Small-Town Nanny (6 page)

“You have to eat,” he reminded her. “It's free food.”

She chuckled, a throaty sound that made all his senses spring to life. “We'll give it a try.”

He pushed his advantage. “And Sunday dinner is the most important meal of all, so I'd appreciate your being there. I think we agreed that you'd work Sunday afternoons and take a weekday afternoon off, correct?”

“You mean, like, tomorrow?”

He nodded. Best to start out as you meant to go on. “Yes. Definitely tomorrow.”

“We'll give it a try,” she repeated doubtfully. “But I'm not...well. We'll see.”

Score one for him. But her resistance proved this wasn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped.

* * *

The next day, Susan stood at the kitchen counter scooping deli salads into bowls. Even though she'd turned down Sam's offer of an apron to protect her church clothes—which, hello, consisted of a faded denim skirt with a lime-green tee and sneakers, hardly designer duds that needed special care—she still felt uncomfortable and out of place. She was used to grabbing a bagel with friends or fixing herself a peanut butter sandwich after church. Fixing a family lunch in a big, fancy kitchen was way out of her comfort zone.

Since she attended the same church as Sam and Mindy, it had made sense to all go together. Uncomfortable with the intimacy of that, she'd made a beeline for her singles group friends once they'd gotten there, but she hadn't had a choice about a ride home, which had included a stop at the grocery store for supplies.

It was all too, too domestic. And Sam had been entirely too appealing during the grocery story visit, brawny arms straining his golf shirt, thoughtfully discussing salad options with the deli clerk, whose name he remembered and whose children he asked about.

And since Sunday dinner was, quote, the most important meal of the week, here she was helping to cook it, or at least dish it up. Though she didn't see the point of setting the table and putting deli food into serving dishes when all Mindy wanted was to play in the pool.

Through the window, she studied Sam and Mindy, side by side on the deck while Sam grilled chicken. He was talking seriously to her, explaining the knobs on the gas grill and putting out a restrictive arm when she came too close.

Sam. What a character. He might be the head of an empire, able to boss around his employees and make each day go according to plan, but he wasn't going to be able to control everything that happened in his own home. Not with a kid. Kids were never predictable.

And he couldn't control her, either. She had to maintain some sense of independence or the cage door would shut on her, just as it had almost done with her former fiancé. Encouraged by her father, they'd gotten engaged too quickly, before they knew each other well. Once Frank had found out what she was really like, he hadn't wanted her. And she'd been guiltily, giddily happy to get free.

She wasn't the marrying kind. And this stint in a housewifely role was temporary, just long enough to help her family financially.

From the front of the house, she heard a female voice. “Yoo-hoo! Surprise!”

Susan spun toward the sound, accidentally flinging a spoonful of macaroni salad on the floor in the process. “In here,” she called. Then she grabbed a paper towel to clean up the dabs of macaroni scattered across the floor.

“Who are
you
?” asked a voice above her.

“It must be some of the hired help, Mama,” said a male voice.

Susan paused in her wiping and looked up to see a yacht-club-looking, silver-haired couple. She gave the floor a last swipe, rinsed her hands and then turned to face them as she dried her hands on the dishtowel. “Hi, I'm Susan. Mindy's summer nanny. Who are you?” She softened the question with a smile.

“I didn't know he was hiring someone,” the woman said, frowning. “He should have asked me. I know several nice young women who could have helped out.”

“Now, Mama, maybe there's a reason he wanted to do things his own way.” The man looked meaningfully at Susan. “We're Mindy's grandparents,” he explained. “We like to pop in when we can on Sundays.”

“That macaroni salad is from Shop Giant?” the woman asked, picking up the container and studying it. Then she walked over to the refrigerator, opened it, and scanned the contents.

Susan took a breath. There was no reason to feel defensive of this kitchen; it wasn't hers. “Yes, Sam picked it up on the way home from church.”

“Oh, men.” The woman waved a perfectly manicured hand. “They never know what to get, and with Sam so busy... Are you in charge of the cooking? Because I'd recommend Denise's Deli in town, if you don't have time to make homemade.”

