“I can’t continue to take advantage of you like this. You need to call the agency and have them send you another nanny tomorrow.”

Charles could see she was serious. Her words were heartfelt. Tears gathered in her eyes.

“Melissa, what are you talking about? You’re a great nanny. You’re doing a great job. The kids love you,” he said with a smile. He wanted more than ever to take her in his arms. To comfort her. To reassure her. To kiss every inch of…but he couldn’t do that!

“Well, I love them, too,” Melissa said miserably.

“You only fell asleep last night because your nap was interrupted yesterday,” he said. She was looking down, so he cupped her jaw with his hand and tilted her chin up, compelling her to look at him. He let his hand drop and stepped back to a safer distance. His attraction to her was making him want to say things, express feelings he couldn’t possibly be feeling after just three days in her company. She’d think he was coming on to her.

Maybe he was.

Dear Reader,

This month we have a wonderful lineup of stories, guaranteed to warm you on these last chilly days of winter. First, Charlotte Douglas kicks things off with Surprise Inheritance, the third installment in Harlequin American Romance’s MILLIONAIRE, MONTANA series, in which a sexy sheriff is reunited with the woman he’s always loved when she returns to town to claim her inheritance.

Next, THE BABIES OF DOCTORS CIRCLE, Jacqueline Diamond’s new miniseries centered around a maternity and well-baby clinic, premieres this month with Diagnosis: Expecting Boss’s Baby. In this sparkling story, an unforgettable night of passion between a secretary and her handsome employer leads to an unexpected pregnancy.

Also available this month is Sweeping the Bride Away by Michele Dunaway. A bride-to-be is all set to wed “Mr. Boring” until she hires a rugged contractor who makes her pulse race and gives her second thoughts about her upcoming nuptials. Rounding things out is Professor & the Pregnant Nanny by Emily Dalton. This heartwarming story pairs a single dad in need of a nanny for his three adorable children with a woman who is alone, pregnant and in need of a job.

Enjoy this month’s offerings as Harlequin American Romance continues to celebrate twenty years of publishing the best in contemporary category romance fiction. Be sure to come back next month for more stories guaranteed to touch your heart!

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Professor & The Pregnant Nanny

Emily Dalton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my grandparents, Margaret Emily Rutherford Phillips and James Jerome Phillips. I still miss you.

And you still inspire me.

Love, Sis.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Two years ago, Emily Dalton moved with her husband and two sons to Centerville, Utah, into the house of her childhood dreams. A two-story Cape Cod with dormer windows and a covered porch that spans the front of the house says Leave It to Beaver in a big way.

Her “boys,” both in their early twenties, attend college within daily driving distance of the house, but keep busy with school, work and girls, leaving Emily and her husband plenty of time to spend together on their own.

Emily enjoys gardening and decorating, and she’s still addicted to chocolate, Victorian art, Jane Austen and traveling by train.

Books by Emily Dalton

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

586—MAKE ROOM FOR DADDY

650—HEAVEN CAN WAIT

666—ELISE & THE HOTSHOT LAWYER

685—WAKE ME WITH A KISS

706—MARLEY AND HER SCROOGE

738—DREAM BABY

783—INSTANT DADDY

823—A PRECIOUS INHERITANCE

926—A BABY FOR LORD RODERICK

964—PROFESSOR & THE PREGNANT NANNY

MISSY’S BEST CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE RECIPE

½ cup shortening and ½ cup butter, room temperature

1 cup packed brown sugar

½ cup granulated sugar

½ tsp baking soda

½ tsp salt

2 eggs

2 tsp vanilla

2 ½ cups all-purpose flour

1 ½ cups semisweet chocolate chips

1 cup toasted pecans, chopped (See below for quick directions for toasting.)

Preheat oven to 375°F. In a mixing bowl beat shortening and butter on medium speed for 60 seconds. Add brown sugar, granulated sugar, baking soda and salt. continue beating until all ingredients are well mixed. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Beat in as much of the flour as you can with the mixer. Stir in rest of flour using wooden spoon. Stir in chocolate chips and pecans. Drop dough by rounded teaspoons 2 inches apart on nonstick cookie sheets. Bake 8 to 10 minutes. Cool on wire rack. Makes about 5 dozen cookies.

(To quickly toast pecans, spread them on a paper or other microwave-safe plate. Microwave on high, stirring a few times, 4 to 4½ minutes until fragrant and lightly browned. Let cool completely before chopping.

This recipe will please the whole family, but leave out the nuts if you’re feeding a toddler! Serve with cold milk and warm hugs.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

“Dad, when will the new nanny get here?”

“Any minute now, Christopher,” Charles assured his four-year-old son as the two of them stood in the curve of the bay window that looked out over the front yard and the street beyond. “And she’s not really new, Christopher. She’s just temporary, till Mrs. Butters gets back.”

Christopher nodded, his carrot-red hair shining in the sun that streamed in from the bright July morning. He stood imitating his father, with his hands on his hips, both of them watching as an occasional car drove down Harvard Avenue at the sedate, residential speed of twenty-five miles an hour. But when a promising-looking minivan slowed down, then passed by without depositing their expected nanny, Christopher grew impatient.

“Did you say ‘any minute,’ Dad? ’Cause Sarah’s hair’s all tangled and stickin’ out, and Daniel’s got oatmeal down his pants and all over his face and hands.”

“Any minute,” Charles repeated, more to reassure himself than Christopher, since their fill-in nanny was already fifteen minutes late. But sticky oatmeal down Daniel’s pants and on various parts of his body didn’t seem to be keeping him from enjoying watching The Lion King with Sarah in the family room just down the hall, so there was probably no rush. In fact, Daniel would probably squawk if Charles interrupted one of his favorite scenes in the movie to haul him off for a bath. And as for Sarah’s hair, he’d probably do more harm than good if he took a brush to those fine, tangled curls of hers.

Still…where was the nanny?

The temporary nanny service, Nanny on the Spot, had come highly recommended by his permanent nanny, Mrs. Butters, who had had to dash out of the house early that morning to catch a plane. Her father had died unexpectedly the day before, and Mrs. Butters was going to New Orleans to attend the funeral and be with family for a week. Charles had called the agency at seven o’clock, and was promised a nanny by nine.

