CHAPTER EIGHT
“I already told you. You don’t want me as a nanny.”
His eyes pinned her with intelligence and determination. If she didn’t have a care in the world, this offer was manna from heaven. A gift. What she wouldn’t give to be Madeline’s nanny, but he didn’t know the truth. Couldn’t know the truth.
“You’re under the impression I don’t know what I’m looking for. I have hired other women to be Madeline’s nanny, but she didn’t gel with any of them. You, she has. Very quickly.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “You don’t understand…”
He cut her off. “I understand you said you haven’t had much experience with children. But from what I’ve seen, you handle yourself pretty well. In any case, it works for my daughter, and that’s all I care about.”
“I don’t mean that.” She clenched her fists. She didn’t tell people about her history. Didn’t like to bring it up, but she could see no way around not telling him. Maybe the truth would deter him. People tended to back off once they knew about her history. “I didn’t have parents. I don’t know how to be one. What to expect. How to discipline. Anything. I’m not a person who should be looking after anyone. Sometimes I feel I can’t even look after myself.”
Wasn’t that statement of the century?
There was a pause right before he narrowed his eyes, as though he didn’t really believe her, just like everyone else did. That’s why she didn’t like telling people about her childhood. She didn’t want the sympathy, the declaration of understanding that had no chance of understanding, the conciliatory comments to try and make her feel better. Been there, heard those.
“What do you mean, you didn’t have parents?”
Elizabeth sighed. She didn’t like revisiting anything to do with her childhood, what few years there were of it anyway. Maybe if she explained, he'd have to know how unsuitable she really was and he’d stop pressing.
“I had foster parents. A new set every few months, in fact.”
“I’m…sorry.”
Elizabeth shrugged, ignoring the real hurt she detected in his voice. “I don’t need your sympathy. Hopefully, now you see I know what I’m trying to tell you. You don’t want me. I won’t be good for Madeline.”
A shadow passed deep in his eyes. “I don’t care what your childhood was. It has no bearing on why I want you for this job. It’s what you do now that counts.”
She stared at him a few moments, disconcerted. “That’s not what most people say.”
Those serious, keen eyes searched her face before he said, “I don’t care what most people say.”
She watched him. No. She didn’t believe he did.
“Any other reason you can think of not to accept my offer?”
No. There was no reason — not if she ignored the fact that she was a criminal. On the run. Not just from David Logan, but also what she’d done for David Logan.
She had no right to involve an innocent child. Or an innocent father. Not to mention the fact that it was harder and harder to ignore the dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. Staying in the same house was not going to help.
She ignored how aware she was of him. His mannerisms, his spicy, masculine scent, his intelligence. The way he cared so much about his daughter, he was practically begging someone he had to know was no good to be a nanny for his daughter because the little girl liked her. There was no doubt he was a good man – and she couldn’t offer the same goodness in return.
Madeline glanced at her, and a smile touched her perfect little mouth. The child looked up at her with such happy trust in her eyes. Right at that moment, she knew she couldn’t tarnish her childhood by staying. She would go, and she would be forgotten.
It was just where she’d stay in the meantime she'd yet to work out. Surely, there had to be a back road out of here. She’d stay and ask the waitress after James left.
“I’m sorry. I can’t.”
The words seemed to sink like lead to her feet. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say she’d love to look after Madeline. She wanted to live in luxury and pretend she had a child of her own. But she knew better than to give in to all of those things. Outside, the thunder rumbled, as deep and dark as the pit of her stomach.
“You…can’t?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Can’t.”
James reached across the table, capturing her downturned hand in his. In shock, she stared at his hand, the thumb that stroked over the back of her hand in soothing circles, his warm skin, firm grip. Gentle. Caring. She wanted to snatch her hand away, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. His touch was…intoxicating.
“Would you consider a trial, then? Until the roads are clear? You’ll have somewhere to stay, and I’ll have a nanny. Besides, it would relieve my guilt.”
“Guilt?”
“If I had to leave you here.”
She didn’t want him to leave her here either, but it wasn’t his fault he didn’t know the extent of her background. He held his palm in a stop gesture when she opened her mouth. “I know you can take care of yourself, but sometimes there are times when you need to accept an offer of help. This is one of those times, Elizabeth. Where else are you going to go?”
She chewed her lip. There were a million and one reasons not to take James up on his offer, but the reality of the situation was, she had nowhere to stay. The rain pelted down heavier than before, if that was possible, and it didn’t look as though it was going to let up anytime soon. It was absolutely freezing, and she was sure to end up sick if she didn’t have any shelter.
