before leaving the room on legs so stiff it looked as if his back might crack from the pressure.
Oh, Lord. That man was drowning. It didn’t take a degree in psychology to see that and Aubrey knew from firsthand experience that drowning people often took down the people trying to save them. She hadn’t put her life back together only to have it torn apart again by someone else.
Aubrey handed Ian back to his grandmother. “Mary, I like you and I appreciate the opportunity you’ve offered me but I think this job is more than I can handle.”
After a moment, Mary said, “Ian needs you, Aubrey.”
“Me? Why me?”
“I’m going to level with you because I get the feeling that you can see right through bullshit and I’m not going to waste your time feeding you any. I’m too old to be raising my grandchild, and my other two sons are busy trying to raise their own families. Annabelle is wearing herself out trying to do everything for Sammy because Dana was her best friend and that’s how she deals with her own grief. But Sammy needs to start bonding with his son. He can’t do that if he has too many people picking up the slack for him and that’s what’s been happening since Dana died.”
“How is hiring a nanny going to help him with that?”
“It will allow him to break in slowly.” Mary inhaled softly as she touched Ian’s downy cheek. “He loves his boy. He just doesn’t want to right now.”
Aubrey shook her head, her gut instinct telling her to stick with her initial decision and decline, but she was secretly horrified at the idea of leaving the baby to his father’s emotional void. Babies needed love and affection to grow and thrive. She doubted Samuel Halvorsen was capable of that right now. So where did that leave Ian? You can’t save every child, a voice warned. No, but she could at least help this child for a short while. No one said she had to get emotionally involved. And no one said she had to stay forever.
“I’ll take the job—temporarily. I understand what you’re saying about your son needing to break in slowly but if it turns out that I think it’s not helping, I’m going to give notice.”
“Fair enough.” Mary rose and placed the boy in the swing. “I’ll go get Sammy so you two can talk salary.”
The gently swaying swing drew her attention and she withheld a sigh. She was such a sucker for a sweet face.
Her attention strayed to the photographs on the walls. There were several of Sammy with his late wife. Mary had said her name was Dana and they’d only been married a short time before she died. Aubrey tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and couldn’t help but feel sad for the young family. A son left without a mother and a husband left without a wife. Sometimes life dealt crappy cards.
Mary returned with Sammy and Aubrey sat a little straighter, projecting as much detached professionalism as she knew how to, and even did a good job of dismissing the casual observations that drifted through her mind as he started talking compensation, schedules and whatnot. Observations such as the dark golden scruff on his face, which was a shade lighter than the tousled mess on top of his head, and the mesmerizing hazel of his eyes that, even bloodshot from a night of tearing up the town, were still pretty arresting. No doubt about it, this guy was a looker. He had that rugged, construction-worker thing going on that would cap off a calendar of hot guys quite nicely, alongside the requisite batch of firefighters and military men. Not her type, really. She could almost hear her mother’s voice carping in her ear that Sammy Halvorsen might very well be her type if she were looking to get her heart broken—yet again—but she wasn’t so it didn’t matter, right?
No, Sammy Halvorsen was so off-limits he might as well be orbiting a separate planet. As far as bad habits went, rehabilitating brokenhearted men was by far her worst. Catching a man on the rebound wasn’t something Aubrey wanted to do ever again. No matter how attractive the man was or how adorable his baby was.
Besides, what was she worried about, anyway? It wasn’t like she was looking for love—far from it—so everything should be fine.
“When can you start?” he asked abruptly.
Mary interjected with a firm shake of her head before Aubrey could answer. “Not today. She has plans. Tomorrow is soon enough,” she added with an arched brow. “You can handle your boy for one night, can’t you?”
“Of course I can,” he said, but his eyes said something else entirely.
Aubrey checked the frown she felt building in her brow. It was no business of hers what kind of relationship Sammy had with his son. Her job would be to feed, clothe and otherwise care for Ian but no one said anything about getting personally involved.
She cast one final look over her shoulder as she followed Mary out and caught sight of Sammy staring down at his son, gently swaying in the swing, with an expression of—dare she say it?—resentment, and Aubrey wanted to give Samuel Halvorsen an earful. That man didn’t know how to count his blessings.
Stay professional, she admonished herself. This was a job…nothing more.
CHAPTER TWO
SAMMY WINCED AGAINST THE PAIN in his head and, ignoring his son’s outstretched hands as he passed the swing, went straight for the kitchen for some aspirin. Ian fussed when it was apparent Sammy wasn’t going to liberate him from the swing but Sammy couldn’t possibly deal with the kid when his head was about to explode. He washed down three extra-strength pain relievers with a generous swallow of a fresh beer and then leaned against the counter, closing his eyes against Ian’s gathering howl. Sammy rubbed at his eyes and then drained the can so he could crush it and leave it behind in the kitchen. So what if it was only 10:00 a.m.? A little hair of the dog was what he was going to need to deal with the screamer in the other room.
Ian’s face was red and scrunched from crying, his big, round eyes staring at Sammy reproachfully as he lifted his chubby arms again, whimpering until Sammy pulled him free to put him on the floor. But that’s not what Ian wanted, either, apparently because he wiggled and kicked and screamed until Sammy was quite sure the kid was going to have a heart attack or something. Alarmed, he picked him up and gently but awkwardly jostled him the way he’d seen Annabelle do with Ian and her daughter Jasmine when they fussed. It seemed to work for a minute but before Sammy could enjoy the reprieve, the kid yowled loud enough to bring the house down.
“Damn, kid, what’s your problem?” he muttered, jostling him a little less gently, which only made it worse. “Are you hungry or something?” he asked. He tilted his son upside down so he could sniff his drawers. He drew back quickly. “Oh, gross. Dude? Seriously! We’re going to have to work on that. That’s disgusting.”
His alcohol-soaked brain wasn’t functioning on higher levels, and for a second he couldn’t remember how to change a diaper. His gaze sought and found the diaper bag Annabelle had dropped off, and he grabbed it. With one hand holding Ian in a football pose, which the kid didn’t like one bit, Sammy wrestled with the bag until the contents spilled out, including several bottles, which rolled out and went everywhere. He picked a diaper and the wipes from the pile and proceeded to the sofa.
Ian, near hysterical, waved his hands and kicked his feet so hard Sammy had a hard time grabbing the flailing little suckers so he could take the offending diaper off. “Will you cut it out already? Do you want this thing off or not?” he demanded and Ian squeezed more tears down his cheeks, which made Sammy feel ten times worse for being so rough with him. “Sorry, kid….” he muttered, but he was too busy trying