If he didn’t have a lecture to prepare for an important conference on Saturday, Charles would have simply taken the week off and handled his three small children on his own. Hadn’t he done just that when Annette had died two years ago, leaving him with a month-old baby and two toddlers?

After the tragic accident that had instantly killed his wife, Charles had taken a three-month leave of absence from his position as Professor of Astronomy at Westminster College and devoted himself full-time to caring for his children and coping with his grief, and, with the support of friends and his sister, Lily, he’d somehow managed. But now he was back to teaching full-time—even agreeing to two classes this summer—and was up to his ears in research on a new invention. And then there was the lecture this Saturday….

Charles normally had a busy schedule, but he always made sure he had plenty of time to spend with the children. Recently, however, he’d probably taken on a few more projects than he should have. He was fully aware that having Mrs. Butters there to tend the children and take care of the household was what kept him afloat as a father.

Charles easily managed the basics of bathing, storytelling and roughhousing, but he didn’t have a clue how to get Kool-Aid stains out of children’s clothing, bake holiday-shaped sugar cookies with sprinkles, or comb Sarah’s unruly brown hair into those neat little pigtails she wore. Nor did he have any idea what time the Teletubbies came on…though he did know it was Daniel’s favorite television program.

What if the nanny didn’t show up at all?

Christopher made an exasperated sound by blowing air through pursed lips and tugged on Charles’s pants pocket till he looked down. Peering up at his father from under thick brown eyelashes that were just like his mother’s, he announced, “I don’t think she’s ever going to come.”

The expression on Christopher’s small face probably reflected his own, which Charles was sure showed his impatience and worry. Determined to lighten up, he smiled and ruffled Christopher’s hair. “What is that thing Mrs. Butters always says? A watched pot never boils? We’re being a couple of watch-pots, Christopher. So, let’s quit looking out the window and watching for the nanny and see if we can lure Daniel away from The Lion King and into the tub. I might even try my hand at doing Sarah’s pigtails. What do you think, kiddo?”

Christopher followed his father’s long legs out of the room, his own short legs hurrying to keep up. “Well, you can try, Dad. But first tell me…what’s a watch-pot?”

MELISSA GLANCED at the car clock. It was already nine-fifteen and she was still several blocks from Harvard Avenue! She’d been promised the first call-in job that morning and had known she’d be working, so she should have set her alarm. She knew darn well it took her at least a half an hour longer these days to get ready in the morning.

Being eight-and-a-half months pregnant in July was no picnic. Her feet and ankles used to swell only in the afternoon and evenings, but now every morning she woke up with swollen feet, which made it rather difficult to wedge them into shoes. And if she wore her athletic shoes, which were the most comfortable for her back and legs, there were shoelaces to tie. No one had ever warned her about the difficulty of tying shoes over the protuberance of a nearly full-term pregnant belly!

Melissa sighed and pushed an already damp wisp of hair out of her eyes. The air conditioning in the car was on the fritz, and it was going to be another scorcher. But the heatwave and everything else would be much easier to bear if only there was someone around to tie her shoes for her, or rub that achy spot in the small of her back after a long day, or run down to the deli when she got that insatiable urge for salt-and-vinegar potato chips or a big, fat kosher pickle.

Melissa shook her head and smiled wryly at herself in the rearview mirror. There she went again, wishing she had a partner in this parent thing. But what good would a partner be if he’d never wanted you to be pregnant in the first place, cheated on you, maxed out your joint credit cards, and expected to be waited on as if you were his slave and he was King of Siam? In other words, if he was anything like her ex-husband and the father of her unborn child. No, she didn’t mind getting her own pickles, thank you very much. Divorcing Brad was the best thing she’d ever done for herself and her baby.

Melissa decided that even thinking of Brad was probably bad for her and the baby, so she took deep, cleansing breaths and diverted her thoughts by looking out the window at an east-side neighborhood in the Salt Lake City foothills she’d always admired. Large sycamore and maple trees lined the curving streets, and classically styled houses ranging from imposing Tudors and Queen Annes to smaller, but just as charming, brick bungalows and English cottages stood at the bottom of deep, well-tended lawns.

Melissa wondered what kind of house this Professor Avery owned. All she knew about him was his occupation, last name, the number and ages of the children she’d been hired to take care of for the next five days and his address. She’d also been told that his wife had had to go out of state to a funeral, and he needed help while she was gone. Three children aged four and under, would definitely be a handful, especially for a working dad.

Suddenly she spied the address she was seeking on the side of a bricked-in mailbox. She looked at the house and felt several indefinable emotions at once.

It was a large Tudor with climbing ivy and blooming clematis covering a good portion of the front of the house, big trees shading the side yard, and the tops of other trees in the back swaying in the wind above the wood-shingled roof. While imposing, it still looked homey and absolutely perfect for a house full of children.

It was just the sort of house Melissa had always dreamed of sharing with Brad and the children they would have together.

Suddenly those indefinable feelings she’d had when she first saw the house became crystal-clear. Because of the happily-ever-after dreams she’d started spinning the minute Brad had given her his class ring when they were juniors in high school and officially going steady, the house seemed almost…well…familiar, and she felt envy and nostalgia and the bittersweet loss of those dreams.

Where had it all gone wrong? she wondered for the millionth time. Brad had been captain of the football team, and although not a sterling student, he was a star athlete with scholarship offers to several colleges, and the most popular guy in school. She’d been head cheerleader, Homecoming Queen her senior year, and an A student. They were the “golden couple” at East High. She’d been on cloud nine in those days, the envy of all her girlfriends, headed for a bright future. But the reality of her future had been a far cry from everything she’d hoped and dreamed for as a naive and starry-eyed teenager.

She’d been only eighteen when she and Brad had married right out of high school. The wedding had been magical. The marriage had been a disaster.

To her surprise, Melissa felt the sting of sudden tears in her eyes. Angry at herself, she blinked several times and got rid of them.

