In From the Cold (3 page)

Chapter Five

Claire

I awoke to a figure bouncing on my bed, the clock beside me flashing
5:00
in harsh red numerals. The room was dark, but I had no doubt who was making my head hurt.

“Hi, Miss Stranger! What are you doing here?”

A very awake, a very excited, a very smelly, Suzie.

A bath first. Definitely.

“Morning, kiddo! An early riser, I see. And guess what?”

“What?” Her eyes widened.

“I’m your nanny.”

“Yayyy!” She jumped up and down on my bed, then plopped on my stomach.
Oomph.

She was a solid little thing. So was her father. Very solid. Hard.

Kind of perfect.

Shit.

“Shhh, sweetie. People are sleeping.” At least, I hoped he was still sleeping. I wondered what he slept in? PJs? Boxers? Whitey-tighties? Nothing?

I groaned. What was I thinking?

I had just met the guy, and I wasn’t even sure I liked him. He was dismissive, obtuse, hyper-focused, rude and far, far too handsome.

But he could also be easy. He’d been so different last night. The wine, the fire, his words washing over me—no pressure to do or be anything. Nice.

Even nicer would have been to slide to the floor and—

Okay. Stop right there
, my guardian angel (with my sister’s face and voice) barked.
You are so not going there.

But when his eyes had drifted to my lips, I’d wanted to reach up and…

My face started to heat.

“Are you feeling all right, Miss Stranger?” Suzie stared at me, an inch from my face, so close I went cross-eyed. “You look kind of blotchy all of a sudden.”

I lifted her off me and sat up.

“I’m fine, just a little warm. And you can call me Miss Claire. I’m not Miss Stranger anymore, right?”

She nodded, and a big grin lit her face.

“Let’s see if they have a nice bubble tub and clean you up. Okay?

I leaned over and grabbed my robe, Claire bouncing on my bed as I tied my sash tight.

“I love bubbles. Lots and lots.”

“Great. Me too. Let’s go see.”

She slid off my bed and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the bathroom. Sure enough, it had a large granite tub and a separate huge Jacuzzi. She was too little for the Jacuzzi, but she could still make plenty of bubbles in the regular tub. They had bubble bath under the sink, and soon she was playing with a fleet of plastic cups while I scrubbed her clean.

I had only briefly glanced at the agenda left on the counter last night, so other than a brunch scheduled later in the morning, I had no idea what Drake’s plans were or where Suzie would fit in them. The driver had told me as I’d put Suzie to bed that another little girl was coming too, but I didn’t know when. Suzie must be hungry, so after her bath and some fresh clothes, I quickly dressed and we tiptoed to the kitchen. We looked through the kitchen, and I soon had her planted in front of the TV with a breakfast bar, some watermelon chunks and a juice box, watching
SpongeBob SquarePants
.

While I waited for a pot of coffee to brew, I ransacked the great room cupboards for toys. I found a few children’s books on a shelf near the fireplace and some board games, but nothing I thought a three-year-old might like. Unless her dad had thought to bring some toys, which I doubted, a shopping trip might be in order.

I sat down on the sofa beside Suzie, nursing my coffee and making a list of possible activities. As the sun rose, the view through the back windows grew more spectacular. The jagged peaks of the Grand Tetons glistened with snow and rich tints of blue and pink from the changing light, while green and brown fir trees framed the base of the mountains and the edge of the huge snow-covered golf course. It was breathtaking, inspirational, lovely.

I sighed. Must be nice to be rich.

I looked over my list of things to do. After a day cooped up in a plane, Suzie would need to move. I needed to talk with her father, and again, an image tempted, me padding down the hall and slipping under his sheets, him warm and welcoming and that dimple…oh Lord.

Stop thinking
.

The constant struggle to curb my thoughts exhausted me, and it was only six a.m.

I heard a creak and glanced up. A little girl with a mop of blonde curly hair stood in the doorway, a worn stuffed animal clutched to her chest. She must be my other charge, and I wondered vaguely what time they’d arrived. It must have been late, because I never heard them.

“Hi there, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

She didn’t say a word, only looked from me to Suzie in front of the TV.

“Are you hungry?”

She nodded.

“Why don’t you sit by Suzie, and I’ll get you something.”

