Chapter Two

Will couldn’t get rid of Gina Dunn fast enough. She hovered over him, an annoying gadfly of concern. “Sorry you’re hurt. Should I get you some ice?”

“Stand back,” he warned, sitting up. Harry and Ian watched him from either side of Gina, who’d laid a reassuring hand on each boy’s shoulder. He scowled at the cozy threesome they made, feeling strangely left out. “What were you doing with my boys?”

“Harry…we were just…I thought—”

“Never mind.” Stifling a groan, he rose to his feet.

Gina pushed back a wet strand covering one eye and lifted her chin. “We were just having fun.”

He rubbed his shoulder that had hit the ground bearing her weight and his. “The ‘fun’ is over now.”

“Would you like to join us?”

He sighed. This woman was a piece of work, shrieking and laughing with his sons like an overgrown four-year-old. Their noisy play had drawn him to the French doors, where he’d stared in disbelief at the threesome dashing around the back lawn. None of that carefree abandon had surfaced in Gina’s interview. She’d seemed quite solemn.

“You’re busy,” she went on, “with lots on your plate. But your boys want attention, and I can help you with that.”

Was she serious? “Thanks, but I don’t think so.” A steady throb from his old knee injury joined the ache in his groin and cried out for a soothing soak in the Jacuzzi. Tonight, if a miracle happened and he got the boys to bed at a decent hour.

He turned to his sons. “Harry, Ian, come with me. It’s time I dropped you off at daycare.”

“No!” Harry protested. “We want her.”

“Sorry, but it’s time for Gina to go.”

Harry shook his head. “We want her for our nanny.”

“Yeah,” Ian chimed in. “We like ’er.”

Seeing the yearning in his sons’ faces, he felt like an ogre.

“We’ll be good,” Harry promised, “and pick up our trucks.”

“And get dressed,” his naked brother added.

“And not spill our milk.”

“Or play with our food.”

“We’ll take naps every day.”

Sure you will. When pigs fly. Will shooed them toward the house. “Get towels and dry off, boys. Clean clothes are on your beds.” He strode toward the house, the persistent Ms. Dunn at his heels.

“I think you should reconsider me as a nanny to your boys.”

He walked faster, ignoring her. Scrambling footsteps sounded behind him, followed by a dull thud and faint cry. Had she fallen and hurt herself? He turned as she pushed off the ground and hurried toward him, breathing hard. Her wet hair had formed ringlets around her face, softening her expression. She looked a lot better wet than dry.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Please hear me out.”

He shook his head. “My sons need a qualified nanny, not a playmate.”

“But the boys and I have bonded. That’s terribly important.”

“Their safety is even more so.” He resumed walking, Gina once more hurrying to keep up. At the porch, he left her dripping on the doormat. “Stay here.”

He returned with a beach towel and watched her wrap it snugly around her. Glimpsing her full breasts and trim waist, his jaw tightened. “Leave the towel on the porch,” he said, closing the door.

Her hand shot out to stop it. “Please give me a chance. Just for one day.”

Eyeing her through the narrow opening, he paused. This woman was no quitter.

“Your boys need me,” she said, as if sensing his hesitation. “How many other applicants have they asked for?”

None.

She eased the door wider. “A conventional nanny may not work for your…lively boys. And I might be just the one you’ve been looking for.”

Arms folded, he considered her words. His sons clearly liked her. She’d made them laugh, and she knew how to play. But could she restore order to their chaotic home? And keep his boys safe? And teach them some manners? A one-day trial might tell him a lot. “It takes special skills to care for challenging children,” he said.

She dabbed her forehead with the towel. “Why are they so challenging?”

“They miss their mother.”

“How often do they see her?”

He regretted not closing the door when he’d had the chance. “Their mother is dead.”

At her startled gasp, he cut off her predictable sympathy. “I assume you have a valid driver’s license and the proper insurance.”

“Yes. I’ll bring copies.”

He rubbed his chin. Maybe he’d sized her up wrong. This woman was full of contradictions, from her primness to her playfulness to her sensual perfume. She smelled like roses. During their close encounter on the hard-packed ground, he’d been struck by her scent, like a tantalizing secret.

Her bedraggled appearance did nothing to inspire confidence, nor did the way she eyed him like a starving coyote. The only sure thing was she wanted this job. “If anything comes up you can’t handle, call my cell phone. Right away.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re giving me a chance?”

