Chapter Four

The pungent odor of burning reached Rowan’s nose, which she wrinkled in distaste as she sniffed the air.

“What in the name of mystical—”

With a gasp she leaped up from the lounger on the back porch, where she was watching the girls practice small bits of magic as they played in the untamed woods behind the house. Silly things like turning a rock into a flower. Now, she turned her back on her charges and rushed into the house and straight for the kitchen.

“No, no, no,” she muttered under her breath. She couldn’t have got this wrong already.

Sure enough, the charred lump she pulled from the oven in no way resembled food. “My lasagna,” she wailed.

With hectic movements, she turned off the oven, turned on the overhead fan, and then opened a bunch of windows.

That’ll teach me to try to cook without magic. She tossed a glare at the offending hunk of what had been noodles and sauce. What had she done wrong? Worse, any second Greyson would appear, demanding to know what had happened. No way could he miss the heavy scent of smoke pervading the house.

But after a few minutes, he didn’t show. What to do? She could use magic to clear the air and fix the dinner, but would he notice? He was, after all, a powerful mage, and a hunter, which meant he paid attention to details, or he’d never track down those he was after. Technically, using magic to make dinner wasn’t a bad thing, but if she showed too many skills, he’d start to ask questions. Nannies’ skills were supposed to be domestic, though. Rowan had almost convinced herself to risk it. The alternative was admitting she’d messed up dinner.

Maybe I can start another dish instead? She moved to the pantry, which she’d already snooped around in, and came up with a few cans of tuna. She knew the fridge wasn’t much better stocked. Tuna surprise it is, then.

Twenty minutes later, a new casserole bubbled away in the oven. So maybe she put a tiny spell on it to ensure it wouldn’t burn. Plus, she made sure to check on it often. In the meantime she found a can of aerosol scent and sprayed it liberally throughout the kitchen, leaving the windows open.

At least the weather cooperated, a light breeze blowing through the house and across her skin. Surprisingly mild for November in the mountains, though she was sure, based on the small piles of snow around the bases of the trees, that harsher weather would return soon. Delilah had told her the weather here could change in the blink of an eye. Blizzard one day, melted the next, and back to dry the day after.

A relieved sigh escaped her lips. Greyson hadn’t discovered her mistake. Score one for the underdog. The quiet suddenly made itself felt. Darkness had fallen. She should’ve had the girls inside ages ago. Grabbing her thick jacket, which she’d thrown on the floor earlier, she slipped out to the back patio. All thoughts of dinner vanished as she noted the silence outside. Her steps slowed as she scanned the woods. Where were the girls?

They must’ve come back inside while I was busy with dinner. However, a quick but thorough check of the house showed her they had not. Rowan refused to allow panic to enter the situation. No way could she have messed up dinner and lost her charges all in the same night. Greyson would fire her on the spot, and then how would she implement her plan?

With hurried steps she went to where she’d last seen the girls. Stopping there, she ran her gaze along the woods, which, after about fifty feet, veered steeply up the side of the mountain. No sounds of laughter or chatter reached her. Where on earth could they be?

A prickle crawled up her neck, and she swiped at it with her hand before she could stop herself.

You’re not being watched anymore, she told herself in her best inner stern voice.

She hoped.

Shaking off her apprehension, she assessed the situation. Dinner would be ready soon, under the wire for Greyson’s seven o’clock deadline. Magic might be her only option now. Rowan bit her lip. So many spells in one day, of varying kinds, not a great start to flying under the radar. If she could keep it small, maybe they wouldn’t realize. Back turned to the house, just in case, she closed her eyes. “Nuru il immaru.”

Roughly translated, the words meant to see the light. She thought the words, not daring to say them aloud. The spell would be minimized without the spoken phrases. Exactly as she intended.

With a spell such as this one, she was never entirely sure of the results, leaving the specifics up to the magic. Slowly opening her eyes, she sucked in a breath. Before her a glittering set of golden footsteps wound around the yard. A quick glance revealed the path moving back into the house. So they were inside, in one of the few places she hadn’t checked, which meant either the attic, Greyson’s office, or his bedroom. Had they hidden from her?

Damn, and I thought I was doing so well connecting with them.

