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Seated inside her tiny cubicle in the main office of Rainey-Day-Wife, Summer struggled to hang up her phone without slamming it in the realtor’s ear. Five months after she had tossed him out, Brad had finally found a way to gain the perfect revenge. He’d sold their home out from under her. She had two weeks to “vacate the premises.” No amount of persuasion or phone calls would convince the real estate agent to allow her additional time.
Adding a cherry to her mud pie, he’d sold the house at a loss, meaning she couldn’t count on receiving any money from the sale. In fact, she and he would wind up owing the mortgage bankers a few thousand dollars each when all was said and done.
Now she’d be stuck working here for longer than she’d originally hoped. April had been wonderful about keeping her in the office where her secretarial background could reawaken and shine. Still, the current job market hadn’t exactly embraced her. Technology had whizzed forward while she loitered as her husband’s perfect Stepford Wife. Her once stellar computer skills were now as obsolete as a dot matrix printer.
Of course, since Brad had dropped his housing bombshell, April had continually hinted at finding her a position that would solve her problem and keep her gainfully employed—a live-in nanny kind of setup. But she had no experience dealing with families in stressful situations. She had little experience with families, period. And forget children. Children might as well be aliens from another planet.
What she loved was planning April’s wedding. She relished every detail from finding the perfect venue to shopping for the gowns to deciding on the colors of the table linens. These days, a new dream tantalized her, to open up her own wedding planning business. Which would require a great deal of capital. Capital, she’d hoped to gain from the sale of that stupid house.
Another bubble burst.
God, how she wanted to cry. Taking a deep breath to steady her trembling nerves, she picked up a pen and grabbed a sheet of paper. She’d need to make a few lists. Priority one, a new place to live. Someplace cheap, but not a slum. Despite the economic sense of such a plan, she would not move in with her mother. A studio apartment, maybe.
“Summer?” Brenda, April’s second-in-command, poked her head around the soft carpeted cubicle wall. “Everything okay?”
She grabbed a tissue from the tan paisley box at the corner of her desk and sniffed back the tears. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“April needs you.”
On a jerky nod, she rose and strode past the other desks to her sister’s office.
The door was slightly ajar, and a man’s voice filtered through the open space. “I’ll double your normal fees. I’m barely hanging on here. My ex is threatening to renegotiate the custody agreement.”
The desperation in the man’s pleas caught Summer’s attention. With a quick rap on the door, she stepped inside.
April looked up and smiled. “Come on in, Sum. Mr. Hartmann, meet Ms. Raine.”
April’s cat-that-drank-the-cream expression unnerved her, but Summer offered her hand to the seated gentleman, smooth and smiling. “Mr. Hartmann.”
When he finally gazed up toward Summer, his vivid blue eyes widened in surprise. “Ummm... hi.”
“Mr. Hartmann is looking for a full-time caregiver for his family. Live-in, but on a temporary basis. I think this position would be perfect for you.”
Of course she did. Because April knew Brad had tossed her out on her ear. Unfortunately, despite the dent to her pride, Summer had to face the fact that her big sister was probably right. A live-in position was exactly what she needed. Such a position would offer her a place to hide, lick her wounds, and bank her salary until she could make her real dream come true.
As if she sensed the battle brewing between Summer’s logic and dignity, April simply waited with an open stare. Why oh why did April happen to find this manipulative streak when she grew a backbone? Because the full shoulda-woulda-coulda of April’s expression bored into Summer’s conscience.
Or rather, shouldna-wouldna-couldna. Starting with, she shouldna destroyed Brad’s property that night. Even if the rat deserved to lose every petty possession he valued more than his marriage.
Finally, the guilt broke her. “Well, of course I’m available for the position.” She stole a peek again at the man and silently prayed he’d turn her down. “If that’s all right with Mr. Hartmann.”
“God, yes.” So much for a rejection. The guy looked as if she’d just pulled him off the ledge of a sixty-story skyscraper.
“Perfect.” Rising, April smoothed the folds of her black jersey skirt, then added, “I’m going to leave you two to work out the particulars. Please, take your time. Choosing someone to care for your family isn’t like buying a car. Sum, take my seat.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Hartmann said to April on a deep exhale. “A thousand times, thank you. I think you just saved my life.”
“Don’t thank me,” April replied. “Thank Summer. If she weren’t available, I wouldn’t have been able to place you until September.”