Susan's stomach knotted and she flashed back to her mom trying to please her dad with her culinary skills. It was a role Susan had vowed to avoid, so why was she feeling as if she needed to make an excuse for not having labored over doing all the chopping and boiling herself? For a family that, after all, wasn't her own?

The door from the deck burst open. “Grandma! Grandpa!” Mindy shrieked. She flung herself at the man.

He bent to pick her up. “Oh, missy, you're getting too heavy for an old man!”

Sam followed with a plate of grilled chicken breasts. “Hey, Ralph, Helen. I thought you two might stop by.”

He had? Why hadn't he warned her?

“We can slide a couple of extra places in at the table. Susan, would you mind...”

“Consider it done,” she said drily, adding just one place setting. And then, as soon as both grandparents were occupied with Mindy's excited explanation of the grilling process, she grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him into the playroom that adjoined the kitchen. “Look, since it's a family meal, I'm just going to leave you to it,” she said. “Everything's ready to go here, and I've got a new thriller from the library that's calling my name.”

“You have to eat,” he said, frowning. “I'd like it if you'd stay.”

“They seem a little...overwhelming,” she admitted. “I'd feel more comfortable if—”

“Come on, Miss Susan, you forgot to make a place for Grandma! I got the extra placemats.”

“Just stay for dinner,” Sam said as Mindy tugged at her hand. “Then you can take off all afternoon.”

“But—”

“I'm paying you to be here.”

Clenching her teeth, Susan helped Mindy add another place setting to the table.

They all stood around it, and Sam said a prayer, and then they took their seats. Susan busied herself for a couple of minutes with bringing over food and fetching drinks, but then that was done and Sam urged her to sit down.

“Oh,” the grandma, Helen, said, “are you eating with the family?”

Susan raised an eyebrow at Sam. “Not my idea.”

“Susan's agreed to eat with us. Mindy needs a female role model.”

“Oh, right,” the older woman said. “At least until...” She gave Sam a meaningful look.

“Right,” he said.

So was something in the works, then? Was Yacht Club Grandma cooking up a girlfriend for Sam? That would be ideal, Susan told herself as she helped cut Mindy's chicken breast. It would take her off the hot seat and out of a role she obviously wasn't suited for.

Amidst the clanking silverware and clinking glasses, there was a noticeable absence of small talk. Finally, the awkward silence was broken by Mindy's grandfather. “What
are
you?” he asked Susan.

“Hey, now, Ralph...” Sam started, a flush crossing his face.

Susan drew in her breath and let it out in a sigh. “It's fine,” she said to Sam. She'd been answering that question all her life, but the questions had gotten a little more frequent since she'd moved from California to the Midwest.

Mindy looked alertly from one adult to the next, sensing the tension.

“I meant no offense,” Ralph said, lifting both hands, palms up. “I'm just curious. You look a little...” He broke off, as if he was trying to think of the word.

As a person who blurted out the wrong thing herself fairly often, Susan thought it best to cut off his speculation. “I'm half-Japanese.”

The older man snapped his fingers. “I thought so! You look a little bit Mexican, but I was guessing Oriental. Your mom's Japanese?”

Yes, he was a blurter. But that was so much more comfortable than his wife's sputtering disapproval. She smiled at him. “Nope. We don't fit the stereotype. It's my dad who's Japanese.”

“Your English sounds just fine,” the older man said reassuringly.

“I hope so!” Susan said, chuckling. “I was born in California.”

Helen made a strangled sound in her throat, whether regarding California, Japan, or her husband's line of questioning, Susan wasn't sure.

“California,” Mindy broke in, “that's where earthquakes are, and Hollywood.”

“You're right!” Susan smiled at Mindy. Hooray for kids, who could break through adult tension with their innocent remarks. She took a bite of macaroni salad. Not bad. She'd definitely choose Shop Giant's brand over anything she could make herself.

“Mommy was from Ohio, like me,” Mindy informed Susan. “You're sitting just where she used to sit.”

