needed was the complication of a woman in his life. His life was complicated enough as it was. No matter how attractive he found Amanda Rockport, he’d do well to remember he had more important things on his plate…like staying out of prison.
Within minutes Melanie had calmed and been tucked back into bed. Sawyer got a new lightbulb out of her dresser drawer and changed the burnt out one in the night-light.
He remained in the doorway until he was certain Melanie was once again asleep, then he stepped into the hallway where Amanda awaited him.
“The bulb in the night-light needs to be changed once a week, no matter what,” he said. In the close confines of the hallway her scent eddied in the air, the bewitching scent of night-blooming jasmine.
“Will she be all right?” she asked, her concern evident in her voice.
“She should be fine for the rest of the night. She has occasional nightmares. That’s why the nightlight is so important.” He swept a hand through his hair as a deep sorrow cut through him.
Would Melanie forever be scarred by that night? He should have made different choices. Guilt and recriminations ripped him up inside. He should have done things differently, then none of this would have happened.
She took a step toward him. “Children are amazingly resilient, Sawyer.” She placed a hand on his forearm, her long slender fingers warm on his arm. “She’ll be fine in time.”
There was a softness, an innocence about her that he wanted to fall into. Somehow in the past couple of years he’d forgotten about kindness and innocence and the inviting softness that some women possessed.
He stepped back from her, and her hand fell to her side. “The problem is I don’t know how much time I have.” He motioned her toward the stairs and away from Melanie’s bedroom. “I don’t know when there’s going to be a knock on the door and Lucas Jamison will be standing there with an arrest warrant.”
They started down the stairs. “Lucas Jamison? Is he a policeman?” she asked.
“He’s a good friend, but he’s also the sheriff.” They reached the bottom of the stairs. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked. He wasn’t ready to call it a night, wasn’t prepared for the nightmares his own sleep would probably bring.
“A cup of coffee would be nice,” she agreed, and followed him into the kitchen. She sat at the table while he put on half a pot to brew.
When the coffee began to gurgle into the glass carafe he turned back to face her. “What are you doing here?”
A tiny frown danced across her forehead. “What do you mean?”
“I mean why would you leave your home to travel to a small bayou in Louisiana to take a nanny job and work for a man you’d never met? I’ve seen your credentials. You could have a job anywhere.”
“I had a job at a local middle school in Kansas City, but I decided I needed a change.” Her gaze didn’t quite meet his. He had the feeling that there was more to her story than she was telling.
Even though she was Johnny’s younger sister, before hiring her he had done a thorough background check. He knew she had no criminal record, had never been married and, until a couple of months ago, had worked as a counselor at the middle school she’d mentioned.
Her eyes shone as she finally met his gaze. “I’m here to help Melanie, that’s all that’s important to me. And that should be all that’s important to you.”
Secrets. Everyone seemed to have a couple. He poured them each a cup of coffee, then joined her at the table. “Melanie likes you,” he said.
“I like her.” She took a sip of her coffee and studied him above the rim of the cup. She placed her cup back on the table and wrapped her fingers around it. “She seems rather tentative, as if she’s anticipating me yelling at her…or hitting her.”
Her words created a small ball of rage inside him. He tamped it down and took a drink, then replied, “My wife was a woman who didn’t particularly enjoy motherhood. She was often impatient with Melanie.” He took another drink to stop himself from speaking ill of the dead.
“It’s obvious that Melanie adores you.”
“I think that’s one of the reasons I’m not in jail at the moment.”
She tilted her head and looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”
“Lucas is aware that Melanie saw something the night of Erica’s murder. I think he figures if Melanie saw me kill her mother that night then Melanie would have nothing to do with me now.”
“But, that’s not necessarily true,” she replied. Once again her eyes darkened. “Children often rewrite reality to make it more comfortable, to make it feel safe. Children also have the capacity to create a fantasy and make it real to them.”
“Do me a favor, don’t mention those kinds of things to Lucas. I have enough problems as it is.”
“I can’t imagine any reason I’d have to speak to the sheriff.” She frowned. “But I’d like to ask you about George.”
“What about him?”
Her frown deepened, and her fingers laced and unlaced in her lap. “He mentioned today that if I wanted to go sightseeing he’d be happy to take me the same places he used to take your wife.”
Sawyer sighed, leaned back and raked a hand through his hair. “George is a lot of talk. I know he told Erica about several clubs in town at one time. If he’s making you uncomfortable, I’ll talk to him.”
“That won’t be necessary. I don’t want any trouble,” she said hurriedly. “If there’s nothing else? I’m more tired than I realized.”
He stood and shook his head. “I’d like a check-in from you each evening after Melanie is in bed. I want to know everything that’s going on with her, what happens in the hours while I’m at work.”
“Of course,” she said, standing. She carried her cup to the sink and rinsed it, then started for the doorway.
“I assumed you read the reports about my wife’s murder? Then you must know that she was pregnant at the time of her death.” She stopped walking and nodded, her blue eyes shadowing with a touch of sympathy.
“I read the newspaper accounts this morning,” she said.
“What the newspaper accounts couldn’t tell you was that the baby wasn’t mine.” Her eyes flared slightly with surprise, but he didn’t give her a chance to reply. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Amanda.”
He released a deep sigh as she disappeared out of the kitchen. He took his cup to the sink and added it to hers, then left the kitchen and returned to his study.
Once there he poured himself a glass of Scotch, then walked over to the wall that held all the pictures. His gaze focused on the picture of Erica. She’d been insanely beautiful and selfish and unfaithful.
He wasn’t sure when the affairs had begun. For all he knew she’d started seeing other men soon after their wedding. It didn’t matter now. The only thing
