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Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
Pandora?
One glance at the next name on his nanny-candidate list told navy SEAL Calder Remington all he needed to know. She’d be a card-carrying unicorn lover or flake. He needed a Mary or Hazel. Someone not only dependable, but with impeccable references and the patience of Mother Teresa. The last four women had been nice enough, but they’d lacked experience. Ideally, he needed a grandmotherly type who’d successfully raised her own brood to be doctors, and now looked to pass along her vast parental knowledge to the next generation.
At twenty-eight, how much parenting knowledge could Pandora have?
Calder had pretty much resigned himself to not even let her in the house when the doorbell rang. He dropped his list and sighed. In light of the fluid situation, he adjusted his mission to ditching Pandora quickly enough to allow time for a nap before the next candidate showed.
Calder glanced at eight-month-old Quinn, who played on the floor with his favorite stuffed whale. “Might as well get this over with, huh, buddy?”
“Gah!”
Calder shook his head. “My thoughts exactly.”
He opened the door on a petite brunette whose black-rimmed glasses struck him as too big for her face. “Um, hello. I, ah, was sent by the Earth Angels agency to—”
“Appreciate your stopping by—” the August heat coming in the door already made him break out in a sweat “—but I need someone older.”
“Oh....” As if she were a leaky balloon, her shoulders deflated. “Maybe if you would just give me a chance? You know, like try my services for a week, then decide?”
Desperation fairly oozed from her pores. “Kind of you to offer, but—”
He didn’t think it possible, but when she glanced past him into the house, her complexion paled. He was shocked when she shoved him out of her way to sprint across the living room as if she’d just caught a Hail Mary pass and was intent on snagging a game-winning touchdown.
He turned to see what kind of nut-job stunt she was pulling, only to go weak at the knees. Quinn had turned blue. Pandora scooped him into her arms and turned him upside down. She delivered five raps on his back, then flipped him over to do the same in the front. No results.
Calder might be a navy SEAL and combat veteran, but he had never felt more helpless. Since May, he’d been meaning to take an infant first-aid class, but between work and single-dad duties, it was almost September and he still hadn’t found time.
She repositioned his son once more and then like magic, a grape popped from Quinn’s mouth onto the carpeted floor.
While Calder gaped, Quinn wailed.
Pandora hugged Calder’s panicked son, rocking him gently, calming him with a soft, sweet lullaby in his ear.
Once his son’s cries had been reduced to occasional shuddering huffs, she held out her hand for Calder to shake. “I’m sorry. In all the excitement, I failed to properly introduce myself. I’m Pandora Moore.”
Still shaky, Calder shook the woman’s hand. This certainly put a new spin on the situation. How did his conscience justify sending her on her way when she’d literally saved Quinn’s life? Did he repay that debt by flat out giving her the job? “Nice to meet you. Calder Remington.” Pointing to his son, he asked, “Where’d you learn that—the baby Heimlich thing?”
“Basic Infant Care 101. Choking is a leading cause of infant mortality—which is beyond tragic considering most cases are preventable.” She took the bowl of grapes from the coffee table, placing them on the mantel.
“Yeah, well, you made me feel pretty stupid.” He rammed his hands into his jeans pockets.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean to imply you’re a bad parent.”
“I get it.” Whether she’d meant it or not, her words stung because Calder knew them to be true. He may be good at a lot of things, but raising a kid wasn’t one. He tried, but even after having had Quinn for a few months, nothing about it felt natural. Bottom line, Calder had wearied of the whole nanny search. Unable to shake the guilt telling him the least he could do for this woman who’d saved his son was give her a chance, he asked, “How soon can you start?”
Her eyebrows rose. “You mean you want me for the job?”
“Sure. We’ll give it a try.” He still didn’t wholly trust a woman named Pandora, but guys on his team were always giving him crap for his name. Didn’t seem fair for him to turn around and do the same. “Can you start first thing tomorrow?”
She pushed up her glasses and shyly smiled. “Sure. The agency said it’s a live-in position, right?”
“Yeah.” He gestured down the hall. “Follow me. I’ll show you your room.”
* * *
STANDING IN THE sunshine-flooded bedroom with its own private bath and even a bay window peering out on the grassy, tree-lined backyard, Pandora fought the urge to pinch herself. A hardwood dresser, nightstand and headboard all matched and the tan carpet was clean enough for the baby in her arms to crawl wherever he wanted—assuming there weren’t more grapes lying around. The queen-size mattress was bare, but new enough to still wear furniture-store stickers.
After all she’d been through, this felt surreal. As a bonus, Calder even seemed like a great guy. Though he possessed beyond steal-your-breath good looks, her gut told her he was a gentleman. As for the indefinable jolt of awareness stemming from just shaking his hand? She was determined to push that from her mind.
“Don’t blame you if you hate the color,” he said in regard to the mixed shades of lavender, orange and lime green polluting the walls. “The last owner went a little crazy with their sponge painting. We’ll pick out something more to your liking.”
“Yellow,” she automatically said. “I’ve always