While April pulled the door closed behind her, Summer sat in the vacant chair. Mr. Hartmann turned around again toward the desk. “Ms...?” He blinked. “Ms. Raine? Is that what she called you?”
Long accustomed to the snickers, Summer simply smiled. “I know. Summer and April Raine. I lived with the ridicule for the first twenty-five years of my life. After my divorce, given a choice between going back to my silly maiden name or keeping my ex-husband’s surname, I chose the lesser of two evils.”
“You’re divorced?” The defeat in his tone surprised her. Why should her marital status matter to him?
She nodded. “Like fifty percent of the nation and about eighty percent of our clients. Including you. Only you have the additional burden of children. And I’m guessing that’s what brought you to us. So how exactly can we help you?”
“Ms. Raine, you have no idea how grateful I am.” Although the emotion behind the words conveyed sincerity, his posture suggested his unease. He perched on the edge of his chair as if waiting for the fire alarm to suddenly blare. “I’m at the end of my rope.”
“So I heard. Since we’ll probably be working together on a regular basis, call me Summer. Now I just need a few minutes to go over the info you’ve already provided.”
While she reviewed the forms he and April had completed, her gaze kept straying to the man across the desk. On closer inspection, Mr. Hartmann—she glanced at the name on the top page—Craig had the kind of looks that would normally make her heart skip a beat. Or ten. The eyes, of course, caught her at first glance. Neon blue, framed with incredibly long lashes, under dark-winged brows in a sculpted face of angles. Dimples winked at the edges of his full lips. Dark hair, with glints of silver at the temples, skimmed his collar. He hadn’t shaved, and the scruff around his cheeks and chin only added to his subtle appeal. Wide shoulders stretched the seams of his cream-colored button-down shirt. Before he caught her drooling, she returned her attention to his application.
His home address flashed like a beacon. No farther than half a mile from her house. God, could she actually remain in that neighborhood? As an employee? Humiliation heated her cheeks.
Beneath the desktop, out of Mr. Hartmann’s field of vision, she fisted her hands. Face it, kiddo. You’re out of options. Unless she wanted to be homeless or under Mom’s rigid roof again. No, thanks. So she’d stiffen her spine and deal like a big girl.
Meanwhile, Mr. Hartmann kept staring at his fingers, at the desktop, at some imaginary speck of dust on the carpet. Anywhere but at her. As if she’d terrified him. Was he shy or something?
Ridiculous. How in the world could a man so exceptionally good-looking be shy? Or maybe he simply feared she might change her mind about taking him on as a client? She’d heard him confess how desperate he was for help from Rainey-Day-Wife. In her experience, parents who played the desperation card here didn’t usually exaggerate. Often, they underestimated how drastic their problems were.
She folded her arms on the desk and relaxed her posture. “Tell me. What brought you to Rainey-Day-Wife?”
“A co-worker. Her sister is a client. She recommended the service to me a few months ago, but I kept resisting. I kept thinking I had things under control.”
Yeah. Everybody did.
“But...?”
“But I was wrong.”
Naturally.
He plucked a paperclip from the acrylic cube full of office supplies on April’s desk and batted it between his hands on the polished surface. “You know that old story about the sword over the guy’s head?”
She studied his rapidly moving hands, hands with incredibly long, graceful fingers, while her mind played catch-up. “You mean, Damocles?”
He pointed the paperclip at her like a baton. “That’s him. Well, I not only have a sword over my head, but my kids are also swinging on it like little Tarzans.”
She laughed. “Tell me about your children.”
At last, he looked directly at her, his eyes alight with pride, dimples deep and heart-melting. “I have twin boys, Scott and Nathan. They’re nine.”
Twins. Terrific. She stifled a groan. Twice the mischief in matching packages.
“Are they identical?”
“No, thank God. They’re tough enough to discipline when I know which one is guilty. If I couldn’t tell them apart, I’d be in real trouble. Problem is, one comes up with a hare-brained idea, and the other executes it. I’ve lost a lot of sleep fearing they’ll wind up as bank robbers someday. One will brandish the note for the teller, and the other will wait outside in the getaway car.”
Well, at least he didn’t think they were perfect little angels.
“No wonder you’re exhausted. Two nine-year-old boys can be harder to corral than a herd of buffalo, high on energy drinks.”
