Mail-Order Matty. Emilie Richards

Stewart was an attractive woman, and he was not immune to her attractions. And he certainly hadn’t been immune last night when he undressed her.

      Someone made a sound in the hallway outside Heidi’s room. He knew who that someone was. Matty hadn’t yet come downstairs, and he knew she was finally ready to risk seeing them all again. For a moment he considered calling to her and introducing her to his daughter here in Heidi’s room. But just as he opened his mouth, Heidi began to whimper. The baby’s patience was amazingly short, and she had already reached her limit. He grabbed the next item of clothing he touched before he straightened. He had done everything wrong yesterday, but today was going to be different. He would wait until Matty had eaten something and wait until Heidi was smiling again. He would introduce them to each other when they were both at their best. And then he would pray.

      * * *

      Matty couldn’t really blame Damon for not calling to her when she passed Heidi’s room. She had made enough noise to let him know she was there, but he hadn’t responded as she’d hoped. And how could he be faulted? He had brought Heidi to meet her last night, and she had fallen sound asleep without even looking at the baby. Despite everything he’d said to her this morning, she knew she was on trial. How could she not be? He was giving her time this morning to adjust, or so he said. But she suspected that he was giving himself time to reconsider, too.

      At the bottom of the steps she looked around to see who might be lurking to make her feel even less sure of herself. Blessedly—if the silence was to be believed—both Nanny and Kevin seemed to be somewhere else. The island didn’t present a lot of possibilities, but she hoped they were outside taking advantage of the white sand beaches or the waves frothing happily at the shoreline. Anywhere except where they could aim their hostility at her before she had her first cup of coffee.

      She started toward the kitchen, admiring the highly polished wood floors, the pastel walls and the exotic furnishings in every room in between. The house was exquisite, each room a little museum of fascinating antiques, of paintings and sculpture and fine porcelain. Light rushed in from every window, and the air sweeping through was heavy with the salt spray of the sea and the perfume of exotic flowers.

      “Toto, we’re not in Minnesota anymore,” she whispered. For a moment everything she had suffered yesterday faded away, along with her insecurities. How could things not go well here? She pushed open the kitchen door with new resolve, only to find Nanny waiting for her.

      “I made breakfast. You didn’t come, so I t’row it in the garbage.”

      Matty considered a dozen rejoinders, some surprisingly un-Mattylike. “That’s too bad. I’m sure you went to a lot of trouble.”

      “You always sleep so late?”

      “No. I wonder why I slept so late this morning?” Matty let that hang between them for just a moment before she continued. “Do you suppose it’s the air?”

      Nanny lifted her chin. “I never sleep so late. Same air.”

      “Since I seem to be on a different schedule from everyone else, I’ll fix my own breakfast. Please don’t worry about me again.”

      “I’m the cook.”

      “And I’ll bet it keeps you busy. This will be one less job you’ll have to worry about.” Matty turned her back before the old woman could argue and went to the pantry. As she’d hoped, there was an assortment of cereal, all repackaged in glass jars. She chose what looked like cornflakes and brought the jar with her as she backed out. When she turned, she saw that Nanny had gone.

      She sighed, half in relief, half in sympathy. She wished she knew exactly what to say to convince Nanny that she was no threat, but she supposed that time would make it clear.

      Either Nanny would realize that she meant no harm or Damon would tell Matty he didn’t want to marry her after all. Either way, the relationship with Nanny would improve.

      She found a coffeepot on the counter, and a good sniff indicated that it really was coffee, warmed too long and much too strong to start with, but coffee nevertheless. The smell made her homesick for the coffee in the nurses’ lounge at Carrollton, and she poured a mugful. She pulled down a bowl from a cupboard, found silverware and a carton of milk, and took them all to the table.