if Mac had run out to scavenge whatever he could as soon as he knew he had to keep the children. She admired that, even as she knew he probably only saw it as doing his duty.
The saddest thing she’d seen among the children’s belongings, though, was the lack of toys and clothes in the closet, as if their mother couldn’t be bothered to bring all they might need or want. She’d wanted to cry at the sight. Her horror at the way they’d been abandoned had been matched by her distress over their uncle’s ineptitude. Truthfully though, she couldn’t say he didn’t care about them. Mac, at least, had some sense of responsibility, certainly more than his sister had.
The sight of the imposing glass-and-cedar home had given her pause when she had first sighted it that morning, but it was so beautiful, and so perfectly positioned on the cliff overlooking the Pacific, she had decided to at least ask about the job. The closer she’d come to the door, the more she had tightened up on her courage until even the sight of the imposing man who answered it couldn’t stop her from barreling inside as if she had every right to be there.
She knew she had given Mac an erroneous impression of herself, maybe even a wrong one, letting him think she was bold and outspoken, when in truth, she was outgoing but not bossy. Usually, only nervousness made her that way. When she had left her small hometown of Hadley in the Imperial Valley, though, she had decided that she had to change. Her days of depending on others to look out for her were over. Being dependent had gained her nothing but a mountain of debts and a broken heart.
Shuddering at the memory of her flight from Hadley, and some of the things that had happened since, she stood suddenly and began unpacking her suitcase, laying the items she would need for the night on the bed and making a mental note to find boxes of some kind to use as a makeshift dresser.
She was wildly curious to know why the house was so bare. Couldn’t he afford furniture? Didn’t he want any? As yet, she didn’t know him well enough to judge whether or not he seemed content with so little, but somehow she didn’t think it mattered to him.
Paris considered the man who had hired her. Mac seemed tense, watchful. More than once that day she’d felt his attention on her and looked up to find him viewing her with a gaze that seemed to be questioning her actions and motives. Not that she blamed him. She knew her resume was far less than impressive—as were her references. However, what Mac had learned about her must have been satisfactory because he hadn’t backed down on his offer to hire her.
Although she was grateful for the job, she wondered why she’d been awarded it. She wasn’t going to ask him and risk being told it was all a terrible mistake and she’d have to go.
“Avoidance at all costs,” she murmured to herself, wincing guiltily as she acknowledged it was a character flaw she was trying to overcome. She wouldn’t be in this predicament now if she hadn’t been so intent on pretending that everything was okay with Keith, if she hadn’t avoided knowing that he was gullibly squandering his own fortune and everything she’d inherited from her parents, if she hadn’t helped him squander it until she’d finally wised up.
Shaking off those maudlin thoughts, Paris moved her tired body out of the room and into the hallway to speak to her new boss. When she got no answer to her knock on his bedroom door, she knew she’d have to search the house for him. “Shouldn’t be hard to find,” she whispered to herself, examining the picture-free walls and pristine carpet. “He can’t exactly hide behind the furniture.”
Telling herself that she wasn’t intimidated by this brooding, disturbing man, Paris walked briskly through the house until she found him before the huge plate glass of the living room windows, staring out into the night. She stopped and hung back so that her reflection wouldn’t catch his attention.
Mac stood with his head thrust forward, causing his midnight-black hair to fall over his forehead. His hands were thrust into the back pockets of his jeans. Though he was physically fit and his arms were roped with muscles, he was too skinny. His clothes hung on a frame that seemed to carry twenty pounds less than it should. She doubted that he had thinned down on purpose. He had told her he was a carpenter and she knew he needed strength and stamina for such a job. Another quick examination of the living room had her wondering if he was more than a carpenter. He may have built this place himself, and she had a hunch he’d also had a hand in designing it. Something about the design of the house, the high ceilings and view of the ocean made her picture him bending over a draftsman’s table, carefully laying out the plans.
His face was thin and gaunt, as well, his dark eyes shadowed, hiding secrets. He stood with one shoulder turned slightly toward the window in a way that made her think of someone shouldering a burden, taking on yet another heavy load. She had never considered herself to be particularly astute at reading people. If she had, she certainly would have tried to keep Keith from giving their money to fast-talking charlatans. She could read Mac Weston, though, and what she saw told her he had been through rough times and they still weren’t behind him.
Against her will, she felt herself drawn to him as she was to his niece and nephew. She had no idea what his story was, but it struck a chord in her and made her more curious about him. Paris reminded herself that she needed to remember that this was just a job, one she would hold until she got back on her feet and decided what she was going to do with the rest of her life.
She must have moved or made a sound, because Mac’s head came up and the brooding look in his eyes gave way to caution as if he feared he’d revealed something of himself. He had, but she pretended as if she hadn’t seen it. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “The kids…”
“Are asleep,” she said, forcing briskness into her voice and striding into the room. Strangely, she felt her exhaustion fall away and vitality take its place as she joined him. “I left their door open so I could hear them. Will they sleep all night?”
“They’ve only been here two nights, and they haven’t slept much either night.” Mac ran his hand over his face. Paris knew he hadn’t either.
“I came to find out when you want breakfast.” She hadn’t been a housekeeper for very long, but she knew that was the kind of question she was supposed to ask. After all, her housekeeper used to ask her that question.
“Feed them whenever they get hungry,” he answered, his dark eyes regarding her in some confusion.
“No, I mean you, what time do you want your breakfast?”
“I can take care of myself,” he said gruffly, as if it didn’t matter. “That’s not why I hired you. You’re here to take care of Elly and Simon.”
Paris took exception to his dismissive tone. “And this house and everything connected with it, right? Including meals.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll get my own food.”
Even though she hadn’t intended to, Paris glanced at the way his jeans hung on his frame. Against her will, her lips tilted into a smile as if to say he hadn’t been doing such a good job of feeding himself. “You hired me to cook and that’s what I intend to—”
“No,” he said, scowling at her. “I don’t need you fussing over me.”
Her eyes widened. “Fussing? I’m trying to do my job.”
“Which is to take care of Elly and Simon, not me.”
Paris could only stare. What kind of man was this who couldn’t accept anything from someone he’d hired to help him? A stubborn and proud one, she concluded.
“Wait
