The Holiday Nanny (4 page)

“Soon. I told Cora we'd love to have some yummy crow's feet.” Connie was beginning to regret attaching those bells to so many things, though they were a good warning system announcing Silver's presence.

“Crow's feet?” Silver flopped down on the floor, crossed her legs and propped her chin on her hands. “That's not a real food. Is it?”

“Of course.” Connie hid her smile as she folded the last bits of Silver's laundry. “Crow feet stew, crow feet soup, crow feet casserole. Yum.” The teasing games were part of her effort to keep Silver from becoming too intense. Which was happening more and more as her father took pains to avoid Connie, and therefore Silver.

The question was why was he avoiding her?

“You're joking, Connie. I can tell.”

“How can you tell?” Connie sank down on the floor across from the little girl and waited.

“When you're joking you get a wiggly kind of a thing at the corner of your mouth. Like you want to giggle but can't.” Silver grinned. “You've got it now.”

“I guess I'll have to watch myself then.” Connie assumed a very stern look then leaned forward and began to tickle the child. “Crow feet juice for you for supper.”

“With red-painted toenails,” Silver laughed, doubling over and hooting with laughter.

“Is it necessary to make so much noise?” Amanda stood in the doorway, her frown fierce. “I have a terrible headache.”

“I'm so sorry. Can I get you anything for it?” Connie offered, springing to her feet.

“How about some peace and quiet?” the older woman snapped as she yanked the bedroom door closed. The slam reverberated to the bells on Silver's shoes. “Now
my
head hurts.” Silver sighed. “How much longer is it until Daddy comes home, Connie?”

“I don't know, sweetie. Your daddy is very busy.”

“I'm tired of busy.” Silver pressed her nose against the window, her voice drooping as much as her body. “I thought that when Daddy was home I would see him a lot, but he's never home.”

“I know it seems like that,” Connie murmured, drawing
the child into her arms. “But I'm sure it's only while he gets things organized. You have to be patient and keep praying that God will help.” She hated saying those words. Why should a child have to beg for her father's attention?

“I have been praying. But I think God is busy, too.” Silver sighed heavily.

“God is never too busy to hear our prayers, sweetheart. Never ever. Okay?” She chucked the girl under the chin.

“I'm hungry. Let's go see if our crows are cooked.”

“Okay.” Silver accepted her outstretched hand and swung it as they walked downstairs. “Tonight's the night Cora tucks me in, isn't it?”

“Because it's my night off, yes.” Surely she wouldn't have to give up her plans? After many hours of chasing disappointing leads, Connie had finally tracked her father to a soup kitchen. She hoped this evening might render a clue to his current whereabouts.

Please don't let Silver make a fuss tonight.

The prayer had no sooner left her lips than guilt descended. The last thing Connie wanted was for Silver to feel like her nanny was too busy for her, too.

“I was going out after dinner, but if you want me to stay—”

“No. I'm a big girl. And I love Cora.” Silver paused on the landing. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But she doesn't read stories as good as you.”

“Tomorrow we'll do a little extra reading, okay?” Connie promised.

“Okay.” Silver smiled, but it was obvious by her quick scan of the hallway and front rooms that she was still thinking about her father's frequent absences.

Silver's appetite lacked its usual exuberance, and when Cora finally appeared for storytime, the child docilely
handed her the book and leaned back against her pillows after kissing Connie good-night.

She was so polite, Connie mused as she made her way across Tucson to the soup kitchen, hoping to talk some more with the man who claimed to have spoken to her father. Too polite. Totally unlike the usually bouncy, boisterous little girl who reached out and grabbed at life.

Connie stepped into the old church and scanned the fellowship room. She would have to talk to Wade tonight. For Silver's sake. She'd have to tell him that his daughter needed him to pay her some attention. How hard could that be?

No harder than questioning total strangers about a father who'd abandoned her eleven years ago, a man she barely remembered. A man from whom she desperately needed answers.