Melissa drove up the long driveway of Professor and Mrs. Avery’s house, turned off the ignition and sat in the car for a moment, gathering her composure as she smoothed out the seat belt wrinkles from the front of her maternity blouse. Why was she thinking about Brad and being so emotional and weepy? It had to be the pregnancy hormones, because she was glad Brad was out of her life.

Of course, it didn’t help her general frame of mind that she felt so awkward and large. She envied the movie stars who were confident enough to actually flaunt their pregnant bodies on the covers of magazines…some of them not even wearing clothes! Maybe she didn’t feel pretty because Brad had always chided her whenever she gained even as little as two or three pounds around the holidays. With an extra thirty pounds packed on around her middle—and, yes, a little bit on her fanny, too—he’d definitely think she was unattractive now.

Melissa snapped down the sunshade and looked in the mirror. At least from the neck up she looked the same as before her pregnancy. Today, though, she hadn’t bothered to put on any makeup other than a dab of lipstick, and had had pulled her shoulder-length hair into a practical ponytail. Fortunately, although her hair was naturally a pale blond, her eyebrows and eyelashes were dark.

She snapped the sunshade back into place and opened the car door. Her backside stuck to the hot vinyl of the bucket seat of her compact car as she struggled to get out. Melissa heaved a relieved sigh as she finally straightened up, pressing her hand into the small of her already-aching back.

Then she remembered her nanny bag, a small suitcase well-stocked with fun and useful items to help her on the job, as well as a few jars of toddler meals from her fledgling business, Missy’s Kid Cuisine. With a sigh, she bent over again, reached into the low-slung car and pulled out the suitcase.

Straightening up the second time was even harder than the first time. Clutching her suitcase, she shut the car door and headed for the house. She felt as though she was waddling, but couldn’t be sure. She was teetering slightly from side to side…was that waddling?

Melissa scolded herself again for dwelling on Brad and put on a bright smile as she rang the doorbell. She didn’t exactly feel bright, but she could fake it for the children’s sake.

The door was opened by a tall, lean man in a green-and-white pinstriped cotton shirt, the long sleeves folded to above his elbows, and jeans that were wet at both knees. He had auburn hair and green eyes and was, in a word…gorgeous. His sinewy forearms were damp and sudsy and he was holding a chubby, redheaded cherub with rosy cheeks. The towel-wrapped toddler was obviously fresh from the tub and smelled like watermelon-scented bubble bath.

Melissa was beginning to think she really was asleep and dreaming, because this man fit so perfectly with her idea of a hunky husband doing domestic duties, and he was doing them in her dream house! Mrs. Avery was one lucky lady.

After a couple of minutes, Melissa realized that not only she, but Professor Avery, seemed at a loss for words. He was staring at her, probably in the same way she was staring at him. But he couldn’t possibly be staring for the same reasons. She’d been struck by his good looks and obvious “good daddy” traits. Why he’d be speechless at the sight of a ready-to-burst pregnant lady in denim capri pants with a stretch panel, and a wrinkled white tent of a blouse, was beyond her comprehension.

Then it occurred to her that he might be a tad irritated that she was nearly half an hour late. “Professor Avery, I’m sorry. I know I was supposed to be here at nine,” she said, offering an apologetic smile. “I won’t be late again.”

Still he said nothing.

She was about to break the awkward silence once again when he finally said something. Something she hadn’t expected at all. “Missy? Missy Richardson?”

Melissa frowned. He knew her? And he knew her by her high-school nickname, the name no one but Brad, her parents and her two brothers still called her? But she didn’t know him. Certainly if they’d ever crossed paths before, she’d remember.

“I’m sorry, have we met?”

He smiled. “I’m Charles Avery.”

Melissa stared. He had a wonderful smile. Straight, white teeth. Sexy dimples. But she had no idea who he was.

His smile wavered a little. “We went to school together.”

Melissa searched frantically through her memory, but her continued silence told all. How embarrassing. She didn’t remember him! But maybe she could fake it.

“Oh, yes. Charles Avery. So…have you seen anyone from the old gang lately? I confess I lost track years ago.”

Now Professor Avery’s smile changed from a spontaneous expression of pleasure to one of wry resignation. “If you’re asking about ‘the old gang,’ you don’t remember me, Melissa. We didn’t exactly hang out with the same crowd of kids.”

Melissa blushed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t remember you. Please tell me how we…er…knew each other.”

“I was in your trig class, senior year.”

Melissa remembered her trigonometry class. It had been a subject that threatened her grade point average. Her predominantly right-brained mentality had always made any sort of advanced math challenging, and she’d have never received a decent grade in that class if it hadn’t been for—

Melissa’s hand flew to her mouth. “You sat behind me. You were the boy with the—”

“Glasses so thick and round you could use them for hockey pucks,” he finished for her, again with that slight, crooked smile.

Now Melissa remembered Charles Avery. But not like this…She couldn’t help it. She gave him another once-over, from head to toe, from gleaming auburn hair to wide shoulders, trim hips and endlessly long legs in snug jeans and trendy athletic shoes. Could this be the skinny, shy guy with bright red hair and glasses that obscured what were obviously very beautiful eyes? He’d been shy and polite and incredibly smart back then. And very, very nice. In fact, if not for him…

“Now it’s coming back to me,” she murmured, her hand still hovering near her mouth. “You were the reason I got a decent grade in that class. You tutored me. You came to my house for three weeks, right?”

He nodded. “Four nights a week.”

“Till I was finally able to comprehend what Mr. Daynes was trying to teach us.” Her hand dropped to her side and she asked, not very hopefully, “Did I ever thank you properly?”

He shrugged, then shifted the cherubic toddler he was holding from one hip to the other. “Well, I remember something about some cookies—”

“Dad, is this the temp’rary nanny?”

Melissa looked down and noticed two little faces peering around Charles’s legs. There was a redheaded boy and a little girl with a mass of curly, bed-rumpled hair so full of static it was sticking to her father’s pants. She was still in her pajamas.

“I think so,” Charles replied, casting Melissa an assessing look, his gaze lowering ever-so-briefly to her pregnant stomach. “They didn’t give me a name. Are you the nanny we requested from the agency, Melissa?”

