Читать книгу: «The Nanny Bombshell», страница 2

Two

The next afternoon at six minutes after one, Sierra knocked on the door of Cooper’s penthouse apartment, brimming with nervous excitement, her heart in her throat. She had barely slept last night in anticipation of this very moment. Though she had known that when she signed away her parental rights she might never see the girls again, she had still hoped. She just hadn’t expected it to happen until they were teenagers and old enough to make the decision to meet their birth mother. But here she was, barely five months later, just seconds away from the big moment.

The door was opened by a woman. Sierra assumed it was the housekeeper, judging by the maid’s uniform. She was tall and lanky with a pinched face and steel-gray hair that was pulled back severely and twisted into a bun. Sierra placed her in her mid to late sixties.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked in a gravely clipped tone.

“I have an appointment with Mr. Landon.”

“Are you Miss Evans?”

“Yes, I am.” Which she must have already known, considering the doorman had called up to announce her about a minute ago.

She looked Sierra up and down with scrutiny, pursed her lips and said, “I’m Ms. Densmore, Mr. Landon’s housekeeper. You’re late.”

“Sorry. I had trouble getting a cab.”

“I should warn you that if you do get the job, tardiness will not be tolerated.”

Sierra failed to see how she could be tardy for a job she was at 24/7, but she didn’t push the issue. “It won’t happen again.”

Ms. Densmore gave a resentful sniff and said, “Follow me.”

Even the housekeeper’s chilly greeting wasn’t enough to smother Sierra’s excitement. Her hands trembled as she followed her through the foyer into an ultra-modern, open-concept living space. Near a row of ceiling-high windows that boasted a panoramic view of Central Park, with the afternoon sunshine washing over them like gold dust, were the twins. They sat side by side in identical ExerSaucers, babbling and swatting at the colorful toys.

They were so big! And they had changed more than she could have imagined possible. If she had seen them on the street, she probably wouldn’t have recognized them. She was hit by a sense of longing so keen she had to bite down on her lip to keep from bursting into tears. She forced her feet to remain rooted to the deeply polished mahogany floor while she was announced, when what she wanted to do was fling herself into the room, drop down to her knees and gather her children in her arms.

“The one on the left is Fern,” Ms. Densmore said, with not a hint of affection in her tone. “She’s the loud, demanding one. The other is Ivy. She’s the quiet, sneaky one.”

Sneaky? At five months old? It sounded as if Ms. Densmore just didn’t like children. She was probably a spinster. She sure looked like one.

Not only would Sierra have to deal with a partying, egomaniac athlete, but also an overbearing and critical housekeeper. How fun. And it frosted her that Cooper let this pinched, frigid, nasty old bat who clearly didn’t like children anywhere near the girls.

“I’ll go get Mr. Landon,” she said, striding down a hall that Sierra assumed led to the bedrooms.

Alone with her girls for the first time since their birth, she crossed the room and knelt down in front of them. “Look how big you are, and how beautiful,” she whispered.

They gazed back at her with wide, inquisitive blue eyes. Though they weren’t identical, they looked very much alike. They both had her thick, pin-straight black hair and high cheekbones, but any other traces of the Chinese traits that had come from her great-grandmother on her mother’s side had skipped them. They had eyes just like their father and his long, slender fingers.

Fern let out a squeal and reached for her. Sierra wanted so badly to hold her, but she wasn’t sure if she should wait for Cooper. Tears stinging her eyes, she took one of Fern’s chubby little hands in hers and held it. She had missed them so much, and the guilt she felt for leaving them, for putting them in this situation, sat like a stone in her belly. But she was here now, and she would never leave them again. She would see that they were raised properly.

“She wants you to pick her up.”

Sierra turned to see Cooper standing several feet behind her, big and burly, in bare feet with his slightly wrinkled shirt untucked and his hands wedged in the pockets of a pair of threadbare jeans. His dirty-blond hair was damp and a little messy, as if he’d towel-dried it and hadn’t bothered with a brush. No one could deny that he was attractive with his pale blue eyes and dimpled smile. The slightly crooked nose was even a little charming. Maybe it was his total lack of self-consciousness that was so appealing right now, but athletes had never been her thing. She preferred studious men. Professional types. The kind who didn’t make a living swinging a big stick and beating the crap out of other people.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

“Of course not. That’s what this interview is about.”