Compared to that, facing Wade would be a cakewalk.

I
t was late and he was dead tired, but Wade plowed through the water anyway, forcing his arms to reach and pull, praying swimming would ease the tension of his body long enough for him to sleep.

Amanda had been at her finest today, pushing all his buttons with her references to the past, to the accident that had killed her husband and her son, both deaths she blamed on him.

“You killed my family.”

“My family, too,” he'd reminded her. “Someone ran into us, Amanda. I didn't do anything wrong.”

But the words had rung hollow the first time Wade said them six years ago, and time hadn't made them sound any better. He should have avoided the accident—somehow.

Winded and too tired to continue, Wade dragged himself out of the water. It took only minutes for the dry Arizona air to suck away the moisture. Then he pulled on his shirt and jeans over his swimsuit and stretched out on a lounger, staring at the stars above.

Where was God in all of this recrimination, he wondered. Did God blame him for killing his own father? Is that why Wade seldom felt comfortable in the home he'd
loved as he grew up? Was that why he kept himself constantly on the go, to escape the guilt?

“Have I done something wrong?”

Wade's eyes popped open. He jerked his head to the side, not needing to see her to know that Connie Ladden stood nearby. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, but not the slick form-fitting jeans most women favored. Instead Connie's jeans looked elegantly tailored. He wondered if she'd sewn them herself, and then he told himself to focus.

“Is it so bad that you can't even speak to me?”

“Excuse me?” Wade blinked, trying to reorient his thoughts. “Is what so bad?”

“Whatever it is that prohibits you from extending the common decency of answering my phone calls.” She was angry, evidenced by the rigid way she lowered herself onto the chaise next to his, and the glittering silver sheen of her gray eyes. Also, her mouth was pursed in a thin tight line.

“What calls?” He frowned, rubbed his forehead. “What was it you wanted?”

“Unbelievable.” She glared at him. “Absolutely un believable.”

It was not the time to speak, so Wade shut up and waited for enlightenment.

“I've been trying to get your consent for Silver's enrollment in ballet. We talked about it that day at lunch two weeks ago, remember?”

A flicker of a memory returned.

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were waiting for my approval,” he said finally. “I assumed you would proceed as usual and decide the matter for yourself.”

“But—” Connie frowned, peering at him through the dim light “—you're her father, and you're home now. The decisions about her should be yours.”

“And I am authorizing you to make them.” He swung his legs off the chaise, preparing to leave.

“Don't you care about Silver at all?” The almost-whisper hit him like a baseball bat.

“Of course I care about her!” He rose, glared down at her. “How dare you—”

“I dare because I love that child. Her heart is breaking, because she never sees you. It's as if you're still in Argentina, only she doesn't get the gifts anymore.” Connie rose too, eyes blazing. “She loves you so much, but you seem to have abandoned her.”

“Like your father abandoned you?” He regretted that the moment the words left his lips, but it was too late to take them back. “Connie—”

“Exactly like that.” She straightened and thrust her chin forward as if to repel his next attack. “At least I was eleven. Silver isn't even five.”

“I shouldn't have said that.”

“Why not? It's true.” Connie's gaze dropped. “I was abandoned, left on a street corner outside a church in Grand Forks on Christmas morning.” That wound had never quite healed. “I couldn't bear it if Silver had to go through what I did.”

“She won't.”

“She will if you don't show her how much you care,” Connie insisted.

Wade already had enough guilt about the way work had taken over the moments he'd planned to spend with Silver. He couldn't let Connie think—what, that he didn't love the child? But that was exactly what he was afraid of saying. He was scared that the heart-wrenching adoration he felt for that tiny child would kill him when he finally found Silver's real family and she left.

“What is wrong?”

He blinked and opened his mouth to tell her to butt out. “Don't try to blow me off. I've seen you sneak into her room at night and watch her. That's not the action of a man who doesn't care.” Connie sat down again. “Yet you refuse to make time for her. Why?”