Melissa could feel her cheeks burning. She didn’t think Charles sounded exactly sure whether or not he wanted her answer to be yes. As well, it suddenly occurred to her that Charles might be shocked to see her in this job. Back in high school she’d been president of the Future Business Leaders of America. Despite her slight math handicap, she’d always been good in business classes back then and had had big plans.

But look at her now! She was embarrassed. Very embarrassed. Charles wasn’t making her feel that way, and she loved being a part-time nanny, but it didn’t take an Einstein to figure out that Charles Avery, labeled a nerd in high school and excluded from her popular circle, had made something of himself, while she on the other hand…

At thirty-one she was already divorced, struggling to get the college degree she’d put off while helping Brad through school, and had to work a part-time job to make ends meet while she paid off debts from her failed marriage and tried to succeed at a business venture she should have started years ago. Actually, it was the things about her life Charles didn’t know that were most embarrassing, so if she could keep them a secret, maybe she’d make it through the week without dying of shame.

“Yes, I’m your nanny,” she finally answered, speaking directly to the little boy. “And I can’t wait to get started.”

Now she looked pointedly at Charles, who took the hint and stepped aside to allow her to enter the house.

“Well…that’s great,” Charles said, not very convincingly as he shut the door behind them and led Melissa into a large living room. He motioned to a chair. “I’ll introduce you to the kids, then we can…you know…get started.”

As Melissa settled in the chair Charles indicated, he and the children sat down on a sofa directly opposite her. Charles seemed to be trying to avoid staring at her pregnant belly as he introduced the children—Christopher, four, Sarah, three, and Daniel, two—but none of the children were shy about staring. As soon as his father stopped to draw breath, Christopher directed a question to the object of all their thoughts. “Are you going to have a baby or somethin’?”

Melissa smiled. “Oh, it’s not a something. It’s a baby, all right. I’ve seen pictures.”

Christopher’s eyes widened. “Wow. Already? But how—?”

“When are you due, Melissa?” Charles broke in, probably trying to curtail Christopher’s questions as well as to discover for himself whether or not he had to worry about a pregnant woman going into labor while she was supposed to be taking care of his children.

“Not for two weeks,” she told him, hoping he found that fact reassuring.

He nodded, but there was still a tiny fissure of worry between his eyebrows. “And…and how’s Brad doing?”

Melissa should have been expecting the question, but it still took her by surprise. She had no idea what to say. Did she dare admit that she and Brad were divorced? That the golden couple from East High had had a tarnished marriage? That she was paying off credit card bills from Brad’s extravagant support of his mistress, the rent on that woman’s apartment and all the little trinkets he bought her?

Probably bored by now with the grown-up talk, Christopher scrambled off the couch, grabbed a ball from the corner of the room, and began tossing it in the air.

Charles returned to the subject. “He’s probably pretty excited about the baby…Brad, I mean. Is this the first for you two?”

That’s when Melissa did it. She did it without thinking. She did it without considering repercussions or the very obvious moral arguments against it. She did it almost before Charles finished speaking.

She opened her mouth and out came the biggest lie of her life.

“Brad’s dead,” she stated abruptly. “Killed several months ago in a car accident.”

Charles’s face immediately reflected his horror at so insensitively mentioning her poor, dead husband. “I’m sorry, Melissa. I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t know. How could you?” Melissa automatically answered, while internally rationalizing what she’d just done. It’s just a small concession to my pride, she told herself. After this week, I’ll never see Charles Avery again. It’s just a little white lie. A little…white…lie.

Charles’s horrified expression softened to one of sympathy and concern. “I won’t say I know just how you feel. People say that all the time, trying to be comforting. But, actually, it’s possible that I do know a little of how you feel, Melissa. When Annette died—”

“Annette?” Melissa quavered.

“My wife,” Charles answered with a nod. He studied her face for a moment, then said, “Oh, I see. You didn’t know, either.”

“Your wife is—?”

“Yes. She’s been gone since Daniel was just a month old. She was killed in a car accident, too.”

“But I thought…The agency told me your wife was away to a funeral or something,” Melissa explained faintly.

“They obviously got their facts mixed up,” Charles said. “But it sounded pretty hectic at the agency when I called this morning. It’s my permanent nanny, Mrs. Butters, who’s away at a funeral in New Orleans.”

Melissa was sick with shame! She’d told him Brad was dead to avoid revealing the embarrassing truth. She didn’t want to admit that Melissa Richardson Baxter had made a shambles of her life. That she’d been duped and dumped on by her husband for more than a decade before finally seeing the light and getting a divorce. That she, the stupid, deluded half of East High’s golden couple, had continued being stupid and deluded for twelve long years! But Charles’s wife had really died!

“I’m sorry, Charles,” Melissa said feelingly. “So sorry.” But he had no idea how sorry she really was, and for more than he could ever imagine. She’d claimed falsely to have endured a tragedy that Charles had actually lived through.

“It’s been a while,” Charles said with that slight, crooked smile of his again. “I’ve got great memories, but I’m doing fine now. And so are the kids.”

Emboldened by the sight of his older brother having fun despite the presence of a stranger in the house, Daniel squirmed out of his father’s arms and started skipping around the living room in his towel. Sarah couldn’t resist, either, and got down to chase him.

Charles watched the playing children for a moment, then turned his gaze back to Melissa, his smile slipping away and his eyes darkening with renewed concern. “But how are you doing, Melissa. It can’t have been very long since—”

Melissa shook her head vigorously. “Please, Charles, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he assured her. “I understand completely.”

But Charles didn’t understand, and Melissa was going to make sure he never did. It was going to be difficult, but for the next week she was just going to have to live with her horrible lie and hope Charles respected her wishes never to mention Brad again.

After a sober pause, Charles took a bracing and cheerful tone. “Why don’t I fill you in on our routine around here as I give you a tour of the house, Melissa? We’ll go to Daniel’s room first so we can get some clothes on this little rascal.” He grabbed Daniel as he scooted past, the toddler now naked as a jaybird because Christopher had stolen the towel and was swinging it over his head. Sarah giggled.

Melissa agreed to Charles’s suggestion with a nod and tried to smile, but she couldn’t meet his eyes.