Besides, if she was stuck inside town, David wouldn’t be able to get in to track her down. This could be a blessing in disguise, at least for a few days until the roads were cleared.
This was a reprieve. A gift. She could relax. Regroup. She could make arrangements, maybe find a rental in Melbourne on the Internet. She’d have time to be safe. The thought sounded so good, it almost made her mouth water. Maybe fate was smiling down on her for once.
“Okay. I’ll accept your offer. But just until the road is opened. Then I have to go,” she said. No use promising more than she could give.
As she took his hand in hers, a smile spread on his face and his dimple appeared. A delicate swirl tingled in her belly, and she wondered what in the hell she’d gone and agreed to. In the end, it didn’t matter what she’d accepted. The truth was, she would leave. She just hoped she wasn’t going to get so attached to James and Madeline that, when the time came, she still could.
* * *
The bed was made, her clothes washed and dried and folded neatly at the end. Maria must have put them there. In her haste to leave, she’d completely forgotten about them. The one positive thing about coming back was that she now had more clothes than just the ones on her back.
She plonked her tattered backpack next to the bed and sighed. She was struck again by the luxury of the room. Everything was impeccable. The only worn and threadbare thing in the room was her.
She could barely believe she was back here. It had taken courage to leave, and now she’d have to gather a fresh lot when the time came to leave again. And leave she would, even though she wouldn’t want to. She’d just have to protect herself. Because spending time with Madeline and James was going to test her heart. She knew that already.
“Liz’beth?” Madeline came into the room, teddy bear embraced against her chest.
“Hey, sweetie!”
“Want to see my doll house?” The little girl’s thumb went to her mouth. She looked so unsure, so adorable that Elizabeth couldn’t help sinking onto her knees and hugging the child.
Madeline took her hand and led her into her room. Her mother, James’ wife, smiled down at them from her photo on the wall. Madeline knelt down on the floor in front of her doll house and started telling Elizabeth the dolls' names and what they did in the house.
The toy house was as equally adorable as everything in the room. It had a certain style. Pink, frilly and good quality. Whoever had picked and chosen the furniture and toys in the room showed care and love for the little girl. Elizabeth wondered if it had been James or Maria. Maybe Madeline’s mother before she died?
Elizabeth’s childhood bedrooms were often shared between three of four children, without room for anything other than bunk beds, battered furniture and the bare essentials. She certainly didn’t have anything like the beautiful doll house Madeline played with. Not that she harboured any hostility to the little girl — how could she even think of doing that? — but it just showed how different their lives were.
They were similar in one, sad sense though. Neither of them had a mother.
How on Earth was she going to look after a child as beautiful and gentle as Madeline when she knew nothing about a normal childhood? Music had saved hers.
When it all became too much, she’d listen to the radio. She sang along to the happy songs, letting the tunes take her away into another world. Her happy place. Then, when she lived in those houses that had an instrument, she’d pick it up and play until she worked out how to play her own songs.
One of the nicer foster mums — one of the rare nice ones — had given her a guitar, a spare one left from another foster kid, for her birthday. She’d treasured it until a bully in another home slammed it against a cupboard and smashed it to pieces. But by then she’d gotten hooked. She scraped a few dollars together and found a replacement in an op-shop. When she had a guitar, she had music, and when she had music, she had her happy place.
“Could you play me a song, Liz’beth?”
Maybe she could help Madeline find her own happy place as well.
Elizabeth smiled. “Of course.”
That was no hardship at all, and she was more than happy to comply with Madeline’s request. She sat on the bed and settled the guitar in her lap. She didn’t know any songs suitable for four-year-olds, but the little girl hadn’t complained about the Eminem song last night. Elizabeth settled on an Adele song she’d recently learned and started to play.
“I know this song!” Madeline said, a big smile lighting her face.
Elizabeth let the notes flow through her. The music started to melt the world away, as it normally did. Madeline played, humming along with the tune. There was something nice about the both of them singing together.
Too nice.
Because niceness was a trap.
It would also make leaving that much harder. There was too much temptation here, and like the music, Madeline had already started to melt the ice around her heart. Her father also had the capacity to finish it off until there would be nothing left but a puddle of water beneath her raw, tender heart.
The ice was protection. And she needed as much protection as she could in the limited time she was here. Any more heartache, any more loss, and her heart would shatter.