Sierra lifted Fern out of the seat and set the infant in her lap. She smelled like baby shampoo and powder. Fern fixated on the gold chain hanging down the front of her blouse and grabbed for it, so Sierra tucked it under her collar. “She’s so big.”

“Around fifteen pounds I think. I remember my sister-in-law saying that they were average size for their age. I’m not sure what they weighed when they were born. I think there’s a baby book still packed away somewhere with all that information in it.”

They had been just over six pounds each, but she couldn’t tell him that or that the baby book he referred to had been started by her and given to Ash and Susan as a gift when they took the girls home. She had documented her entire pregnancy—when she felt the first kick, when she had her sonogram—so the adoptive parents would feel more involved and they could show the girls when they got older. And although she had included photos of her belly in various stages of development, there were no shots of her face. There was nothing anywhere that identified her as being the birth mother.

Ivy began to fuss—probably jealous that her sister was getting all the attention. Sierra was debating the logistics of how to extract her from the seat while still holding Fern when, without prompting, Cooper reached for Ivy and plucked her out. He lifted her high over his head, making her gasp and giggle, and plunked her down in his arms.

Sierra must have looked concerned because he laughed and said, “Don’t let her mild manner fool you. She’s a mini daredevil.”

As he sat on the floor across from her and set Ivy in his lap, Sierra caught the scent of some sort of masculine soap. Fern reached for him and tried to wiggle her way out of Sierra’s arms. She hadn’t expected the girls to be so at ease with him, so attached. Not this quickly. And she expected him to be much more inept and disinterested.

“You work with younger babies?” Cooper asked.

“Newborns usually. But before the NICU I worked in the pediatric ward.”

“I’m going to the market,” Ms. Densmore announced from the kitchen. Sierra had been so focused on the girls she hadn’t noticed that it was big and open with natural wood and frosted glass cupboard doors and yards of glossy granite countertops. Modern, yet functional—not that she ever spent much time in one. Cooking—or at least, cooking well—had never been one of her great accomplishments.

Ms. Densmore wore a light spring jacket, which was totally unnecessary considering it was at least seventy-five degrees outside, and clutched an old-lady-style black handbag. “Do you need anything?” she asked Cooper.

“Diapers and formula,” he told her. “And those little jars of fruit the girls like.” He paused, then added, “And the dried cereal, too. The flaky kind in the blue box. I think we’re running low.”

Looking annoyed, Ms. Densmore left out of what must have been the service entrance behind the kitchen. Sierra couldn’t help but wonder how Coop would know the cereal was low and why he would even bother to look.

“The girls are eating solid foods?” she asked him.

“Cereal and fruit. And of course formula. It’s astounding how much they can put away. I feel as if I’m constantly making bottles.”

He made the bottles? She had a hard time picturing that. Surely Ms. Cranky-Pants must have been doing most of the work.

“Are they sleeping through the night?” she asked him.

“Not yet. It’s getting better, though. At first, they woke up constantly.” He smiled down at Ivy affectionately, and a little sadly, brushing a wisp of hair off her forehead. “I think they just really missed their parents. But last night they only woke up twice, and they both went back to their cribs. Half the time they end up in my bed with me. I’ll admit that I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Alone.”

“You get up with them?” she asked, not meaning to sound quite so incredulous.

Rather than look offended, he smiled. “Yeah, and I’ll warn you right now that they’re both bed hogs. I have no idea how a person so small could take up so much room.”

The idea of him, such a big, burly, rough-around-the-edges guy, snuggled up in bed with two infants, was too adorable for words.

“Out of curiosity, who did you think would get up with them?” he asked.

“I just assumed … I mean, doesn’t Ms. Densmore take care of them?”

“She occasionally watches them while I work, but only because I’m desperate. After raising six kids of her own and two of her grandchildren, she says she’s finished taking care of babies.”

So much for Sierra’s spinster theory.

“Is she always so …” She struggled for a kind way to say nasty, but Cooper seemed to read her mind.

“Cranky? Incorrigible?” he suggested, with a slightly crooked smile that she hated to admit made her heart beat the tiniest bit faster.

She couldn’t help smiling back.

“She won’t be winning any congeniality awards, I know, but she’s a good housekeeper, and one hel …” he grinned and shook his head. “I mean heck of a fantastic cook. Sorry, I’m not used to having to censor my language.”

At least he was making an effort. He would be thankful for that in a year or so when the twins started repeating everything he said verbatim.

“Ms. Densmore isn’t crazy about the bad language, either,” he said. “Of course, sometimes I do it just to annoy her.”