I fixed her a plate, and by the time I returned, she was sitting by Suzie. I put the plate in front of her, along with a juice box. She looked younger than Suzie, smaller. Her T-shirt was too thin for the chilly air, her little pajama shorts more appropriate for summer than winter, especially a Jackson winter. I grabbed a fleece comforter from a chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. She barely noticed me or the TV, absorbed in studying Suzie. You’d think she’d never seen another child before.

They watched TV for half an hour, and when I suggested that we do something else, Suzie agreed. The little girl seemed content to follow Suzie’s lead.

“I like SpongeBob.” Suzie stood up and brought me her plate. “He’s silly.”

“Yes, he is.” I was shocked by her good manners. Even Jim, who had once been the most polite guy I’d known, still waited for others to pick up after him.

Jim.
Where had that thought come from? And I’d been doing such a good job of blocking him from my mind. I willed him from my mind.

“Suzie, did you meet our new friend?” I turned her to the other little girl. “Maybe she’d like to play with us?”

Suzie toddled over and squatted beside her. “Wanna play?”

“Okay.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

“I brought my friend too.” Suzie pointed at the girl’s stuffed animal. “Mine’s an ontidi.”

“This is Meow.” The little girl held out her toy for just a moment, then pulled it possessively back into her arms.

“Suzie, what’s an ‘ontidi’? Have I seen him?” I asked.

“He’s in my bag. Want to meet him?”

“Sure. Let’s all go.” I held out my hand, which the girl tentatively took. Suzie raced on ahead.

“What’s your name, honey?” I asked again, gently, as we walked down the hall. She seemed so wary, as if she might bolt at the wrong word.

“Yvette,” she whispered.

“What a beautiful name. Are your mommy and daddy here too?”

“Mama’s sleeping. She’s downstairs. She gets really mad if I wake her up.”

“Oh, then we won’t wake her.” Her thin little shoulders relaxed a fraction. “My name’s Miss Claire.”

We stepped into Suzie’s room.

“Here he is! This is Ontidi.” Suzie squealed, holding a stuffed elephant in Yvette’s face. Yvette blinked, then smiled, a charming little smile, gamine and sweet. She introduced Meow to Ontidi, and soon they were sitting on the rug. Suzie carried on an intense conversation with their two stuffed buddies, while Yvette watched.

As they played, I scouted this room for more toys and found a bucket of Duplo blocks. The girls started building a town for their friends while Suzie chattered and Yvette listened. They were adorable. Then a shadow crossed the floor, and I hitched my breath, expecting Drake. But Cruella De Vil stood framed in the doorway.

Cruella De Vil?

Okay. Maybe that was a bit much, but she was the first thing to come to mind. I moved in front of the girls, instinctively protecting them.

“What the hell’s going on here?” the harpy shrieked, and then the nickel dropped. She must be Yvette’s mother. I looked more closely. She didn’t really look like Cruella, but her bleached, teased wild hair, bony frame and red eyes reminded me of the character from
101 Dalmatians
that had scared me as a child. The girls had the same reaction. Suzie’s mouth hung open; Yvette bit her lip.

“Good morning.” I walked across the room and extended my hand. “You must be Yvette’s mother. I’m Claire, the nanny.”

“Oh really?” she snarled, ignoring my hand.

Snarled?
I let my hand drop.

“And what nanny allows kids to make enough noise to wake the dead at…what the hell time is it, anyway?”

I checked my watch. “Seven fifteen.”

“Godddd,” she groaned. Her nails were red and long, her eyes ringed with blurred mascara, her lips with smudged lipstick. She must have fallen into bed without even washing her face.

Not Cruella then.

Zombie.

I squared my shoulders. “And your name?”

She ignored my question, but assessed my faded jeans and worn turtleneck and smirked. Then, with a glare, she turned her attention to Yvette, pointing a finger in her direction.

“I’m her mother, and I told her not to wake me. We had a long flight and I’m too tired to deal…” She started to push around me, but I blocked her path.

“Don’t wake Mr. Driscoll, please. He’s still sleeping.”

She stopped in her tracks, her eyes whipping back to mine. “Driscoll? Drake Driscoll?

I nodded.

“In this house?”

“Yes.” I crossed my arms, peeved by her interest. She guffawed.

“Oh that’s glorious. Glorious!” She shook her hair and fluffed it. “That changes everything.” She started to leave the room, forgetting Yvette completely in her glee. I followed after her.