GEEZ, I REALLY BLEW THAT! thought Charles as he led the way to the boys’ shared bedroom. She’s probably still too grief-stricken about Brad’s death to talk about it. I’m not going to say another word about him unless she brings up the subject first.

Not talking about Brad was actually fine with Charles. He was sorry the guy was dead, but he’d never liked him in high school, and the main reason was because of Melissa. If she only knew how he’d bragged in the locker room about all his sexual exploits with other girls, laughing indulgently at Melissa’s old-fashioned notion about “saving herself for the wedding night.” Brad had announced that it was fine if Melissa wanted to wait till marriage for sex, but he didn’t share the same viewpoint. And if Melissa wasn’t willing, there were plenty of other girls who were.

Yeah, Brad Baxter was Charles’s idea of a first-class jerk back then. But Melissa had stayed married to him for all this time and now found it too upsetting to talk about his death, so the guy must have changed over the years. People did change. In fact, hadn’t Charles’s own physical appearance altered so much that Melissa didn’t recognize or remember him when she’d first showed up?

But who was he kidding? Charles thought with a secret, self-deprecatory smile. Melissa might not have remembered him even if he’d looked exactly the same as in high school. After all, it had taken her no time at all to completely forget his existence the moment their tutoring sessions were over. She’d promised to come by the house with her special-recipe, chocolate chip cookies as a thank-you for his help, and Charles had waited for days afterward, sitting at home when he could have been out with friends, making sure his hair was combed, his teeth brushed, his clothes neat and clean.

But she’d never showed up.

And he never saw a single cookie.

He got over it, though. He realized he’d been a fool to allow himself a crush on the school’s most pretty and popular girl, anyway.

Still…she really should have made him those cookies. It was funny how he still remembered that little slight, and how it still gave him a twinge of irritation and disappointment. After all, he’d given up outings with friends and his own study time to help her with her math. But as sweet as she could be—and he remembered she could be very sweet—Melissa was pretty self-absorbed back then. Or maybe he should say, Brad-absorbed.

Charles shook his head. High-school crushes…what a joke. In the big scheme of things, they usually didn’t turn out to be very important.

While Charles dressed Daniel, he quickly explained to Melissa his busy schedule for the next week. He was relieved to notice, as they talked, that the children were warming to Melissa and she to them. Sarah, usually the most shy, had climbed up on Melissa’s lap and was confiding something in her ear.

However, this didn’t stop Christopher from butting in with his own questions.

“What do we call you? We call Mrs. Butters, Mrs. Butters. Are you a missus, too?”

Christopher had already jumped off the couch and had been playing and pretty much ignoring the adults when Melissa told Charles about Brad’s accident.

Melissa darted a glance at Charles—it was the first time she’d looked directly at him since the dead-husband debacle—before she answered Christopher. “Yes, I’m a missus, too. But you can call me Melissa.”

“Missus Melissa?” Christopher laughed. “Sounds funny.”

“No, just Melissa,” Melissa clarified with an amused smile.

Christopher nodded. “Okay. Are you a good cook? Mrs. Butters makes the best blueberry pancakes. How old are you? Mrs. Butters is real old. More than fifty, even. Do you have any other kids, Melissa?”

“That’s enough questions for now, Christopher,” Charles said. “You’re going to tire Melissa out before she’s even here an hour.”

And Melissa did look tired. Oh, she was as pretty as ever, and while pregnancy became her, he knew the last month could be a trial. Annette’s three pregnancies had made him well aware of that fact.

He just hoped she could handle the kids and all the work that went with them. If she stayed through Saturday, as arranged, she’d be within a week of her due date.

What was the agency thinking, anyway, sending out an eight-and-a-half months pregnant woman for a job like this? Charles wondered, frowning and worried.

And why did it have to be Missy Richardson?

Chapter Two

After the tour of the house—which was just as homey and commodious as she’d envisioned it—Melissa was again managing to look Charles directly in the eye for more than thirty seconds at a time. She was going to try to forget she’d told him “the big lie” and enjoy the next week with his three adorable children. His work schedule, as he’d outlined it for her earlier, would keep him shut up in his study for most of the day, anyway, or teaching classes at the college. She’d see very little of him.

While she wasn’t dead yet—just pregnant and divorced and perpetually tired—Melissa was not immune to the charms of a handsome, well-educated, successful family man like Charles Avery. Under other circumstances, she’d like to get to know him better. But she didn’t dare spend any more time with him than necessary, just in case the truth—that Brad wasn’t dead yet, either, just dead to her—exploded out of her mouth in a moment of weakness.

While Melissa got acquainted with the children and the lay of the house that morning, Charles more or less hung around…probably to make sure it was safe to leave his children in her care. By noon, Melissa felt sure she had matters well in hand. She and the children were getting along great. Sarah’s hair was in neat pigtails, tied on the ends with her favorite ribbons, Daniel was dressed and seated in his high chair squashing banana slices with the heel of his chubby little hand, and Christopher’s questions were being answered as quickly as Melissa could manage.

As well, she was having no trouble finding everything in the kitchen necessary to make tuna-salad sandwiches for lunch. Mrs. Butters was evidently very organized and put things in places that made sense.

As Melissa scooped mayonnaise into a bowl, Sarah stood on a stool next to her and “helped” by sampling the pickle relish straight out of the jar with her fingers. Christopher still talked nonstop as he got the milk out of the refrigerator and promptly spilled some on the floor. Now Daniel was throwing his flattened banana slices—those that were still intact—against the wall, seeing which ones would stick.

Melissa was unperturbed. This was typical toddler behavior. Her back was to the door, but Melissa could feel Charles hovering and watching from the hall. She grabbed two paper towels, handed one to Christopher to clean up the small puddle of spilled milk, and dampened the other to use in wiping Sarah’s sticky fingers. She finished this task just in time to catch a banana slice while it was airborne, then turned to confront her employer.

He seemed chagrined to be caught watching, but she just smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Charles. I can manage. The kids will be fine. I’ll be fine. But you won’t be fine if you’re not prepared for that lecture Saturday. Isn’t that why you hired me? So you could get some work done?”

