His Potential Wife. Grace GreenЧитать онлайн книгу.
And you must find a new place, for yourself, in their wounded hearts.”
Wounded hearts.
Out of the blue, the words brought a tightness to Willow’s throat and tears to her eyes as she remembered how wounded her own heart had been after her father had died.
And she knew, then, that she wouldn’t run away from this daunting task that fate had sent her. She would stay on, at Summerhill, for as long as these children needed her.
“Good morning, Ms. Tyler.”
“Good morning, Dr. Galbraith.”
Scott leaned back against the counter, one hand wrapped around his coffee mug, as he regarded his new employee who had just raced into the kitchen. She’d come to a breathless halt and was darting a panicky glance around the room, taking in the harvest table with its empty chairs.
Flustered and flushed, she blurted out, “I’m sorry, I slept in and the children aren’t in their rooms and—”
“Not a very good start.” He sent her a look of challenge. “I hope this isn’t going to be a regular occurrence?”
“No, of course not!” Her flush deepened. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Perhaps my children are too much for you. They tired you out yesterday?”
She ran her hands nervously down the sides of her shorts. “The first day with a new family isn’t always easy. But your children are definitely not too much for me. Now if you’ll just tell me where they are—”
“Relax.” He put down his mug and filled another one with coffee. “They’ve been fed and watered and they’re in the den, watching TV. Lizzie’s in charge. But you and I need to talk. Please sit down.”
He saw wariness flicker in her eyes—wariness and anxiety.
What a funny little creature she was, he reflected as he set her mug on the table. If he’d had to choose one word to describe her, it would be “forgettable.” Swiftly he ran a gaze over her and took in sandy sun-streaked hair scraped back in a neat ponytail. Eyes that couldn’t make up their mind if they were green or gray. Nice skin but without a scrap of makeup other than a touch of pink lip gloss. And under her white T-shirt and perky pink shorts, the slim figure of a teenage boy.
As she slipped onto her seat and reached awkwardly for her coffee mug, he frowned. She hardly seemed the same person he’d had the altercation with in Morganti’s. Then she’d been all fire and spit and though she’d irritated the hell out of him, he’d had to admire her spunk. Now she looked ready to jump out of her skin.
He dragged out the chair opposite hers and sat down. “Ms. Tyler.” He tried to keep the impatience from his voice. “Do you think I’m an ogre?”
She blinked. “No, of course not—”
“Ms. Tyler.” He rat-tatted the fingers of one hand on the pine table surface. “If we’re to have any kind of a working relationship, you’re going to have to be honest with me. I’ll ask you again, do you think I’m an ogre?”
She met his gaze steadily. “No, Dr. Galbraith, I don’t.”
“Well, good.” He leaned back in his chair. “So—” he quirked one black eyebrow “—what do you think of me?”
“It’s early days, Dr. Galbraith. I don’t—”
“You must have formed some opinion!”
Ah, now he saw her eyes spark with the same fire he’d noticed at their first meeting.
“All right,” she said. “Since you insist on knowing, I’ll give you my opinion. I believe that ever since your wife’s death you’ve been wallowing around in an absolute emotional mess and you’re pretty sure your children are, too, especially Lizzie, so you’ve been cutting them all a lot of slack—way too much slack—and they’ve taken advantage of it. Are still taking advantage of it. And of you. In a nutshell, they’re totally out of control—which is something a man like you finds intolerable but under the circumstances you’re suffering it and this is putting even more stress on you. Oh, you’re in quite a pickle, Dr. Galbraith. Quite a pickle.”
Her words scraped still-tender scars off painful wounds, exposing raw nerves that screamed in protest. He felt blood pound against his eardrums, but even as he struggled to curb his emotions, a surge of anger sent reason flying out the window.
The girl was outspoken and way out of line.
He would fire her.
His decision was swiftly made…the way he made most decisions. He was not, nor had he ever been, a ditherer.
But before he could tell her she was “out,” he heard the thunder of approaching feet accompanied by Amy’s screams and Lizzie’s gratingly familiar “Pest! Pest! Pest!”
And as the noise reverberated in his head, he acknowledged—reluctantly, frustratedly, wearily—that firing Ms. Tyler was not an option. She was right. He was in a pickle, one helluva pickle. And though she was far too blunt for her own good, he had to admit he’d asked for it.
Furthermore, the reason she’d managed to upset him was that she’d hit the nail on the head…and the truth hurt.
Willow Tyler was as perspicacious as she was plain.
And she had survived a day that would have sent any of his previous five nannies running for the hills.
So after all, though Ms. Tyler had certainly got off to a bad start this morning, there was still a hope—however small that hope might be—that she would turn out to be the one person who could make his small family functional again.
“You certainly don’t pull your punches,” he said. “But I did ask for your opinion so I can’t complain. I hope you’ll always be as forthright with me. If there’s one quality I appreciate in a person, it’s honesty…and the flip side, of course, is that I can’t tolerate deceit!”
He saw an odd expression flicker over her eyes—he thought for a moment it was fear, but he quickly dismissed the idea. She had told him the truth, so what did she have to be afraid of? Puzzled, he tried to figure out what it could have been…but before he could come up with an answer, he heard his storming troops thunder ever closer. With a wince, he forgot all about Ms. Tyler’s odd expression and shoved himself up from the table.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said hurriedly, “I have to go out. I’ll be back in the early afternoon.”
Feeling like a commander deserting on the eve of battle, he swiveled around and strode to the back door. Wrenching it open, he stepped outside and slammed the door shut just as his children erupted into the kitchen.
He stood on the stoop, leaning back against the door and sending up a prayer of gratitude for his timely escape.
Then inhaling a deep breath of the morning-scented air, he was about to leave when through the open window he heard the nanny say, in a clear and decidedly no-nonsense voice, “Before we make any plans for the day, I want you to know how upset I was last night when I discovered that one or more of you had snuck into my room and destroyed some of my treasures.”
He froze where he stood. They’d sneaked into her room? They’d not only gone through her private things, but they had destroyed some of them?
Anger swelled up inside him. This was intolerable. He’d march inside right now and sort the little devils out. But good!
Wheeling around, he reached for the door handle. No way should she have to put up with—
He stopped himself just as he touched the knob.
And told himself to calm down.
Think it through.
And when he did, he realized it would be a major mistake to insert himself into the situation. He couldn’t run interference every time