“Excuse me. About Yvette.”

She turned, her eyes narrowed. “What about her? You’re the nanny, right?”

“As I said.”

“Then, here’s the skinny.” She pointed at Yvette, who clutched Meow to her tiny chest, barely breathing, her eyes wide and tense in her pale face. “We have two weeks here. Her clothes are in my room; you can get them any time, the sooner, the better. I have…” she fluttered her hand in the air, scrambling for the right term to use, “…
things
to do, so I’ll be very busy. I expect you,
nanny
, to keep her out of my way. And
quiet
. Understood?”

What an appalling woman. Poor Yvette.

“Any allergies? Any special needs?”

“Not that I know of.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Her nanny may have put something in her bag.” She turned to leave again and my temper snapped.

“Don’t you think you should at least say goodbye?”

My voice trembled with anger, and she rounded on me, her hands in fists.

“Who do you think—”

“Good morning. Everything all right?” Drake filled the doorway behind Yvette’s mother. She froze, eased her lips into a smile, then turned to face him. He looked stunned.

“Sharon?”

“Why, Drake Driscoll, what a
delicious
surprise.” She slipped over to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “It’s been ages. How have you been?”

He clearly knew the woman. “Sharon, what are you doing here?”

“I’m a guest, darling, like yourself.”

“But I mean
here
, in this house? I thought you’d be up at the estate.” He eased her back from his personal space, his arms rigid.

“Normally I would be, but Miles had
plans
…” she said bitterly, “…and it was my turn with Yvette, so Jason put us here too. Perhaps we could call it the
Play
house.” She winked at Drake, then gestured toward Yvette. “You remember my daughter, don’t you?”

Yvette stood near Suzie, and my heart ached at the wary look in her eyes. No child should have to feel like that, especially toward her mother.

Drake turned from Sharon and studied Yvette for a moment, then walked over and knelt in front of her. He seemed to know what to do to put the child at ease, and I felt a tug inside, some tiny thread pulled. A knot loosened in my chest.

“Hi, sweetheart. I’m Drake.” He nodded at her toy. “Who’s your friend?”

“Meow,” she whispered.

“Hi, Meow. It’s nice to meet you.” Solemnly, he shook hands with the toy, then looked back at Yvette. “Have you been playing with Suzie?”

She nodded. The lines around her eyes relaxed, and she stopped biting her lip. I flipped a glance at Sharon and was struck by the look of yearning on her face. She looked softer, wistful, like a turtle sticking its head from its shell when it thought no one was looking. There was more, much more, to the story of Sharon and Yvette, and I wondered how much of it Drake knew or would be willing to tell me.

“We’ve been playing with Meow and Ontidi, Daddy,” Suzie cut in, running up to Drake. “We’re all friends now. Ontidi’s very happy.”

“That’s fantastic, honey. It’s great to have new friends.” He swung her into his arms and squeezed her tight. “How’s my girl this morning? Feeling better?”

“Uh hunh.”

“Has Miss Claire been taking good care of you?” He looked at me for the first time, his gaze warm. Aware of our audience, I kept my expression neutral.

“Oh yes! I had a bubble bath and breakfast and watched SpongeBob and she read us a story and we’ve played.”

“All this morning? What time did you get up?” He glanced at me. I held up my fingers and mouthed “five.”

He grimaced and mouthed back “sorry.”

My stomach did a little flip.

“I don’t know, but it was dark.” Suzie blithely chattered on, oblivious to the byplay over her head.

“Miss Claire’s probably ready for a break then.”

“Actually,” I interrupted, and turned to Sharon too, “I’d like some idea of your plans for the day. I saw a brunch on the schedule, but nothing else that might include the children. Did you want them to attend or not?”

“Really, Miss Claire, as I said, I’ll be busy. Just keep her entertained.” Sharon leaned in the doorway, exasperated. The turtle had certainly disappeared quickly.

“Mr. Driscoll?”

“Drake.” He smiled and my heart seized again. He bounced Suzie in his arms. “What would you like, Birdie? Wanna go to a brunch?”

“What is it?”

“A big lunch party. Lots of grownups.”

She wrinkled her nose. “No.” She wriggled out of his arms and took Yvette’s hand. “Ontidi and Meow want to play.”