“Well…yes.”

“So go and do your work.”

He hesitated, then said, “You’re right. I’ll go do my work. But first I should warn you, Daniel is a very picky eater. What he doesn’t like he either hurls across the room or dumps down his pants.”

Melissa laughed. “I see. So, does Mrs. Butters keep a list of his likes and dislikes?”

“No, because what he likes and doesn’t like changes day by day. Each meal is an experiment, so to speak.” Charles looked apologetic, waiting for her response.

Melissa merely shrugged. “As I said, we’ll manage.”

Charles nodded uncertainly, turned to go, then turned back.

“Oh, and they don’t take naps, as a rule. Mrs. Butters thinks napping interferes with nighttime sleeping.”

Melissa smiled. “In other words, she likes to maintain an early bedtime.”

“Yes, I guess so.” Charles just stood there. He seemed to be stalling, trying to think of something else to talk about. Then he finally turned to go.

Melissa couldn’t resist. “Charles?”

He turned quickly back. “Yes?”

“By any chance are you a picky eater? Do you have a list of likes and dislikes, and do you hurl food or stuff it down your pants?”

He chuckled. “No to all three questions.”

She grinned. “In that case, why don’t I bring a sandwich to your study when I’ve got lunch ready?”

He grinned back. “That would be nice.” After another pause, he turned abruptly and strode away, presumably to his study.

Melissa breathed a sigh of relief. She knew he was just being protective of the children—and of her, which was a wholly new experience for her, since Brad never worried about anyone but himself. But it was better that Charles kept his distance, for more reasons than one.

“What do you want to do after lunch?” she asked the children.

Sarah shrugged, licking a last, stray piece of pickle off her pinky finger. “We don’t know.”

“I know how to make play dough,” Melissa offered.

The children’s eyes widened.

“All dif’rent colors?” Sarah asked.

Melissa nodded, then motioned with her head in the direction of her nanny bag, sitting on the floor by the refrigerator. “Of course. I brought along some food coloring in my nanny bag. We can make the dough any color you want.”

Christopher eyed the small canvas suitcase with interest.

“What else have you got in there?”

“Oh, lots of things. You’ll find out, little by little as the week goes by. But there’s something in there I want to get out right now.” She retrieved the bag and set it on the counter, high above the children’s eye level. She wanted the insides of her nanny bag to retain a certain mystery for them. She reached in and took out two jars of toddler food.

“What’s that?” Sarah asked.

“It’s food for Daniel,” Melissa answered. “I made it myself.”

“He probably won’t eat it,” Christopher warned her.

“We’ll see.”

Christopher’s brows furrowed, his concerned expression reminding Melissa of Charles. “But will it hurt your feelings if he throws it on the wall or stuffs it down his pants?”

Melissa shook her head. “Not at all. Daniel can be my guinea pig. I’ll try different foods on him every day, and if he likes something more than once, I’ll know it’s really good.”

Sarah laughed. “M’lissa called Daniel a pig.”

“No she didn’t,” Christopher scoffed. “She called him a guinea pig. It’s not the same as a pig pig. It’s like a lab rat or somethin’.”

Melissa scrunched her nose. “I’m not sure that’s much better.”

Christopher stood on tiptoe and tried to see inside the bag.

“Do you have your toothbrush and pajamas in there, too?”

“Oh, no,” Melissa quickly answered. “I’m not an overnight nanny like Mrs. Butters. I go home after dinner.”

“Too bad,” Christopher said with a doleful shake of his head, a gesture that looked too grownup and theatrical on a four-year-old. But, in just the short time she’d spent with Christopher, Melissa had decided he was intelligent and perceptive and curious beyond his years. Probably like his father had been as a child.

“I’ll bet Dad would like it if you stayed and kept him company after we go to bed,” Christopher suggested.

Melissa was surprised by the alarming mental image that instantly sprang to mind, an image brought on by the innocent words of a child. She could see it all too clearly…her and Charles sitting by the fire, eating, drinking, talking, laughing, whispering, cuddling, kissing.

Yep, it was a darn good thing she wasn’t spending the night under Charles’s roof. She barely knew him, really, and she was already fantasizing about him. And knowing he was sleeping right down the hall would only make the fantasies more vivid and more disruptive to her peace of mind.

Melissa supposed that most people considered fantasizing a harmless pastime. But she was opposed to fantasizing, to daydreaming. After all, living in a dream world was what got her married to the wrong man in the first place, and then kept her married to him for far too long.

Yes, fantasizing could be dangerous.

CHARLES WAS HAVING a hard time keeping his mind on his work. He found himself recalling those three weeks thirteen years ago, when he’d tutored Melissa. The way her long blond hair fell over her paper as she did her sums, the way she bit her bottom lip when she was concentrating, the smell of her perfume, the way her face lit up when she finally fathomed that advanced math.

He was daydreaming. He was recalling old fantasies he thought he’d forgotten more than a decade ago.

Sitting at his desk, with the door to his study firmly shut, he was getting absolutely nothing done. But at least he was keeping the promise he’d made to himself to remain in the study till six o’clock, the hour Melissa intended to have dinner ready…unless the house was burning down or some other disaster occurred!

Charles shook his head and smiled wryly. What kind of a schmuck still remembered a high-school crush with such vividness? After high school he’d gone to Stanford on a scholarship. He’d gotten rid of his glasses, gained weight on dorm food that he turned into muscle when he joined a gym, took up tennis and marathon running, and, finally, gradually got over his adolescent shyness.

In other words, Charles had enjoyed a full social life at Stanford and had dated numerous women before meeting and marrying Annette. He’d loved her more than he thought possible and was devastated when she was killed in that accident. Yet, even after many relationships and one wonderful marriage, why did he still remember his crush on Melissa with such clarity, the feelings he’d had back then so easily recalled and relived when she unexpectedly showed up on his doorstep?

Well, for whatever reason, it was inappropriate and silly. The woman was still grieving her dead husband! He turned his attention back to the computer screen and forced himself to concentrate. Five minutes later he looked at the clock. It was only two-thirty.