He nodded, scarcely believing it himself. “Come back tomorrow. Just for one day.”

…

Gina knocked on Will’s front door the following morning and began her affirmation. I am a skilled nanny… She scowled. Screw that. She was not a skilled nanny, she was a loyal big sister, and this one hard-earned day might be her only chance to search Will’s home. Finding the Vandenburg diamonds stashed in his den was too much to hope for, but she might find a clue to their whereabouts.

Will opened the door, his eyes cool, his greeting terse. “Morning.”

He wore a gray blazer and slacks, a white shirt and maroon tie, minus the dishtowel slung over his shoulder. She stepped inside, equally terse. “Morning.”

The house was silent. “We’ll talk in the den,” he said. “The boys are still sleeping.”

Her hopes lifted as she followed him. If Will left soon, she might have time to give the den a thorough search before the boys woke and demanded her attention.

“Have a seat.” Will sat behind his desk and eyed her with a frown. She resented his lack of confidence in her abilities, even as she shared it. Raised in a “dysfunctional family,” she knew zilch about kids, other than helping her brother. The water-fight caper had been a lucky break. Today would be a whole different story.

Will leaned across the desk to hand her a sheet of paper. “I’ve drawn up a daily schedule for you.”

You would. Yet she was glad to have some direction and read with interest.

Dress Children. Serve Breakfast. Brush Teeth.

She nodded. Okay.

Wash Ian’s Bedding.

“Hmm.” She glanced up at Will. “Is there something about Ian that I should know?”

“He wets the bed every night.”

“Oh.” She paused. “He’s not toilet-trained?”

“He is during the day.”

She waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she looked back at the schedule.

Initiate Outdoor Activities Involving Use of Large Motor Skills and Balance.

A vigorous game of tag should take care of that. She saw herself shouting encouragement, the boys running.

Initiate Indoor Activities Involving Fine Motor Skills and Eye-Hand Coordination.

Paper and crayons. Maybe scissors, if things went well.

She scanned the rest of the schedule looking for a particular item. Ah, there it was.

Nap – Optional.

Her mouth tightened. Optional, like hell. The boys had to sleep so she could search Will’s house.

She glanced up to find his frown still in place. She’d overdone it again with her thrift-store attire, thinking nannies should look nonthreatening and a bit dowdy. Apparently, a misconception, but she wanted to be consistent. Today she wore a yellow smock with an ankle-length navy skirt and Birkenstocks. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head and stood to give her a quick tour of the downstairs and show her the notepad with his cell phone number. “Call me—for any reason,” he said.

“I will.”

He paused. “I’m counting on you, Gina. Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t.” Anger stirred within her. She’d never been deceptive before, and she wouldn’t be here now if Will hadn’t framed an innocent man for his own crimes.

She had to keep reminding herself of that. Maybe he’d needed the money from the jewels to care for his boys, but that didn’t justify what he’d done to her brother.

Seeing his anxious expression, she repressed an urge to reassure him. Or tell him about the dab of shaving cream behind his left ear. It would be so easy to reach up and swipe it off with her fingertips. She inhaled sharply. What is wrong with me?

Will left for his office, his expression grim, and she hurried to search the den in case the boys were early risers. She began with the desk drawers. The center one contained writing paraphernalia—pens, yellow notepads, envelopes and stamps, and brochures for Will’s company. She pulled one out and read it: DREAM ENTERPRISES. Complete Remodeling Services. Kitchens, Bathrooms, Decks. Call today for the home of your dreams. She shook her head. Nothing here.

The next drawer contained bank statements. She pulled them out, hoping to discover large deposits reflecting the jewelry he may have fenced. Much to her disappointment, Will drew a modest salary. No suspicious activity.

She moved on to the second drawer, which held correspondence. Several envelopes bore the return address of an attorney. Focused on her search, she lost track of the time.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Gina gasped and dropped the envelope in her hand as she glanced up to see Harry standing in the doorway. He wore Spiderman pajamas and clutched a frayed blanket.

She took a deep breath and tried not to look guilty. “Good morning, Harry. I was looking for a pencil.” She bent to retrieve the bank statement and slip it back into the drawer. Sliding it shut, she glanced back at Harry. “You’re up early today.”

“Me and Ian want another water fight.”

She suppressed a shudder. “We need to wait for Ian to wake up.”

“He’s awake. He’s watching cartoons.”