He laughed, a rich and throaty sound that reminded Summer of fine red wine, warming her insides. “Yeah, I can vouch for that. Then there’s my little girl, Maddie—Madison. She’ll be four next month.”
“Wow. You really do have your hands full.”
His expression grew sheepish, and he returned his focus to his paperclip hockey. “I also have a golden retriever.”
She jotted down a quick note on the top page of papers attached to the bright pink plastic clipboard: dog; twin boys, age nine; Scott and Nathan. Girl, Maddie aka Madison, age four.
“Three kids and a big, hairy dog. You just keep throwing curve balls at me.”
On a deep sigh, he ducked his head. “I’m sorry. Maybe this isn’t such a hot idea.”
“It’s okay. I love a challenge. Really.”
Maybe if she said it often enough, she’d believe it. She considered the work involved with such a large group. Trepidation roused in her veins. Did April really think she could handle this much chaos?
“Anything else I should know about? Snakes? Ferrets? A crazy aunt in the attic?”
He grimaced. “Does my father count?”
Summer fought back a blink. “That depends. How much care does he require?”
“None. Well, really, that’s not true. He’s opinionated and stubborn and a general pain in my butt. He moved in with us after he had a heart attack about five years ago. And he’s been a huge help with the kids. Until last month when he suffered another ‘episode,’ as his doctor called it. He’s back home and can take care of his own needs, but he can no longer handle the kids.” He paused in his paperclip game and locked his eyes on hers. “I sincerely doubt he’d do anything to offend you. He’s a true gentleman. Just a little old school in his thinking.”
This required another note: Dad recuperating from cardiac episode; old school gentleman. Crotchety?
“Okay. Let’s get back to the children. What are their schedules like? What kind of childcare arrangement do you have for them currently?”
“Right now, I’m on family leave. My dad used to be my childcare arrangement. See, my workday begins really early, like around four a.m. So the kids are always still asleep when I’m up and gone. During the school year, Dad got them out of bed, gave them breakfast, put the boys on the bus. By the time they’d arrive home in the afternoon, I’d be there. And then I’d be with them ‘til bedtime. Now that it’s summer...” He paused and offered an apologetic smile, as if reiterating once again the ridiculousness of her name. “...the boys attend day camp from nine to three.”
Summer, still taking notes, looked up briefly. “And Maddie...? Is she in pre-school?”
“No. Is that a bad thing?” His glance fell to the paperclip again.
Was there a desktop hockey tournament coming up she didn’t know about?
She quirked her lips. “Your daughter’s four. She should be in some kind of school environment, or she’ll be too far behind for kindergarten. But we’ll figure something out. Tell me about the boys. What are Scott and Nathan like? Don’t sugarcoat. I’ll be with them seven days a week, and if you’re not honest with me about what to expect, their adjustment period will be a lot tougher. As will mine. So don’t play the doting parent with me. Give me warts and flaws as well as virtues. Are they shy? Or boisterous? Do they play outdoor sports? Or do they prefer video games? Tell me about their interests, favorite foods, what excites them.”
“Scott’s into swimming. He’s good. Really good. One of the best on his team. Nate’s all football, all the time. And they’re both in baseball, on different teams. Naturally, their practices and games always seem to run parallel to each other.”
“And across town, no doubt.” When he looked up at her, eyes rounded in surprise, she shrugged. “That’s a problem we run into often here. It’s hard enough to cheer on two different teams on two different fields at the same time. But when one of those fields is miles away from the other, even two parent households become frazzled and overextended. When the logistics get so screwed up, the simplest decision requires a degree in physics, parents call us.”
“Yeah, well, in my case, logistics is just the tip of the iceberg. My ex-wife remarried some kind of bigwig construction giant. He builds stuff all over the world, so they travel a lot. Originally, she signed over custody of the kids because she wanted them to have a stable home life—something she couldn’t provide. Me? I’ve had the same job for years, same company, same house, everything. And like I said, Dad’s been with me since his heart attack about five years ago. Unfortunately, as the kids have grown, their interests have become more diverse. I’m splitting myself into pieces, and there’s still not enough of me to go around. I made the mistake of telling Chelsea—that’s my ex—that I had to bring Maddie to the football field when she was running a low fever a couple of weeks ago. I stayed in the car with her, and she slept the whole time. But that wasn’t good enough in Chelsea’s opinion.” He sighed. “She has no idea how tough it is to juggle three kids, a job, their school stuff, their extracurricular activities, homework, doctors’ appointments. Then, add my father into the mix, and it’s sheer chaos.”