Before her spell could fade, Rowan traced their steps back inside to discover the attic had been their final destination. She doubted they’d missed the stench of the smoke from her ruined dinner as they came inside. What if a real fire had blazed and they’d been trapped? And what was their goal by hiding?

Getting her in trouble, most likely.

…

Greyson glanced away from his email at the clock in the bottom right corner of his computer screen. Time to go to dinner and see how Rowan had dealt. So far, she’d been a damn sight more enjoyable to watch than the previous nannies. Beyond a small wail of frustration, she’d handled the dinner disaster with compunction, though he’d been mildly surprised she couldn’t prepare dinner with magic as the other nannies had. It must not be one of her gifts, which gave him a small sting of guilt for ruining her first attempt and causing her more work.

She moved with a lithe grace, her jeans hugging her backside in a way he couldn’t fail to acknowledge. With a grunt he pushed aside any notice of her as a woman and tried to focus on her actions. She’d frantically searched for the girls, then paused at the edge of the woods. No words had been spoken, but with deliberate direction, she’d walked straight to the attic door.

Once there, she’d cocked her head and crossed her arms, frustration pinching her lips. Had she figured out where the girls were hiding? They did this to every nanny, and he allowed it as part of their family test.

“So that’s how it’s going to be,” she finally said, then spun on her heels and returned to the kitchen.

Interesting reaction. Was she going to do anything about her charges being up in the attic?

The dinnertime hour had arrived, which meant he’d discover the answer to his question shortly. He flipped the lid closed on his computer and went in search of a witch. One who’d occupied more of his day than she should’ve. He entered the dining room promptly at seven to find the table laid for five. A basket of crusty bread and a leafy spinach salad sat in the middle.

“I’ll be right there.” Rowan’s voice drifted to him from the kitchen, but he couldn’t see her over the countertops.

Then she stood from where she’d been bent over to remove her casserole from the oven. Unbidden, an image of those jeans stretched tautly over her nicely rounded ass entered his mind. With effort, he pushed it away.

Hands in oven mitts to protect her skin from the piping hot casserole dish, Rowan skirted the large island and entered the room where he waited. She placed the dish on a trivet and removed her mitts, setting them on the corner of the table. Never once looking in his direction, she took a seat. “Shall we?”

His best poker face firmly in place, Greyson also took a seat directly across from her at the long end of the table. Curiosity about her next actions had him firmly in thrall. He glanced behind her in the direction of the attic.

“Would you pass me your plate, please?”

He shifted his gaze to find her holding her hand out patiently. Without a word he meekly passed his plate over. She dished up a healthy portion of whatever she had decided to serve in place of her badly burned lasagna and passed it back.

“Where are the girls?” he asked.

“Hiding.” She spoke bluntly and to the point, but no censure or irritation laced her tone.

He cocked his head. “Oh?”

She gave a perfunctory smile, one that didn’t appear to reach her eyes, although it was hard to tell, as she had yet to look at him directly, a fact which, perversely, he didn’t like. “They’ll appear when they get hungry.”

“I see.” He placed his napkin in his lap and served himself salad before passing her the bowl. “I must say, I’m impressed.”

“Why?” Finally, she met his gaze. “Tuna surprise is hardly a gourmet meal.”

A chuckle threatened. He hadn’t even tasted the casserole yet. “I mean about the girls. Several of my nannies haven’t lasted the first night.” He shook his head, making his disdain for those other nannies clear. “How hard is it to cook a meal and keep track of three young witches?”

In response Rowan set down her fork and leaned back, observing him through now narrowed eyes. “I think I see.”

Damn. She’d figured him out.

But she didn’t say any more. He gave her top marks. None of the others had caught on. As if by mutual agreement, they both tucked into their meals. Strangely, the silence descended not with the heavy weight to produce small talk, but with an inexplicable ease. When was the last time he’d sat with a woman, without talking, and neither felt the need to fill the void with inane chatter?

Almost thirty minutes later, the girls finally put in an appearance. “We’re hungry.”

Rowan greeted them with a welcoming smile. “Have a seat. There’s not much left, and it’s probably cold, but you’re welcome to eat.”

Not much left? They’d had only one helping each. Greyson glanced at the serving dishes. Sure enough, only about a quarter of the food remained.