“Oh. Well, I need to wash his pajamas and sheets. It’s on my list of things to do.”

“Okay. I’ll get his pajamas off him.”

“He’ll need clothes,” she called to his retreating back. She watched him head toward the family room where the TV was located. An early morning chill hung in the air. As much as she wanted to examine the lawyer info, she couldn’t stop thinking about Ian, shivering and cold. She stood just as Harry returned carrying Ian’s wet pajamas. Sensing his intent to hand them to her, she pointed to the doorway. “Take them to the washing machine, Harry. I’ll come, too.”

He led her through the kitchen and into a spacious laundry room lit by a window overlooking the backyard. She opened the lid to the washing machine, and Harry dropped Ian’s pajamas inside.

“Thanks, Harry. You’d better wash your hands.”

He regarded her silently.

“By the way,” she said, “what is Ian wearing?”

“Nothing.”

“Could he borrow your blanket?”

“No.”

She sighed. “I’ll get him some clothes then and wash his bedding.”

“Then we can have the water fight.”

“No, it’s too early. We’ll wake the neighbors.”

Harry scrunched up his face. “You’re no fun anymore.”

“We’ll have fun sooner if you help. Come upstairs with me and bring Ian his clothes.”

Harry shook his head. “Ian doesn’t like to wear clothes.”

“He will if he’s cold.”

But Harry was on his way back to the family room and cartoons. She followed and spotted Ian hugging a teddy bear as he sat naked and cross-legged on the carpet in front of the wide-screen TV. She found a Spiderman lap robe on the recliner and wrapped it around Ian’s shoulders to envelope him in warmth, “I’m going to run you a bath,” she told him.

“Don’t want one.”

“It’s not a choice.” She left him there to go upstairs to his bedroom to strip the sheets off his bed, run his bath, and set out the boys’ clothes. By the time she’d walked downstairs and started a wash load, she was in no mood to be put off. She returned to the family room and placed herself between the boys and the TV screen, which captured their indignant attention.

“It’s time for your bath, Ian. Harry, you need to get dressed.”

“I’m not taking a bath,” Ian protested.

“No bath, no water fight.”

“Why do we need to get dressed?” Harry asked. “We’ll just get wet and have to change.”

Good point. But Ian was naked, so she held firm. “The neighbors will see us.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do. No clothes, no water fight.”

Harry scowled and folded his arms. Gina reached behind her and snapped off the TV. Time for a diversion. “Do you guys like pancakes? When you’re dressed, you can help me make them.”

“We never get to cook,” Harry said.

“Well, today you can.” Hoping she hadn’t started something she’d regret, she followed them upstairs. Once Ian was safely out of the bathtub, she headed back down to the kitchen in search of pancake fixings.

Moments later, Harry walked in dressed in cowboy gear. “I’m ready.”

“Okay.” She moved the stool so he could sit in front of the mixing bowl. He dumped water from the measuring cup into the pancake mix and began stirring awkwardly.

Ian walked into the kitchen wearing only his blanket slung over one shoulder. “I want a turn.”

“Oops, you forgot your clothes.”

Ian slumped to the floor, wailing.

“As soon as you get dressed…” Ian’s howls drowned out her words. She turned back to Harry. “Let’s cook one for you.”

Ian stopped bawling to protest. “I wanna do it, too.”

“Get dressed, and you can.” Gritting her teeth at his renewed sobs, she helped Harry pour batter into the sizzling skillet. Ian fled the room, which made her uneasy, but returned minutes later wearing a purple shirt, blue swim trunks, and yellow rain boots.

She nodded. “I like it.”

While Harry ate his pancakes, she and Ian cooked more. The boys ate, then Harry was at her again for the water fight. His demand put a crimp in her plan to search the den. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” she said.

“You can wear a towel, like yesterday.”

“Towels fall off when you move.”

“You promised.”

Ian appeared at her side and handed her a bundle of blue- and white-striped flannel.

She unfolded it carefully. “These look like your dad’s pajamas.”

Ian shook his head. “He’s not our real dad.”

Thinking she’d misunderstood, she looked down at his solemn face.

“Our mom’s coming to get us,” Harry added. “Soon as she finds out where we are.”

She stared at the boys in amazement. Had Will lied? Ian and Harry looked too much like him not to be his. But what about his wife? “How did you come to live with Will?” she asked.

“He came to our house and took us,” Harry said.