Everyone froze.

Wow. Susan's stomach twisted. She hadn't meant to intrude, hadn't wanted to take anyone's place. Should she apologize? Offer to move? Ignore the remark? Suddenly, the food tasted as dry as ashes in her mouth.

“Mindy,” Sam said, taking the child's hand in his own, “honey, saying that might make our guest feel uncomfortable.”

He was right, it did...but that wasn't something Mindy should have to worry about. Just like that, Susan's own discomfort melted away as her training clicked in. Stifling a child's natural comments about a loss was a way to push grief underground, causing all sorts of psychological issues. “That's probably kind of sad for everybody,” Susan said quickly. “Did your mom like to cook out?”

Mindy looked uncertainly at her father. “I think...she liked to lie down the best.”

Susan's throat constricted. Mindy had only been four when her mom died. She couldn't remember much of what had happened when she was younger, of course.

Couldn't remember her mother as a healthy woman.

“Oh, no, Marie
loved
cooking of all kinds.” Helen's eyes filled with tears. “You just don't remember, honey, because she was sick.”

Ralph was staring down at his plate.

This wonderful family meal was turning into an outright disaster. The grief of parents who'd lost their beloved daughter was
way
beyond Susan's ability to soothe. She met Sam's gaze across the table.
Do something
, she tried to telegraph with her eyes.

Sam cleared his throat and brushed a hand over Mindy's hair. “I remember how Mom loved to make cookies with you,” he said. “At Christmastime, you two would get all set up with icing and sprinkles and colored sugar. Mom let you decorate the cookies however you wanted.”

Susan breathed out a sigh of relief and smiled encouragingly at Sam. He was doing exactly the right thing. “That sounds like fun!”

“Did I do a good job?” Mindy asked.

Sam chuckled, a slightly forced sound. “There was usually more frosting and decoration than cookie. You were little. But Mom loved the cookies you decorated and always made me take a picture.”

“I remember those pictures!” Mindy said. “Can we look at them later?”

“Of course, honey.” Sam leaned closer to put an arm around Mindy and give her a side hug, and Susan's heart melted a little.

“That reminds me, I want to take some pictures today,” Ralph said, “maybe out by the pool.”

The conversation got more general, then, and the awkwardness passed.

Later, Susan insisted on doing the dishes so that the family could gather out by the pool. But after a couple minutes, Helen came back in. “I didn't want you to put things away in the wrong place,” she said.

“Oh...thanks.” That was a backhanded offer of help if Susan had ever heard one.

“Marie always had this kitchen organized so perfectly, but every time I come it's more messed up.”

Susan's hands tightened on the platter she was washing. “I'm sure it's hard for Sam to manage the house along with his business.”

“It's not Sam's job to manage.” The remark sounded pointed.

Susan lifted her eyebrows at the woman, wondering where this was going. “If not Sam's, then whose?”

“Well, I just hope you're not thinking it's
your
job.”

“Of course not!” Susan burst out. Where did Helen get off, coming over and criticizing the help? She wasn't Susan's boss!

She glanced over at the older woman and noticed that her eyes were shiny with tears, and everything started to make sense. Helen didn't want the kitchen arrangements to change, because she was trying to preserve her daughter's memory. But inevitably, things would get moved around, and sentimental treasures misplaced. Life had to go on, but for a grieving mother, every change must feel like losing another piece of her daughter. “Look, I'm sorry,” she said, drying her hands and walking over to give the woman she barely knew a clumsy little pat on the arm. “It's a loss I can't even imagine.”

“It's just hard to see another woman in her place,” Helen said in a wobbly voice.

“I'm not trying to take her place,” Susan said, feeling her way. “No one can do that, but especially not me. I'm just here for the summer.”

“You're just not the kind of woman Sam and Mindy need.”

Susan blew out a breath and plunked the platter down on the counter. Grief was one thing, but outright rudeness was another. “Did you...did you want to talk, or would you rather be alone?”

“Alone,” Helen croaked out, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.