Had Rowan just spelled the food to reduce the amount remaining and teach the girls a lesson? If she had, she’d done so in front of him without his seeing or hearing. Not even a fizzle of energy in the room or a flicker of a lightbulb. Apparently, his nanny had untapped depths.

He eyed her speculatively. Tricky.

The girls exchanged a glance, then looked toward him. While he’d allowed their hiding act in the past, he’d never actively condoned it. He gave them no help, keeping his expression neutral.

“This smells good,” Atleigh, the peacemaker, tried.

Before Rowan could respond, Lachlyn spoke up. “Didn’t you notice we were gone?”

No change in Rowan’s pleasant expression. “Yes, I did.”

“And you didn’t look for us? Aren’t you supposed to be all caring and stuff?” Lachlyn scowled, but her bluster didn’t hide how truly upset she was.

Rowan paused in spooning a miniscule amount of casserole onto a plate for Atleigh. “If you mean fluttering around like a panicked bird caught in a windstorm searching for you, you’ll find that’s not my style.”

“But you knew where they were?” Greyson asked. He needed to be sure he left his daughters with someone capable. Even if her eyes were an extraordinary shade of gray, like moonlight in a forest, and her berry-ripe lips tempted a taste.

Get your mind off her lips, you ass.

She directed a polite gaze his way, but he caught the anger snapping in their depths all the same. “I assured myself they were safe and in the house. They are old enough to arrive at dinner on time, without prompting.”

She sent the girls a sweet smile. “After all…you don’t need a nanny. Right?”

Lachlyn, whom he’d mentally dubbed the ringleader almost since birth, tipped up her chin. “Exactly.”

“Excellent.” Rowan divvied out the remaining food.

“Is this all?” Chloe asked, a mournful droop to her mouth.

“I’m afraid so.” Rowan showed zero remorse. In fact…was that a twitch to her mouth?

“Can you at least heat it up?” Lachlyn demanded.

Greyson opened his mouth to rebuke her rude tone, but Rowan beat him to it.

“Arrive to dinner late, eat cold food. You chose to be late. Next time, maybe you’ll arrive on time.” Rowan nodded as though that closed the discussion, and all three girls, in various stages of anger and shock, shut their mouths and accepted their plates without further debate. Greyson had never seen them so subdued. Then, again, no other nanny had handled today quite as Rowan had, either.

After a quiet, and rather strained, rest of dinner, Rowan wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood. “Girls, you may clear the table and clean up the kitchen before you go to bed.”

“What? —” Chloe screeched. She turned to him. “Dad, we never clean the kitchen.”

“Then it’s about time you start.” Rowan’s quiet words held steel, and he found himself hoping he never landed on her bad side. Of course, if she used that husky voice in that bossy way with him, he might have to do something about it. Something that involved—

What in the seven hells is wrong with me?

Greyson gave himself a mental shake. Instead, he tried to focus on the scene before him and had to hold in a laugh at the three identical expressions of disgruntled acceptance. He should’ve called Delilah sooner, because Rowan McAuliffe was exactly the person his family needed.

“I’ll check on you in about an hour.” Rowan turned to leave but paused in the doorway. “I wanted to thank all of you.”

Greyson sat back and waited.

Rowan smiled warmly. “Each household takes time to settle into and become part of the routine. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your efforts to make my day so warm and welcoming and…special.”

Did she just Sound of Music his family? It worked. Guilt settled like a granite boulder in his gut. Based on their wide-eyed exchange of glances, the girls were dealing with a similar reaction.

Rowan’s smile didn’t alter exactly, but suddenly a mischievous glint sparkled from those amazing eyes. “I look forward to repaying your kindness.”

He didn’t remember Julie Andrews saying anything like that in the movie. With a cheerful nod, Rowan turned and quietly left the room. A whisper would’ve sounded like a shout in the silence she left in her wake.

“Do you think she meant she’d get even?” Lachlyn asked, breaking the hush that had fallen over them.

He dropped his napkin onto his plate. “I suspect so.”

“Is she mad?” Atleigh asked.

“Hard to tell. I’ll go talk to her.”

He left the girls clearing up and made his way to the basement. He fully expected to find Rowan packing her things. Instead, he discovered her on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, watching a rerun of an old sitcom.