She bit back her shock. Had these boys been snatched from their loving mother? No, that couldn’t be. Will lived too openly to be a noncustodial abductor. His wife must be dead, like he’d said. But why didn’t the boys know that? And why did they deny Will was their father? These poor little guys were very confused.

Her grip tightened on the flannel pajamas. In counseling sessions, she’d been labeled a rescuer. She picked up litter, sent money to environmental causes, and pulled her brother out of scrapes. Now Ian and Harry were tugging on her sympathies, too, a tug she must resist if she was to help Kyle. Despite the hurt she saw in the young faces before her, this was not her battle to fight.

She looked down at the wadded bundle in her hands. Wearing Will’s pajamas was way too personal. They carried his scent, and they’d brushed his bare skin. Everywhere.

She opened her mouth to tell the boys no but stopped at the hopeful gleam in their eyes. This water fight meant the world to them, for some reason, and that realization overcame her objections. She couldn’t give Ian and Harry forever, but she could give them now.

She smiled. “Okay, guys, wait here while I change.”

Both boys let out a whoop as she ducked into the bathroom off the kitchen. Ian and Harry were going to get the water fight of their lives. Even if it meant wearing Will Sinclair’s pajamas.

…

An hour later, they sloshed back into the house, drenched but laughing. Gina marched both boys upstairs for dry clothes. Ian balked at getting dressed again, so she tried the pancake contingency she’d used earlier. “We’re going downstairs to play, Ian. Come join us when you’re dressed.”

Harry helped bring the wet towels and clothes and Will’s pajamas to the laundry room. Gina put Ian’s bedding in the dryer and put on a second load to wash. Then she and Harry went to the family room and got out wooden blocks. Harry liked to build tall towers and knock them down, she discovered.

She worried about Ian, whom she’d left naked and sulking in his room, but he appeared minutes later, wearing a tank top and shorts.

A high-pitched squealing drew her back to the washing machine. The squealing stopped when she lifted the lid to shift the clothes but resumed when she lowered the lid. She stood, hands on hips, as the squealing was joined by a rhythmic rubbing sound. As the machine began to rock, she smelled burnt rubber.

Cripes! She shut off the washer, filled to the brim with soapy water and clothes. This appeared to be a job for a repairman. In the silence, she heard yelling and hurried back to the family room in time to see Ian heave a six-inch wooden block at Harry’s tower. The block sailed past its target and hit the large picture window with a loud crunch. Spider-leg cracks speared across the width of the glass. Gina gasped then swore.

Both boys turned to her, their mouths round O’s. “That’s a bad word.”

She knelt to make eye contact with Ian. “Why did you throw the block?”

“Harry knocked over my tower.”

“Did not,” Harry countered.

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did—”

“Okay, okay.” She raised her hands, palms out. “Let’s pick up the blocks and get out Play-Doh.”

Moments later, Harry and Ian were cutting out Play-Doh cookies at the kitchen table, and she slipped back to Will’s den. The bottom side drawer of his desk was locked, and she searched in vain for the key. Disgruntled, she returned to the kitchen and found Ian and Harry eating their dough.

“Boys, no!” she said, thrusting paper napkins at each of them. “That’ll make you sick. Spit it out.”

“They’re our cookies,” Harry protested.

“They’re pretend cookies.” She sighed. It was obvious she couldn’t leave the boys alone for one minute. Her only hope was to get them to take a nap, which meant she’d have to tire them out. “Let’s make real cookies.”

“Okay.” Their eyes gleamed.

An hour later, flour coated the kitchen table and floor, as well as the boys. But they smiled as the first batch of cookies went into the oven. The kitchen phone rang. It was Will. “How’s it going?”

“Just great,” she assured him. Except for the broken washing machine and the cracked window.

“Are the boys dressed?”

His deep, male voice sent shivers of arousal down her spine. She hadn’t noticed his sensual tone before. She’d been too focused on his gladiator looks. “Yes, both of them are dressed.”

“Has Ian had a bath?”

“He and Harry both.”

“How was breakfast?”

“We made pancakes,” she said. “Now, we’re making cookies.”

He paused, and she sensed his doubts.

“Let me speak to Harry.”

“Certainly. I’ll untie him from his chair.”

“What?”

“Just kidding.” She thumped her forehead. Ditch the attitude.

Harry took the receiver and answered his father in monotones—“yeah” and “no.” Ian came next and was equally terse.

