a heartfelt sigh, Alex twisted on the seat to take in all three. “Sorry, boys. The battery’s dead. We’ll have to do it another time.”
First disbelieving, then reproachful, his sons stared at him.
“But you promised,” Nick said forcefully.
“That was before I found out the car was dead.”
“I’m hungry,” Mikey said plaintively.
“I’m not,” Nick wailed. “I’m starved. What’re we gonna do?”
“I know!” Brady said happily. “We can go to Shay’s! She can drive us in her car and we can all have dinner together!”
“Yeah!” sang the chorus.
“No,” Alex said firmly. He couldn’t afford her help. He climbed out of the car. “I’ll fix dinner.”
The boys climbed out after him, their expressions dubious.
“You can cook?” Brady asked. “Really?”
“Yes. How about toasted cheese sandwiches?”
“Okay,” Mikey said.
“Okay,” Nick said.
“Yech.” Brady made a choking sound and clutched theatrically at his throat. “I hate toasted cheese.” He scowled. “I bet we wouldn’t have to eat dumb old toasted cheese if Shay was here. She knows how to cook really good food.”
Alex ground his teeth as they trudged back inside. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
It was, too. At first. Even though he wasn’t very familiar with the kitchen, since the housekeeper normally did the cooking, Alex easily located the cheese, bread and margarine and some potato chips.
He had the cheese sliced and was buttering the bread when the phone rang. Brady answered, spoke for a moment, then looked unhappily over at his father. “It’s Ms. Layman from the nanny place.”
Alex laid down the knife. “Good.” Given his frame of mind, he thought this was one conversation the boys would be better off not hearing. “I’ll take it in the study.”
“What do you want to talk to her about?” Brady demanded.
“A new nanny,” Alex said firmly. “Hang up after I pick up in the other room.”
“But, Dad—”
“I’ll be right back.” He strode down the hall and into the elegant room he considered his sanctuary. Although the walls and carpeting where done in a restful eggshell color, liberal splashes of navy, gold and maroon made the room unmistakably masculine. He picked up the phone. “Hello? Ms. Layman?”
Francine Layman, an energetic, gregarious woman of sixty, seized the initiative. “Mr. Morrison! I’m so glad you’re back! I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve convinced Mrs. Kiltz not to sue.”
Alex, who’d started to sink down in the big, burgundy leather chair behind the massive, teak desk, shot to his feet. “Excuse me?”
“As long as you’ll agree to make a settlement toward her therapy, she’s agreed to sign a release absolving you of responsibility.”
“Responsibility? For what?”
Frannie uttered a slightly put-upon sigh. “Her breakdown, dear. She still refuses to discuss specifics, simply shudders and whispers about giant, man-eating spiders, but I’m sure that’s only temporary. A few sessions with a first-rate therapist, the correct dose of tranquilizers, and she should be right as rain.” She paused, then added thoughtfully, “You might consider calling an exterminator, though. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Exterminator?” Alex ground out. “The Terminator is more like it! The woman walked off and left my children alone and unsupervised! And you didn’t even bother to contact me!”
“Oh, no, dear. That’s not true. I talked to your son, Bradley—”
“Brady.”
“Yes, that’s right. Such a delightful boy. He assured me he’d spoken to your secretary. He said he was waiting for you to call back and that when you did, he’d have you call me. Oh, dear. Wasn’t that true?”
“Yes, but—” Alex began to pace, marching back and forth between the grass-papered walls, which were liberally dappled with evening shadow.
“According to Brady, your fiancée was there and was perfectly happy to take over—”
“My fiancée?” Alex slammed to a stop. “I don’t have a fiancée.”
There was a tiny moment of silence. “But I called this very phone number, Mr. Morrison. And I spoke with a delightful young woman, a Miss—” there came the faint sound of rustling paper “— Spenser, who assured me she’d be glad to stay with the children until your return. Such a pleasant, charming young woman. After what your son said, I just assumed... Oh, my. Did you two break up, dear?”
Alex clenched his jaw so hard pain shot into his ears. “Ms. Spenser happens to be a friend of my brother’s,” he said stiffly.
“Oh, my.” Frannie sounded unmistakably scandalized. “I’ve heard of such things, of course, but...how awkward for you.”
Puzzled, he did a quick review of the conversation. His spine snapped straight. “Wait a minute! I didn’t mean—”
“Please, Mr. Morrison,” Frannie interrupted anxiously. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really do think it would be best if we refrain from discussing your personal problems and get back to business.”
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and grimly concluded she was right. Besides, the effort of correcting her mistaken conclusion was probably not worth the added aggravation of prolonging the conversation. “Fine.”
“Good.” She injected a bright note into her voice. “Is it safe to assume, then, that you’ll be wanting a new nanny since you’re not getting married?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes.”
“Good, good. How does next week look for you?”
“For what?”
“Why, for conducting interviews.”
His hand tightened in a stranglehold around the phone. “How about tomorrow.” It was not a question.
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Good. Go with that.” With an effort, he kept his tone polite. “I’ve got work to do. I’m due in New Mexico the end of next week and I need—”
“Daddy?” Mikey stood uncertainly in the doorway.
“Hold on.” He covered the mouthpiece and addressed his son. “I’m on the phone, Michael.
