nodded and folded her hands.
He opened the newspaper and tried to read, but he couldn’t seem to find a single word on the whole page. His mind was reeling. Already they loved her. He didn’t know anything about this woman, but already his children loved her. And school. What was he going to do about that? Could she even drive? He put down the newspaper. “Do you drive?”
She seemed momentarily stunned. “Yes.”
He nodded. “It’s just that I prefer that Wendy be driven in to school rather than ride the bus. It’s so dangerous to wait out in this cold.”
Laura nodded, her brow creased. “That’s fine, except…”
He waved away the obvious concern, remembering that she had no car. “Oh, that’s no problem. You can take the station wagon. I prefer the truck, anyway.”
She almost visibly relaxed. “Well, that’s settled, then.”
He smiled and opened the newspaper again, but his mind just wasn’t on local news. “When’s dinner?”
“Any time now, I imagine. Beverly—uh, that is, Cook—said about six.”
Beverly, was it? Even the cook was on a first-name basis with the new nanny. He couldn’t remember that ever happening before. “Fine,” he said from behind his paper, uncertain why this was so difficult. He needed to draw her out, get to know her. He was getting nowhere fast this way, and yet he couldn’t seem to put that paper down. What would he say? What could he ask her without making her feel that he was interrogating her? To his relief, she took the matter out of his hands momentarily.
“Well,” she said, getting to her feet, “time to wash up. We can’t go to the dinner table with dirty hands and faces, now can we?”
Adam hummed noncommittally behind his paper as they exited the room. He heard one of the boys whine something about not getting soap in his eyes, and heard Laura’s low assurance that it wouldn’t happen. Adam shook his head and put the paper aside. What was wrong with him? The woman was wonderful, just as he’d instinctively known she would be. He had nothing to fear, nothing at all, and yet…
“Dinner in ten minutes, Mr. Adam.”
He looked up at the quiet, efficient middle-aged woman who had been cooking his meals for the past eighteen months. “Thank you…Beverly.”
Her eyebrows flew up, and she paused in the act of drying her hands on her apron, and then she smiled, tentatively at first, and then with a blinding show of white dentures. “I’ll be leaving a little early this evening, sir, if that’s all right. My husband, he wants to see a movie, and Laura, she said she’d put the plates and flatware in the dishwasher for me. I’ll wash up everything else before I go…if I may.”
Adam nodded. “Certainly. Ah, tell me, what do you think of our Miss Laura?”
Beverly the Cook beamed. “Oh, she’s a treasure, that one! Took things right in hand, and do you know, I think she actually likes children? Why is it, do you suppose, that so many nannies don’t like children? You’d think they’d do something else, wouldn’t you?”
A very astute observation. Adam smiled. “Enjoy your movie.”
“Thank you. I will, and, um, Mr. Adam, sir, if I may say so, I think she’s just what those young ones need.”
Her eyes said something more, but he wasn’t very good at reading unspoken messages, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she was thinking, anyway. Man, planning war-game strategies and mass mobilizations had been a walk in the park, compared to this life he led now. But maybe it was going to change for the better now, temporarily, anyway. He frowned. Temporary just wasn’t good enough. He couldn’t be hiring a new nanny every two or three months. The children’s lives were continually overset by such changes, and one day—soon, please!—he was going to have a new career to dedicate himself to, not that his search for a compatible business had yielded much so far. He was feeling a new sense of pressure about that, too. His military retirement wouldn’t put children through college or allow the kind of upkeep on a home that winters in Minnesota required, especially as that home grew older. And he couldn’t just sit, day in and day out, perusing the newspaper. He put that aside for good just as Laura returned to the room.
“It’s ready,” she told him, crossing to the sofa.
He nodded and got up out of his chair at the very moment Laura sat down. “Aren’t you coming?”
She sent him a sheepish look. “I wasn’t sure what was…proper in my situation.”
“Well, it’s proper to eat,” he said blandly.
She stood, smoothing her hands over her bottom and the backs of her thighs, as if straightening a skirt. “I just wasn’t certain if I ought to be eating at the table with you and the children.”
In truth, several of the nannies had preferred to take their meals alone. Often, mealtime had been the only time they could get away from the children. He made a sudden decision not to tell Laura that, though. Maybe if they treated her like family she would stay longer. On the other hand, maybe he needed to find out more about her before he pushed her to stay. That, too, could be accomplished at the dinner table. He lifted an arm in invitation. “We’re pretty informal around here. Come on.”
She nodded and bit at her lower lip, and her head was bowed almost shyly as she stepped up next to him. His arm just seemed to sort of naturally curve around her, of its own volition. He didn’t remove it until they reached the dining room.
The kids were giggling when they came in—not a good sign. Sure enough, Robbie had reached into a bowl of mashed potatoes with his hand and was squishing the pulp between his fingers. Adam opened his mouth to snap an angry order, but something in Laura’s demeanor gave him second thoughts. He glanced sideways at her. She had drawn herself up tall and folded her long, slender arms. Her face was impassive, not censuring, not smiling, her gaze as steady as time. Robbie slowly pulled his hand back. Laura moved to the chair opposite him, pulled it out and sank down upon it gracefully, her gaze now studiously averted. Adam sensed a method behind her behavior and calmly copied her. Once carefully ensconced in the chair at the head of the table, he looked around, mentally noted the uncomfortable expression on Robbie’s face as he eyed his potato-encrusted hand and smiled at Laura.
“Would you serve the children, please?”
She sent him a look of approval, nodded and reached for the bowl of potatoes. “Wendy, would you care for potatoes?”
“Yes, please,” Wendy replied in a small voice, and Laura duly dispensed them.
“Ryan?”
Ryan crossed his eyes and waggled his tongue. “Yes, pwease!”
Laura smiled ever so slightly at his antics and spooned creamy potatoes onto his plate. She then turned to Robbie.
“Robbie, would you care for potatoes?”
Robbie nodded and bowed his head, frowning. Adam hid a grin, knowing that his scapegrace son was wondering how such a brilliant prank had turned into a embarrassment. Laura doled out the serving and set down the bowl. Utter silence followed, and then Adam heard the sound of sniffles. He looked at Robbie, whose head was practically in his plate now, then at Laura. Her expression of compassion for Robbie put a sudden lump in his throat. He had to look away.
“Adam,” Laura said quietly, “would you clean Robbie’s hand for him so he can eat?”
Brilliant. She was brilliant. Adam slipped out of his chair and knelt at Robbie’s side, using his napkin to clean Robbie’s little fist. “You know, Rob,” he said gently, “there are reasons for rules. Dining wouldn’t be a very pleasant exercise if everyone helped themselves with their hands, would it?”
Robbie shook his head. Adam followed instinct and patted the boy’s shoulder before moving back to his chair. Laura beamed as she reached for the dish of baked pork chops.
“Robbie,