When she took the phone back, Will said, “I’ll be home around four o’clock. Be sure to call if you have a problem.”

“You bet.” She hung up the phone then turned to see smoke pouring from the oven. The cookies were burning! She raced to the oven and whipped out two trays of smoldering black mounds. She swore again, and Ian started to cry.

“It’s okay,” she said. “We’ve got more dough.”

The burnt cookies went in the trash, and the boys spooned more globs of dough onto the trays. When the second batch went in, she set the oven timer and took a deep breath. Was it only twelve o’clock?

The boys wanted Ants on a Log for lunch and had Gina cut celery sticks to fill in with peanut butter and raisins. Harry and Ian ate several then munched their misshapen cookies. At one o’clock, she suggested they take a nap. She could use one herself.

But no, they wanted to play. At her suggestion they read books, Harry shook his head. “Naw, we’ve read all our stuff.”

“I want to read about dinosaurs,” Ian said.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said. They could walk to the library she’d noticed a few blocks away and check out books on her King County library card. The long trek would surely tire the boys. Hand in hand, they set out and returned an hour later, each of them carrying plastic bags filled with their selections.

On the family room couch, Ian and Harry flopped down on either side of her and snuggled close. She put her arms around them and read Where the Wild Things Are. The boys grew quiet. Good sign. They were drowsy.

When she finished a second story, their eyes were closed. Finally. I’ve worn them out.

She’d give them a minute to sink into deep sleep then resume what might be her last search of the house. Leaning her head back on the couch, she closed her eyes. She would start with Will’s black filing cabinet. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself opening the top drawer.

A swarm of butterflies flew out, and Harry and Ian leaped to catch them, squealing and knocking over several block towers. The center drawer of the desk began spewing black smoke. Gina grabbed a potholder to wrench it open with one hand while picking up the jangling phone with the other. Will’s velvet voice purred in her ear. “How’s it going?”

“Just great!”

The boys became burning bundles in her arms, and she grew uncomfortably warm. She lifted her head and opened her eyes to check Harry. Sleeping soundly, he looked innocent and sweet, not at all the bratty beast who’d confronted her yesterday with his water gun. She ran her fingers through his thick brown hair and across his damp brow. She turned to do the same to Ian then, sensing movement, glanced up to see Will approaching slowly.

Caught in the crosshairs of his gaze, she froze. He stopped in front of her and slowly loosened his tie. A surge of attraction stirred low in her belly. Why did she find this man so compelling? Framing Kyle meant he had the morals of a snake.

“Sorry to wake you.” His midnight-soft voice held a hint of laughter.

“No problem.” Damn. Will was here, and her chance to search the rest of his house was gone.

The twins stirred at her sides and awoke.

“Hi, guys,” Will said. “How was your day?”

Harry rubbed his eyes. “Ian broke the window.”

“Gina broke the washing machine,” Ian countered.

“We had ants for lunch.”

Stunned, Gina looked from one boy to the other. The debrief continued.

“Gina said a bad word.”

“Two times,” Ian confirmed.

At the shock in Will’s eyes, she groaned. She was toast.

He knelt to examine the stack at her feet. “I see you got some books.”

“Yeah, we went to the library,” Ian said.

Harry was not done ratting her out. “We made cookies and got flour all over the floor.”

Ian frowned. “They were black.”

“We had a water fight.”

“Gina wore your pajamas.” Hands over their mouths, the boys snickered.

Will stood, his brows raised. Her cheeks burning, Gina studied the carpet.

“Sounds like you had a busy day,” he said.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “It was cool.”

Gina smiled. It had been cool, but she was going to be fired for a dozen reasons. Time for a quick exit. She scooted off the couch and turned to the boys. “Thanks for letting me spend the day with you guys.”

She shook their limp hands. “Goodbye, Harry. Goodbye, Ian.”

Disappointed frowns replaced their smiles, and guilt gnawed at her. She had earned the boys’ trust, and now she was leaving.

“I’ll see you out,” Will said.

“No need.” But he and the boys trailed her to the door as she kicked herself for botching her one-day trial. Maybe it was for the best. Ian and Harry were troubled boys who needed a real caregiver with lots of kid skills, not a clueless pseudo-nanny who was out to nail their dad.

She reached the front door and turned to give the boys a parting wave. As she lifted her hand, Will turned to Harry and Ian and said, “What do you think guys? Shall we ask Gina to come back again next week?”