The Nanny. Judith Stacy

the papers there.

      As she climbed the stairs, Annie reminded herself that Josh’s feelings for his dead wife were none of her business. Yet, for some reason, her heart ached a little thinking he still grieved for her after all these months.

      But what about his feelings for his children? Weren’t they her business?

      Not if she wanted to keep her job.

      At the top of the stairs, Annie peeked into the children’s room again. Three little bulges under the covers slept soundly. She checked on the baby, as well, and found Hannah sleeping.

      In her room, Annie undressed, washed at the basin, and slipped into her pink nightgown. The cotton fabric seemed coarse, not nearly fancy enough for the room she’d been given. She sat in front of the mirror, unraveled her braid and combed out her hair.

      As she climbed into bed, footsteps sounded in the hallway. Annie froze, pulling the quilt over her. Josh. The heavy, measured steps could only be his.

      For an instant, Annie thought he stopped outside her door. She shook her head, sure it was her imagination. The footsteps faded and she heard a door down the hallway close softly.

      With a sigh she leaned back on her pillows, relaxing on the feather mattress. The book on child rearing rested on her bedside table, and Annie considered reading it. Surely she’d need all the help she could get taming the Ingalls brood.

      For her first day as nanny, things hadn’t gone so well, Annie was forced to admit. The children had rebelled at the sight of her. A food fight had erupted. She’d forgotten the book her employer had given her, invaded his private sanctum and splashed milk on him—not once but twice.

      Annie settled deeper against the pillow, sure tomorrow would be a better day. After all, they were only children.

      And tomorrow she’d do a better job of minding her own business. Somehow.