He kept wondering how Melissa was doing with the kids. He hadn’t heard any alarming sounds to indicate that either she or the children were in distress. And he didn’t doubt that Melissa was capable of performing her nanny duties. In high school she’d been the model of efficiency and enthusiasm in everything she undertook.

It’s just that she looked so tired…. And he suspected she’d get the job done, and done well, even if it totally exhausted her. This suspicion of Melissa’s dedication at the risk of her own health made it very difficult for Charles to know she was out there taking care of his kids, fixing meals and doing chores that on some days tired out even Mrs. Butters, who was the most robust, energetic, unpregnant fifty-five-year-old he’d ever met.

But he’d hired Melissa to do exactly what she was doing.

And she obviously was very sure it wasn’t beyond her capabilities.

In fact, she would probably be extremely offended if he suggested she perhaps wasn’t up to the job.

And she probably needed the money.

Hell!

Charles glared at his computer screen. Science had always fascinated him, seduced him, kept him occupied for blissful hours. Why was it failing him now?

BY THE TIME Melissa sent Christopher to fetch his father for dinner at five minutes to six, she was exhausted. They’d had a full day, she and the children. And she needn’t have worried about any awkwardness with Charles, because true to his word he’d stayed in his study all day. She’d only seen him once, when she’d taken him a sandwich at lunchtime.

Now he entered the kitchen on the heels of his son, carrying the empty sandwich plate, glass and soda can. She sat up straighter in her chair and smiled, trying not to look as tired as she felt.

“Get lots of work done?” she asked brightly.

Charles first rested his eyes on her, then the table, which was neatly set and covered with dishes of food, and then the gleaming countertops, which she’d already cleared of the dirty pots and utensils she’d used in preparing dinner.

“Not as much as you got done, evidently,” he murmured.

Melissa waved her hand dismissively. “Hey, it’s my job.”

Charles said nothing and moved to the sink to wash his hands. While his back was turned, Melissa allowed the perky smile to slip away. She didn’t remember getting this tired even as recently as last week, when she’d had her last nanny assignment. She could have really used a nap that afternoon.

Charles sat down at the end of the table and smiled around at his three small children. “Whose turn to say the prayer?”

All three kids raised their hands.

“Me!” Sarah shouted.

“No, it’s my turn,” Christopher argued.

Daniel garbled something around the cracker Melissa had given him to nibble on.

Charles settled it, saying, “I seem to remember it being Sarah’s turn. Christopher, you said the blessing at breakfast.”

“But Daniel was screaming and throwing oatmeal the whole time,” he objected. As if on cue, Daniel threw his cracker and let out a yelp.

“I think God heard you anyway,” Charles observed with a chuckle. “If God only heard us when Daniel wasn’t screaming or throwing food, He wouldn’t hear half our prayers.”

Christopher giggled, and the argument was over. Daniel, pleased with himself for making them laugh, grinned and remained quiet while Sarah recited the simple, memorized prayer that Melissa remembered saying when she was a child.

Along with Charles, Melissa helped the children spoon out their portions, but put only a dab of food on her own plate. She was too tired to eat. She pushed the food around, sampled a bite or two, and hoped no one noticed how little she ate. But Charles was eyeing her from his end of the table, his brow furrowed. Apparently he’d noticed.

CHARLES WAS ALARMED at how tired and flushed Melissa looked when he’d entered the room, and now she wasn’t eating enough to keep a bird alive! He couldn’t admonish her to eat as if she was one of the children, but there was nothing stopping him from making her go home directly after the meal and cleaning up the kitchen himself.

Above the clamor and conversation of the children, who were excited to have access to Daddy again after he’d been shut away all day, an adult conversation would have been difficult, and Melissa looked too tired to keep up her end of it, anyway. So Charles ate and enjoyed the food Melissa had prepared while listening to the children’s detailed description of all they’d done that day.

No wonder she was tired! They’d done a lot. They’d made play dough, then shaped it into animals, made a zoo fence out of popsicle sticks and glue, colored and sprinkled glitter on cards for Mrs. Butters’s eventual return, practiced writing their names on the little chalk board in Christopher’s room, and gone swimming in the blow-up pool on the shaded patio.

Charles gazed at Melissa with wonder as he listened to this amazing chronology. On top of all that, she’d cooked and cleaned and done some laundry, too…he could hear the dryer going.

As soon as the children were done, Charles gave them permission to watch a video and put Christopher in charge of inserting the tape and turning on the television. He left the kitchen with his chest puffed out importantly, his little brother and sister in tow. Daniel was sucking his thumb, a sure sign he was already getting sleepy.

“The meal was delicious,” Charles said, as soon as he and Melissa were alone in the kitchen. “Just thought I’d tell you, since you couldn’t possibly know from your own sampling of the food.”

Melissa blushed and looked disconcerted. “Oh no. You’re wrong. I eat while I cook. I was full before I even sat down.”

Charles propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I don’t believe you. Annette ate as much as I did while she was pregnant…sometimes more. She was always hungry. She said food just tasted better and it was obvious she enjoyed every bite. I loved watching her eat.”

Melissa stared at Charles. Now it was her turn not to believe him. Brad would never have encouraged her to eat or have enjoyed watching her. He was too paranoid about her getting fat.

“I’m just not hungry tonight,” she said finally.

“Why don’t you just admit you’re too tired to eat?” Charles suggested.

Melissa stared at her plate, anxiety welling up in her. He was right, but if she admitted he was right, would he think she was too pregnant for this job? She needed the money, but more than that, despite the physical work involved, she loved taking care of Charles’s children.

“I’m not going to fire you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Charles continued. “Or maybe I should say, I won’t fire you under one condition.”

Melissa’s gaze flew to his face. “What condition?”

“I want you to take a nap every afternoon.”

Melissa was speechless for a moment, then asked the obvious question. “What about the children? You said they normally don’t nap. What will they be doing while I’m sleeping?”

“I’ll watch them for an hour every afternoon.”

“But your—”

“I’ll get my paper done. Don’t worry. You kept them so busy today, they’ll probably fall asleep before the sun goes down and I’ll have all this evening to work on the paper.”

