He stepped up close and took the tissue from her, just to stop her from holding it out. And he blotted his jaw, as she’d told him to do. The tissue came away with two bright red spots on it.
“There.” He tipped it briefly toward her so she could see.
“Nothing, as I told you.”
She made a low, considering noise, as if she didn’t agree, but could see no benefit in arguing the point.
He thought of his father, once so proud and strong, now weak and wasted, striking out, prone more and more frequently to episodes like the one today as death closed in on him. Maybe Ms. Miller was right. It meant a lot more than nothing, this tiny scratch on his jaw.
He tucked the tissue into the pocket of his slacks. “I’m still waiting for your answer.” He couldn’t resist adding, “You seem to enjoy that—making me wait.”
He assumed she’d take offense. She was always so prickly. But no. She only smiled again, that smile that transformed her. “I’m sorry you think that. Of course, it’s not even a tiny bit true.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Fair enough.”
Becky pulled away from the bottle then, and yawned wide and loudly. Cord watched his daughter, wondering how such a tiny mouth could stretch so big.
“Here.” Ms. Miller tucked the empty bottle into the flowered bag on the other side of the rocker. “You can burp her.” She found a cloth diaper in the bag and held it toward him, the same as she had that damn tissue a minute ago. “Put this on your shoulder. I’d hate to see you get spit-up on that beautiful shirt.”
He scowled, thinking, I’m Cord Stockwell. I don’t do burping.
“Take the diaper,” she said.
So he took it.
“Put it on your shoulder.”
He did that, too.
She gathered the baby close and rose from the rocker.
Cord backed up.
“Come on,” she dared to taunt him. “It’s a skill you’ll have to develop sooner or later.”
“How about later?”
“How about now?”
What the hell choice did he have? He held out his arms and she put his baby in them.
“Good,” she said. “Cradle her head. That’s right. Now gently, onto the shoulder…”
Becky sighed when he lifted her and laid her against his chest. He could feel her little knees, pressing into him. She smelled of milk and baby lotion. And her hair was soft as the down on a day-old chick. She made a gurgling sound. And then she let out one hell of Texas-size burp.
“Excellent,” intoned Ms. Miller.
He gave her a look over the dark fuzz on Becky’s head.
“I’m so relieved you approve—and are you coming to work for me, or not?”
She nodded. “I am. Temporarily.”
He patted Becky’s tiny back—gently. She was so small. It was like patting a kitten. “What does that mean, temporarily?”
“It means I’m going home now to pack up a few things and arrange for a neighbor to water my houseplants. Then I’ll stay here, in the nanny’s room, for a few days, or however long it takes to find you some quality live-in child care.”
She would work for him. But not for long. Strange how he disliked the idea of her leaving. She was an exasperating female, but a damn worthy adversary, too. He could respect that. “Why don’t you just take the job yourself? You’re exactly the kind of nanny Becky needs. And I can guess what a social worker makes. Not near what I’m willing to pay.”
Was that sadness he saw in those green eyes of hers? “Thanks for the offer, but no.”
He stroked Becky’s dark head and wanted to ask, “Why not?” But he held back the question. It was none of his business. And he doubted she would tell him anyway.
He inquired with ironic good humor, “I take it you’re going to be interviewing nannies for my daughter.”
“If that’s all right with you, yes. I would like to do that.”
“If that’s all right with me? Ms. Miller, you sound downright agreeable.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts, Mr. Stockwell.”
“Ms. Miller, I intend to do just that.”
Chapter Three
It was a little after seven that evening and Hannah was just putting the last of her clothes into the maple bureau of the nanny’s room when the tap came on the door to the hall.
“It’s open,” she called.
A slim, dark-haired woman poked her head in. “Hi. I’m Kate. Cord’s little sister—and Becky’s aunt.” Kate Stockwell smiled. She had a great smile. It lit up her fine-boned face. “You’re Hannah, right?”
Hannah nodded. “Come on in.”
“I’m not interrupting?”
“Nope. I just finished unpacking.” Hannah turned to the bed, on which her ancient hard-sided suitcase lay open. With both hands, she levered it closed and pressed the latches. Then she grabbed the handle, lugged it to the floor and dragged it into the closet.
When she turned back to the room, Cord’s sister was standing near the bed. She was dressed for evening, her dark hair swept up, a little chain of diamonds dangling from each ear. Her dress was a simple cobalt-blue cocktail-length silk sheath that had probably cost a fortune at Neiman-Marcus. The dress brought out the blue of her eyes—eyes that watched Hannah with undisguised curiosity.
“Cord told me this afternoon that you’d be moving in for a while. You’re not what I expected.” Smoothing her dress beneath her, Kate Stockwell sat on the edge of the bed. “Then again, I’m not sure exactly what I expected.”
Hannah frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, I have to confess, Cord has mentioned you once or twice in the past several days. I mean, that you’re Becky’s caseworker with Child Protective Services. And that you’re, um…”
Hannah did understand then. She laughed. “You are being so tactful. I think what you mean is that your brother didn’t have too many nice things to say about me.”
Kate’s gaze slid away. “Well…”
Hannah said with cautious honesty, “Your brother and I don’t always agree, I’m afraid. He’s a very determined man.”
Kate