“I don’t think she likes me much,” Sierra said.

“It really doesn’t matter what she thinks. She’s not hiring you. I am. And I happen to think you’re perfect for the job.” He paused then added, “I’m assuming, since you’re here now, that you’re still interested.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Absolutely. Does that mean you’re officially offering it to me?”

“Under one condition—I need your word that you’ll stick around. That you’re invested in the position. I can’t tell you how tough that first week was, right after …” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and blew it out. “Things have just begun to settle down, and I’ve got the girls in something that resembles a routine. They need consistency—or at least that’s what the social worker told me. The worst thing for them would be a string of nannies bouncing in and out of their lives.”

He would never have to worry about that with her. “I won’t let them down.”

“You’re sure? Because these two are a handful. It’s a lot of work. More than I ever imagined possible. Professional hockey was a cakewalk compared to this. I need to be sure that you’re committed.”

“I’m giving up my apartment and putting my dad in a home that I can’t begin to afford without this salary. I’m definitely committed.”

He looked relieved. “In that case, the job is yours. And the sooner you can start, the better.”

Her own relief was so keen she could have sobbed. She hugged Fern closer. Her little girls would be okay. She would be there to take care of them, to nurture them. And maybe someday, when they were old enough to understand, she would be able to tell them who she really was and explain why she had let them go. Maybe she could be a real mother to them.

“Miss Evans?” Coop was watching her expectantly, waiting for a reply.

“It’s Sierra,” she told him. “And I can start right away if that works for you. I just need a day to pack and move my things in.”

He looked surprised. “What about your apartment? Your furniture? Don’t you need time to—”

“I’ll sublet. A friend from work is interested in taking my place and she’ll be using all my furniture.” Her dad’s furniture, actually. By the time Sierra started making enough money to afford her own place, he was too sick to live alone, so she had stayed with him instead, on the pull-out couch of the dinky one-bedroom apartment he’d had to take when he went on disability. She had never really had a place of her own. And from the looks of it, she wouldn’t for a very long time. But if that meant the girls would be happy and well taken care of, it was a sacrifice she was happy to make.

“I just need to pack my clothes and a few personal items,” she told him. “I can do that today and move everything over tomorrow.”

“And work? You don’t need to give them notice?”

She shook her head. She was taking a chance burning that bridge, but being with the girls as soon as possible took precedence. As long as they needed her, she wouldn’t be going back to nursing anyway.

“I’ll have Ben, my lawyer, draw up the contract this afternoon,” he said. “Considering my former profession there are privacy issues.”

“I understand.”

“And of course you’re welcome to have your own lawyer look at it before you sign.”

“I’ll call him today.”

“Great. Why don’t I show you the girls’ room, and where you’ll be staying?”

“Okay.”

They got up from the floor and he led her down the hall, Ivy in his arms and Sierra holding Fern, who seemed perfectly content despite Sierra being a relative stranger. Was it possible that she sensed the mother-daughter connection? Or was she just a friendly, outgoing baby?

“This is the nursery,” he said, indicating a door on the left and gesturing her inside. It was by far the largest and prettiest little girls’ room she had ever laid eyes on. The color scheme was pale pink and pastel green. The walls, bedding, curtains and even the carpet looked fluffy and soft, like cotton candy. Matching white cribs perched side by side, and a white rocking chair sat in the corner next to the window. She could just imagine herself holding the girls close, singing them a lullaby and rocking them to sleep.

This room was exactly what she would have wanted for them but never could have afforded. With her they wouldn’t have had more than a tiny corner of her bedroom.

“It’s beautiful, Cooper.”

“It’s Coop,” he said and flashed that easy grin. “No one but my mom called me Cooper, and that was usually when she was angry about something. And as for the room, I can’t take credit. It’s an exact reproduction of their room at Ash and Susan’s. I thought it might make the transition easier for them.”

Once again he had surprised her. Maybe he wasn’t quite as self-centered as she first imagined. Or maybe he was only playing the role of responsible uncle out of necessity. Maybe once he had her there to take care of the girls for him, he would live up to his party reputation, including the supposedly revolving bedroom door. Time would tell.

“They have their own bathroom and a walk-in closet over there,” he said, gesturing to a closed door across the room.

She walked over and opened it. The closet was huge! Toys lined either side of the floor—things they had used and some still in the original boxes. Seeing them, Fern shifted restlessly in Sierra’s arms, clearly wanting to get down and play.