Melissa shook her head. “You’re being very considerate,” she said quietly. She wasn’t used to that.

“Annette was pregnant three times. I know how tired women can get at this stage of a pregnancy. I really don’t mind helping out.” He slapped his hands on the table and stood up. “Which is also why I’m going to do these dishes and you’re going to go straight home.”

Melissa sprang to her feet. Or at least she was in the process of springing to her feet, but found herself still sitting in the chair by the time Charles had risen and walked around to her end of the table. “I can’t let you do that!” she objected, peering up at him and marveling that he appeared even taller from this vantage point, which was on a level with his belt buckle. “Come on, Charles! I’m perfectly capable of washing a few dishes!”

“Tomorrow you can wash dishes because you will have had your nap and have a little energy left by this time of the day. Tonight, Melissa, just go home.”

Charles’s hands rested lightly on his hips, drawing Melissa’s gaze most reluctantly to the slim perfection of those hips. She also couldn’t help but notice his stomach, flat as a pancake even after a meal. Brad had been a physical marvel in high school and maintained his fitness as long as he played football in college, but after he was dropped from the team at the University of Utah for not keeping up his grades, he quickly developed a gut. Too much armchair football and beer.

Melissa dropped her gaze to her hands, the fingers puffy and pink from dishwater and pregnancy-related water retention. She was indeed tired and there was no reason not to take Charles up on his offer. She was touched by his consideration, but also conflicted. She wanted to prove she could do the job, eight-and-a-half months pregnant or not!

She had a stubborn streak that was sometimes a good thing, and sometimes not such a good thing. It was probably stubborn pride, along with a hefty portion of denial, that had kept her in her marriage for so long. She just didn’t like giving up.

“Charles, it will only take a few minutes for me to do these dishes, so—”

Melissa stood up, took a step, promptly tripped on something and fell into Charles’s arms. It was the only physical contact Melissa had had with a man in several months…except for hugs from her dad and her two brothers. But this was different. Very different.

Charles grabbed her shoulders and gently returned her to her seat. “Whoa! You’re not fainting on me, are you?”

“Of course not,” she said, embarrassed and angry at herself. Her heart was fluttering and racing like some lovesick teenager’s!

“Then why—?” His face was very close to hers and his gaze—searching her eyes and face for pinpoint pupils and a waxy complexion, she supposed—suddenly dropped to her feet. “Oh! Your shoelaces are untied. You must have tripped on them.”

Melissa could have explained why she had been unaware of her untied shoelaces, but it was just too mortifying to admit that she couldn’t see her feet unless she deliberately stuck them out in front of her. Simply looking down and seeing them where they usually were just wasn’t an option anymore.

“Those darn things are always coming untied,” she mumbled, wrapping her arms awkwardly around her stomach to tie her shoes.

“Let me do that,” Charles offered, getting down on one knee. He smiled up at her as he quickly and easily accomplished what took her plenty of heavy breathing to do. “Annette had trouble tying her shoes, too. And don’t get me started on pantyhose. It took her and me and a small crane to get her into those.”

Melissa laughed. “Hey, I quit trying to get into pantyhose four months ago. It was when I went to—”

Melissa stopped herself just in time. She was about to reveal that she’d last worn pantyhose when she met her lawyer at the Grand America Hotel for a fancy lunch to celebrate the signing of her divorce papers. It had been a great day and a great meal, even though the pantyhose had started cutting into her waist by the time the white chocolate cheesecake showed up for dessert. She’d only managed two bites of the luscious stuff because the pantyhose just wouldn’t budge.

Charles didn’t ask her to complete what she’d been saying, but he sobered and quickly stood up. She realized then that he probably thought she’d been about to refer to Brad’s funeral, that she’d last worn pantyhose at her dead husband’s funeral! Oh, that damn lie was going to torture her all week long!

“I’ll go home, Charles,” she said meekly, leaving him to draw whatever conclusions he wanted to from her sudden capitulation. She was just too tired to care right now. And another slip of the tongue could be disastrous.

“Good,” he said, then picked up her nanny bag. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Melissa couldn’t believe his kindness. She wanted to repay him somehow, and the first thing that came to mind was to bake for him. “Charles, thank you for being so kind!” she blurted out impetuously. “To show my appreciation, I’ll make you some cookies tomorrow. I have a wonderful chocolate-chip recipe that was handed down from my grandmother.”

Melissa was surprised when her spontaneously offered gesture of gratitude was received by Charles with a look of surprise, then a frown, then a fleeting expression of…scorn? “That won’t be necessary, Melissa.”

“But I want to. I really—”

“Have you got everything? Let’s go.”

Melissa felt hurried as Charles escorted her to the front door and outside to her car. She snatched quick glances at him, puzzled by his closed expression. Since mentioning the cookies, his mood had definitely changed!

It was still sweltering outside and it was quite a shock to go from Charles’s cool house into one hundred degrees of dry, suffocating Utah heat. Melissa could hardly bear the thought of driving home in her little hot car with only the windows and vents as cooling devices, as all the while she’d be trying to figure out what she’d said or done to make Charles suddenly so distant.

Melissa pried herself in behind the steering wheel as Charles waited and watched. He didn’t look angry or scornful anymore, just rather stern. Maybe, like her, he was simply tired, she reasoned.

Melissa turned on the ignition, smiled tentatively and waved through the open window.

“Better get those windows up and the air conditioning on, or you’re going to have a hot drive home,” Charles advised, not bothering to wave back or smile.

Melissa rolled up the window. No point going into an explanation about the car’s air conditioning being broken and her frugal decision not to fix it. He didn’t look receptive to any conversation, much less something so mundane and pathetic, anyway. Once she turned the corner at the end of the street and was out of sight, she rolled down all four windows.

HOW IRONIC, Charles thought, as he watched Melissa’s car turn the corner. Cookies.

He shook his head and chuckled, glad he was finally seeing the humor in the situation. It was history repeating itself.

He was smitten and couldn’t help being nice to her, so much so that he neglected his own concerns.

She was promising cookies as a thank you.

Well, it would be interesting to see if she actually came through this time. But if she didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. Not like it had mattered thirteen years ago.

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