He paused at the sight of cute, bare toes, tension crawling across his shoulders and up his neck. He rolled his head, trying to ease the muscles. It didn’t help. Because of toes.

Freckles and now toes.

“I don’t appreciate you threatening my children.” Not what he’d planned to say, but he didn’t take it back.

She jerked a little at the sound of his voice only to ease back against the couch, a small smile tipping her lips up on one side. “That wasn’t a threat,” she said. “Did I pass your little test?”

She’d definitely figured it out. “Yes.”

“I don’t appreciate being tested that way.”

He wouldn’t, either, but his children and their needs meant he’d do what he had to. “When did you know?”

“When you didn’t comment on the burned smell or the fact that I’d left the girls in the attic. Do you do this to all your nannies?”

He sat on the coffee table in front of her, mostly to get her to put those toes away. On the floor where they belonged. Only, instead, she shifted on the couch to bend her knees to the side, tucked up like a fastidious kitten, toes still perfectly visible. What would she do if he flipped a pillow over them? Probably question his sanity and quit.

What was her question again? Right, the girls and nannies. “Testing nannies is important. Atleigh, Lachlyn, and Chloe are quite…unusual.”

He caught the way her eyes lit with curiosity. “I’m not permitted to share more than that. But even if they weren’t special, they’re still three girls on the cusp of teenage-hood and coming into their magic, and they need the right person minding them.”

“Delilah sent you duds before?” Her doubt about that came through loud and clear.

“No. I didn’t use Brimstone until now. I thought we could handle this through the witching community. I was wrong.”

Surprise-widened eyes told him he’d caught her off guard with the admission.

Greyson grinned. “Yes, I can be wrong.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and tension filled the spaces inside him like a curtain of electricity. Awareness, impossible to not call it what it was. Rowan snatched her gaze away, and his head cleared enough for the realization to seep in that he hadn’t smiled, truly smiled, since his wife’s death. The thought struck hard, and he rubbed at a spot on his chest as his mind transitioned from turned on, to shock, to aggravated at himself in the space of seconds, left buzzing with emotion either way.

Pulling his own gaze away, he cleared his throat. He shouldn’t be letting his nanny affect him this way. “I should’ve guessed Delilah would send me someone more than capable.”

“I don’t know about that,” she muttered under her breath. “So all of it was a test. The burned dinner?”

Greyson grimaced. “Yes.”

“The girls running away?”

He nodded.

“What about their fight this morning?”

Another grimace. “That was real.”

“And your attitude?”

He frowned. “What attitude?”

She peered at him for a long moment, and Greyson got the uneasy impression she found him wanting somehow.

“Never mind,” she murmured. Was she placating him?

“Are the schedule and the expectations for me the same?” she asked.

“Yes.” What was wrong with his schedule?

Her mouth pursed, but she nodded. “Fine.”

“So you’ll stay?” Oddly, Greyson found himself holding his breath for her response. An hour in her company, surrounded by her wildflower and honey scent, and part of him wanted her to stay. So unlike him, he brushed that wayward feeling aside with irritation and waited for her response.

She sighed. “I don’t have a choice.”

The words, or maybe the way she said them, triggered instinct honed over years of being a hunter. “What does that mean?”

A strong emotion flashed in her eyes. If he had to guess, he would’ve said panic, but the expression was gone so quickly he couldn’t be sure.

Then she offered a sweet smile. “It means you clearly need help. So, yes, I’ll stay.”

Greyson levered to his feet. He needed help, did he? “I’ll be in my room if you need me. Good night, Rowan.” Her name felt strange on his lips. Right and wrong at the same time.

“Mr. Masters—” She stopped him at the door, and he swung to face her, eyebrows raised in question.

She didn’t bother to get up. “Don’t test me like that again.”

Or what?

“Remember…observations can go two ways.”

Did she just imply she was observing him? Before he could snap out a question, she stood and turned off the TV. “Good night.”

Greyson headed back upstairs, coming to terms with a rare experience. He’d been effectively dismissed by a woman who happened to be his girls’ nanny. Most women rushed to please him. Rowan practically sprinted in the opposite direction.

Bigger question…why did her contrary reaction turn him on?