From the bars hung a wardrobe big enough for a dozen infants. Dresses and jumpers and tiny pairs of jeans and shirts—all designer labels and many with the tags still attached, and all in duplicate. In her wildest dreams Sierra never could have afforded even close to this many clothes, and certainly not this quality. They were neatly organized by style, color and size—all spelled out on sticky notes on the shelf above the bar.

Sierra had never seen anything like it. “Wow. Did you do this?”

“God, no,” Coop said. “This is Ms. Densmore’s thing. She’s a little fanatical about organization.”

“Just a little.” She would have a coronary if she looked in Sierra’s closet. Besides being just a fraction the size, it was so piled with junk she could barely close the door. Neatness had never been one of her strong suits. That had been okay living with her dad, who was never tidy himself, but here she would have to make an effort to be more organized.

“The bathroom is through there,” Coop said, walking past her to open the door, filling the air with the delicious scent of soap and man. The guy really did smell great, and though it was silly, he looked even more attractive holding the baby, which made no sense at all. Or maybe it was just that she’d always been a sucker for a man who was good with kids—because in her profession she had seen too many who weren’t. Dead-beat dads who couldn’t even be bothered to visit their sick child in the hospital. And of course there were the abusive dads who put their kids in the hospital. Those were the really heartbreaking cases and one of the reasons she had transferred from pediatrics to the NICU.

But having an easy way with an infant didn’t make a man a good father, she reminded herself. Neither did giving them a big beautiful bedroom or an enormous closet filled with toys and designer clothes. The twins needed nurturing, they needed to know that even though their parents were gone, someone still loved them and cared about them.

She held Fern closer and rubbed her back, and the infant laid her head on Sierra’s shoulder, her thumb tucked in her mouth.

“I’ll show you your room,” Coop said, and she followed him to the bedroom across the hall. It was even larger than the girls’ room, with the added bonus of a cozy sitting area by the window. With the bedroom, walk-in closet and private bath, it was larger than her entire apartment. All that was missing was the tiny, galley-style kitchen, but she had a gourmet kitchen just a few rooms away at her disposal.

The furnishings and decor weren’t exactly her style. The black, white and gray color scheme was too modern and cold and the steel and glass furnishings were a bit masculine, but bringing some of her own things in would liven it up a little. She could learn to live with it.

“That bad, huh?”

Startled by the comment, Sierra looked over at Coop. He was frowning. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.

You hate it.”

“I don’t hate it.”

One brow tipped up. “Now you’re lying.”

“It’s not what I would have chosen, but it’s very … stylish.”

He laughed. “You are so lying. You think it’s terrible.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling, but the corners of her mouth tipped up regardless. “I’ll get used to it.”

“I’ll call my decorator. You can fix it however you like. Paint, furniture, the works.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that wouldn’t be necessary, and he held up one ridiculously large palm to shush her. “Do you really think I’m going to let you stay in a room you despise? This is going to be your home. I want you to be comfortable here.”

She wondered if he was always this nice, or if he was just so desperate for a reliable nanny he would do anything to convince her to take the job. If that was the case, she could probably negotiate a higher salary, but it wasn’t about the money. She just wanted to be with her girls.

“If you’re sure it’s not a problem, I wouldn’t mind adding a few feminine touches,” she told him.

“You can sleep in the nursery until it’s finished, or if you’d prefer more privacy, there’s a fold-out love seat in my office.”

“The nursery is fine.” She didn’t care about privacy, and she liked the idea of sleeping near her girls.

He nodded to Fern and said, “I think we should lay them down. It’s afternoon nap time.”

Sierra looked down at Fern and realized that she had fallen asleep, her thumb still wedged in her mouth, and Ivy, who had laid her head on Coop’s enormously wide shoulder, was looking drowsy, too.

They carried the girls back to the nursery and laid them in their beds—Fern on the right side and Ivy on the left—then they stepped quietly out and Coop shut the door behind them.

“How long will they sleep?” Sierra asked.

“On a good day, two hours. But they slept in until eight this morning, so maybe less.” He paused in the hall and asked, “Before we call my attorney, would you like something to drink? We have juice and soda … baby formula.”

She smiled. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay, if you’re having any second thoughts, this is your last chance to change your mind.”

That would never happen. He was stuck with her. “No second thoughts.”

“Great, let’s go to my office and call Ben,” Coop said with a grin. “Let’s get this show on the road.”