Chaos. Terrific. Just what she needed. Like her life didn’t have enough chaos already.
“Does your ex think she can do a better job?”
“She’s a stay-at-home wife. The only thing on her daily agenda is the occasional society luncheon or charity fundraiser in whatever Podunk town they’re currently living in.”
A heated flush crept up Summer’s neck and dried her throat. Six months ago, that description fitted her perfectly—except for the travel. She swallowed hard.
“Now she wants to take the kids from me.” He leaned across the desk, hands clasped over the brass nameplate, between the dozen framed photos of April’s kids and fiancé that littered the top. “Ms. Raine—Summer. I complain about how tough I’ve got it as a single dad, but honestly? I’d die without my children in my life. They’re my whole reason for breathing.”
Sweet. And sincere. Despite her dread of dealing with a family on a one-on-one basis, she liked this man, appreciated his commitment to his family. And she wanted to help him.
“Mr. Hartmann, I promise I will do everything in my power to help you. I can’t promise your ex-wife won’t win custody. That’s up to the courts. But I’m in your corner, no matter what. Okay?”
♥
SUMMER JACKSON WAS in his corner. Somewhere up above, the good Lord held His gut while He rolled on a cloud in uproarious laughter. Summer Jackson worked for Rainey-Day-Wife, was somehow related to the owner of Rainey-Day-Wife.
Had Maureen known about that when she’d referred him here? She’d been furious about the flower shop scam when she’d come back to work three days later. But she’d forgiven him when she’d seen how torn up he was over the whole debacle. Not that he’d ever forgiven himself.
Now the target of his stupidity sat across from him, a promise to help him still fresh on her lips. Her pretty, very kissable lips.
Craig squirmed in the leather chair. He had to tell Summer who he was.
Oh, yeah, sure. That would be an interesting conversation.
Hey, Summer. Remember a few months ago when Cliff Hanger broadcasted your husband’s infidelity across the nation’s airwaves? Well, guess what? I’m Cliff Hanger. The guy who single-handedly wrecked your marriage and your life. And I could really use your help...
Awful? Yes. But the situation might prove far worse if he said nothing and Summer found out later from someone else—after he and his children had become dependent on her.
“Mr. Hartmann?”
He flinched, then returned his attention to Summer. Her expression conveyed warmth and comfort. She had the loveliest green eyes he’d ever seen. Clear. Pain-free.
“Is there anything else you’d like me to know about your children? Or yourself?”
“I’m Cliff Hanger,” he suddenly blurted.
She froze. As if he’d just held up Medusa’s head, she went from warm woman to stone statue in the blink of an eye. “I beg your pardon?”
“Summer—” At her sharp look, he tried again. “Ms. Raine, I’m sorry. That day... when I called your ex-husband on the air...?”
Nothing. She didn’t even blink. Simply stared with that deer-in-a-machine-gun-scope expression. Great. He might as well have shot Bambi right between the eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I was sleep-deprived and slow on the delay. I know that’s no excuse, and I know I ruined your life and...” Shame washed over him, and he looked down at the carpet. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that day, but I couldn’t sit here and pretend I didn’t know who you were.”
“You tried to deliver roses to me.” The accusation came out a hoarse monotone.
“Yes.” He batted the paperclip between his palms, a nervous habit he’d developed years ago. On second thought, he picked up the twisted bit of metal and began to straighten it. “I was hoping you hadn’t heard the broadcast and that everything might still work out for you. You have no idea how badly I felt about what happened.”
The shell-shocked expression never left her face as she gripped the desk with whitened knuckles and pushed to her feet. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”
Before he could reply, she sped to the door, fumbled with the knob, and quickly strode from the office.
Oh, way to go, Craig. You just blew any chance of keeping your family together. Summer Raine will rescind her offer to work with you, and Rainey-Day-Wife as a whole will reject you. Then, you’ll screw up once too often, and Chelsea will swoop in and steal your kids. Along with your entire life.
Once again, the evil alter ego Cliff Hanger had potentially destroyed something precious to Craig Hartmann.