He studied her, and like a thief, the notion crept into his brain—maybe this was Connie's way of getting close to him. Maybe she was so anxious to find common ground between them that she was conning him into trusting her.

“Something's changed? What is it?” Her big gray eyes blinked up at him.

“Ms. Ladden. I thought I had made it clear that there can be no relationship between us. I'm just not interested.”

Her eyes widened. She froze for a moment then laughed. Her face was flushed a brilliant red, but embarrassment didn't stop Connie from speaking her mind.

“You idiot!” She stepped closer until they were almost nose to nose. “I'll tell you one last time that I am not chasing you. I am not interested in you, Wade Abbot. I could never even consider a relationship with a man who leaves his daughter behind for months on end while he chases off to some foreign country.”

“Now wait a minute. You don't understand—”

“Just to make this very clear,” she interrupted his explanation, her tone scathing, “I certainly wouldn't bother myself over a man who ignores a sweet little girl so badly that she goes to bed every night asking herself what she has to do to gain her father's love.” Connie stepped back. Her voice dropped. “Believe me, Mr. Abbot, you're just not that appealing.”

Then she turned and walked away.

 

“I'm not sure Silver is my daughter.”

The words pinged into the silence of the night like
resounding gongs. Connie jerked to a halt and stood there, with her back to him, for perhaps ten seconds. Then she turned.

“Why don't we go inside?” she said quietly, her expression blank. “I'll make us something to drink. Then perhaps we can hash this out.” Her eyes met his and held. “Because there is no way in this world that Silver is not your daughter. No way.”

A second later, she'd disappeared into the hedge, no doubt headed for the kitchen.

Wade had finally said it out loud, at last admitting the one thing he most feared.

“I've just given her a reason for us to work together,” he muttered as he climbed the back stairs to his room. “How stupid can I get?”

Stupid, maybe. But it was also a relief. He'd assumed, though it hurt him deeply, that the best thing was to stay away from Silver, not let her get too attached in case he eventually managed to do the right thing and return her to her real family.

He had a hunch Connie was going to tell him that was the wrong approach.

I'm not sure Silver is my daughter.

The starkness of Wade's voice when he'd said that still hurt Connie's heart.

A thousand questions tumbled around in her brain, but she stuffed them back and concentrated on mixing the hot chocolate packets with hot water.

Help me help him, Lord. Let me be a ray of light in his darkness.

“Miss Ladden—”

“Whenever you want to reprimand me, or when you suspect me of something, you always call me Miss Ladden.
My name is Connie. And let's get one thing clear.” She motioned for him to sit on one of the stools. “I am not here for any reason but that I want Silver to be happy. In order for that to happen, she needs her daddy. Okay?”

He nodded, took the cup she offered and began idly stirring it.

“So?” She sipped her hot chocolate and waited.

“I don't know where to start.”

“Start with why you left Silver here when you went to Argentina,” she suggested.

“She was two. There was unrest in the country. I was working in a desolate region. It was no place for a child. To leave her in the city—” He shrugged. “Kidnappings are not uncommon in Argentina.”

“But then why go there in the first place?” Connie hoped he'd explain and not tell her it was none of her business—which it wasn't.

“I didn't have a choice.” Wade sighed, took a sip of his drink and began his story. “My father was not young when he met and married Amanda. I was twenty-four when their son Danny was born.”

“Was Danny a problem for you?” she murmured.

“No.” He smiled. “Danny was a sweetheart. Nobody who met him didn't love that kid. He was a firecracker, and I adored being his big brother.” The smiled faded. “Danny and my father died in a car accident. And Amanda blamed me.”

“Why?”

“I was driving the car that night.”

The stark pain in those words kept Connie silent. She prayed wordlessly.

“It was my dad's birthday. He loved golfing, so we'd spent the day at the golf course. Of course Danny had to
come, too.” Wade's lips twitched upward for a second. “The kid was a natural.”

