Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
She wants a mother.
Ms. Mitchell was too old for the title, but her stories about her children and their occasional visits gave Lucy the family she craved. Her impressive baking skills stamped her place in my daughter’s heart.
Lucy can be bought with chocolate chip cookies. I’ve used this knowledge to my advantage numerous times in the past month as we’ve sought a new in-house caregiver.
Since we depleted our local agency of unknowing victims, the agency extended its search horizon. They assure me Ms. Seabourn will be the perfect addition to the team. It hasn’t been the best start, though. She was meant to arrive before my meeting this morning but missed her train.
Her new arrival time is 4 p.m.—which clicked over almost an hour ago.
“Shit.” I apologize to Lucy for my potty mouth, toss her my wallet so she can remove my penalty for the swear jar in her room, then throw the gearstick into reverse so I can back out of our driveway instead of fully entering it.
“You forgot your new nanny again, didn’t you?” Thane asks, barking out a humored laugh.
I wring the steering wheel. “My meeting ran over, and since I was frustrated with the result, I drove straight home.”
As I dismount the curb, Lucy asks, “Who’s that?”
When I follow the direction of her gaze, my throat dries. Long, lean legs, a sweltering midsection unhidden by low-riding cut-off jean shorts and a midriff top, with tits that belong on the glossy pages of the magazines I’m sure Thane still hides under his mattress.
My words are as hot as the blood roaring through my veins. “Jesus Christ, I’ve never seen such a fantastic pair of—”
“Swans!” Thane interrupts, snapping me out of the trance the stranger’s body placed on me. “Such nice swans.”
As Lucy flattens her face to the window to search for said swans, I yank out the cord responsible for my wife rolling in her grave. I never acted so disturbing while we dated, and I chased her for months before she agreed to go out with me.
“Killjoy,” Thane mumbles when the dashcam stops broadcasting the image of a blonde galloping down the front three steps of my home. Like every Baywatch long-range beach shot, she is slow-moving and extremely bouncy.
When I return my truck to the driveway, the mystery blonde most likely selling Girl Scout cookies holds her hand up to shelter her flawless face from the low-hanging sun but doesn’t creep further down the footpath.
I place my truck in park and switch off the engine. “Watch Lucy for me.”
“It would be easier to babysit if you turned the dashcam back on.” Thane almost has me over the fence until he adds, “I can keep one eye on Lucy and one on the blonde who’ll keep me company for my next seven showers.”
While grinding my back molars together, I remove my seat belt, crank open my door, then slip out of my truck. I don’t brace my gun while approaching the stranger trespassing on private property. She barely weighs one twenty, so a weapon won’t be needed to take her down, but I keep my tone stern to ensure she understands my dislike of unwanted visitors. “Can I help you?”
I hate myself even more for my initial response when her voice comes out as sweet and feminine as her unaged face. At a guess, I’d say she is late teens/early twenties, making me over seventeen years her senior. I should not have responded the way I did. It officially makes me a dirty old man.
“I think it is the other way around. I’m here to help you.” She smiles at my confusion while meeting me halfway down the footpath. “I’m Henley.” When she thrusts out her hand in offer, the curves peeking out from beneath her midriff top become impossible to ignore. Her body is on display for the world to see, but I should still not be looking, even more so when she finalizes her introduction. “Henley Seabourn.”
I cock a brow. Surprise is all over my face. “Our new nanny?” When she nods, sending waves of glossy locks toppling down her shoulders, I shake my head. “Nope. No. This is not happening.” Disgust morphs onto her face as I ask, “Are you even old enough to work in this state?”
“I’m twenty-two.”
Great. She is as young as I expected.
“And have plenty of experience—”
“Not enough for this role,” I interrupt, my tone curt. “I asked for a mature nanny.”
I wave my hand at her stomach, which has nothing to do with her experience. It merely announces why we can’t work together.
I’ve not had the urge to stare at anyone’s midsection since Caroline passed, but I’m an eye strain away from retinal detachment with how much effort it takes to keep my eyes off Henley’s stomach.
“This isn’t what I asked for.”