into the carpet came swiftly to mind. “But I’m not a real nanny.”
Max shrugged. “If you want to get technical, I’m not a real daddy. Love and instinct cover a lot of mistakes.” Max relaxed forward, elbows on his knees. “I like having you here, Daisy. You fit us.”
As a professional, D.J. tried to ignore the highly unprofessional fingers of pleasure that skittered up her spine. She fit?
“The fact is I can’t take care of these kids and run a business by myself. I need you, Daisy Holden, and now that I’ve found you, I don’t intend to let you go.” A smile, wry, attractive, almost infectious, spread across Max’s face. “We haven’t discussed hours or days off yet, but I’ll give you a tip—you can pretty much write your own ticket. Anabel and the boys will be in school next month. I take Mondays off, and Livie can come to work with me one or two other days during the week.”
“But I’m not a—”
“Also, I’ll double what you could have made waiting tables at the tavern.”
D.J. breathed in and out slowly. She couldn’t very well tell him that the money didn’t matter, not after the song and dance she’d given him about needing a job. What could she say? “Thanks, but your grandmother has offered a lot more money for investigating you than you could afford to pay me for being a nanny.” D.J. shook her head imperceptibly. This is what happened when you lied: you had to think of more and more lies to cover the first one.
“Thank you for your faith in me, Max,” she began hesitantly.
Max winced. “I hear a ’but’ coming. Tell you what—don’t say it. Don’t decide yet. I think fate brought you to me, Daisy June,” Max smiled, but he didn’t look as if he was kidding at all. “You showed up exactly when I needed you, even though you’re not from around here. That’s not the kind of divine gift I want to ignore.”
D.J. was sure she’d stopped breathing—which, looking on the bright side, would effectively eliminate her ability to respond. Oh, what a tangled web we weave…
The slider to the backyard opened and closed. Small feet pattered across the linoleum floor and into the living area. Arms down by her sides, Livie ran with a bobbing motion that made her pigtails bounce. Pigtails that big, strong, masculine Max must have put in her hair. A fresh wash of tears streaked the four-year-old’s face. Only when she reached Max did her arms rise in the child’s universal language. Lift me.
Max rose and, with one fluid sweep, had Livie in his arms before he’d even asked what was wrong. When her tears turned to hiccuping sobs, he cupped the back of her head and pressed her close. The gesture was so protective, it almost made Daisy believe that nothing bad could ever happen to this child.
“What’s