Silence yawned. But Connie didn't break it, sensing that Wade needed to do this in his own time, his own way.

“It started to rain—hard. I would have pulled over, but Dad wanted to get back home. Amanda had arranged a birthday party and he didn't want to be late for it.” He took a deep breath and said the rest in a rush. “A car came up too fast behind us, slid into us and pushed us into oncoming traffic. Dad had turned, trying to calm Danny. The impact forced a rib into his lungs, which collapsed.”

“And Danny?” Connie held her breath.

Wade looked straight at her, his face like stone, his body hunched over as if he'd been struck.

“His seat belt came undone. Amanda later claimed it had never been done up. Danny was thrown from the car. He died.” His white face barren of all expression, Wade continued. “Amanda couldn't forgive me. With Dad's shares, she had a majority in the company. To punish me, she persuaded the board that I was needed in Brazil to finish a project. I didn't argue. I just wanted to get away.”

He needed something to draw him from his private agony.

“Brazil is where you met your wife,” Connie said.

“Bella. Yes.” He nodded. But the joy she'd expected to see in his eyes wasn't there.

“What was she like?”

“Beautiful in an exotic kind of way. Long, curly black hair and olive skin. Dark expressive eyes. Very Latin in demeanor. Bella loved to dance. She was always the highlight of any party.” The words came out like little staccato beats, without expression.

“And you had Silver.”

“Yes.” Wade smiled, but he didn't continue. Why? Was his wife's death too painful?

“Bella liked being a mom?”

“At first you could hardly get Silver out of her arms.”

At first, Connie noted. “You were happy?”

“I thought so.” Wade looked straight at her. “I had to be at the work site in the country during the week, but I always returned to Rio on the weekends.” He swallowed.

“One Friday I came home and there was a note. Bella had left me and taken Silver. I'd barely read it when the police called. She and the man she was leaving me for were dead. Smoke inhalation from a fire aboard their yacht. Mercifully, Silver was fine. I took her and came back home.”

“But you didn't stay in Tucson.”

Wade shook his head.

“Can I ask why?”

“Why?” A wry half smile tilted his mouth. “I was very successful in Brazil. Profits were pouring in. I'd landed a whole new contract, bigger and better in Argentina. No way did the board want me at home.”

The board or Amanda? Connie mulled over his words, her brain assembling the pieces.

“I was ordered back.”

“So you left Silver here because you were worried about her safety,” she surmised, waiting for his nod. “What about Bella's relatives?”

“Bella came from a very poor family. She had two sisters, but they were struggling with their own lives. They didn't want a niece to add to their baggage.”

“It's sad they've missed out on so much,” she murmured.

“Knowing Silver is something to be cherished.”

He looked at her, relief dawning. “Yes.”

Connie waited and waited, but Wade said no more. He
finished his drink and pushed the mug away. She was going to have to press for more details.

“But why would any of that make you think you aren't Silver's father?”

Wade said nothing at first. After a moment, he walked around the breakfast bar and pulled a snapshot of Silver off the fridge. He held it up next to his face.

“Notice any similarity?”

Connie glanced from him to the picture and back. Finally, she shook her head. Wade reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He removed a small square and set it on the granite countertop.

Connie sucked in her breath, stunned by the beauty of the woman smiling at the camera.

“Bella. She was very beautiful.”

Wade didn't speak. He simply set Bella's picture next to Silver's. The truth hit Connie like a sledgehammer.

“Bella's boyfriend?” she whispered. “The one who died?”

“Bingo. Blond hair, blue eyes.” Wade's face didn't alter as he returned the photos to their respective places. Then he sat again. “Now you understand.”

“I don't really,” Connie murmured, unable to absorb the implications of his words. “There are such things as recessive genes.”

“As far as I know, there has never been a blond in my family. I'm sure the same is true for Bella's.”