Footsteps sounded in the hall. Marge came in, carrying Christine in one arm, pushing the stroller with the other. Marge looked as smitten as her daughter. “I guess we don’t have to ask if the two of you got on all right,” Hayley said.
Marge smiled warmly at Hayley before turning once more to her brother. “You could still introduce me more properly to our friends, Dillon.”
“Sorry, Marge. This is Hayley Alexander and her baby girl, Christine. Hayley, meet my sister, Marge.”
“Alexander. Where have I heard that name before?” Marge queried, perplexed. Christine reached out for Hayley, and Marge handed her over.
Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Dillon insinuated himself between the two women. “I don’t know. There are plenty of Alexanders around. Alexander Haig. Alexander the Great. There’s even a St. Alexander—”
Marge aimed a punch at Dillon’s sternum. “Cut it out. You know what I mean.” She pivoted back to Hayley. “I’m serious. Have we met?”
“No, I don’t think so. I just met Dillon yesterday when we first talked about the job,” Hayley said. “Unless he mentioned to you that he had hired me as his new housekeeper.”
“Hayley is your new housekeeper?”
Dillon nodded. “Close your jaw, Marge, or Hayley will be insulted.”
Marge made a face at him, then turned back to Hayley. “Sorry, Hayley, no offense. But I thought Dillon was going to hire someone much older and—uh—settled. You know, someone with the efficiency of a Marine.” Catching her brother’s dark warning look, she amended with an elegant little shrug, “Guess not.”
“As it happens, Hayley is very efficient,” Dillon put in.
How would he know? Hayley wondered, very much aware she hadn’t yet been given a chance to prove herself.
“Did I say she wasn’t?” Marge countered.
“She even knows how to replace the washers in a faucet.”
“That’s good, because you sure don’t.” Marge grinned. She turned back to Hayley. “I’m sorry I was so surprised. I thought—by the way you were dressed and everything—that you were Dillon’s friend.”
Meaning “lady friend,” Hayley thought, uncomfortably embarrassed. Was this a conclusion everyone else would make, too? Would she constantly be explaining to everyone they weren’t lovers? Piqued she hadn’t thought about that before, she looked at Dillon. “Did you want me to wear a uniform?” she asked.
“No, of course not.” Dillon’s glance slid approvingly over her shawl-collar menswear jacket, red shell and black stirrup pants. “You can dress any way you want.”
Marge nodded vigorously. “I agree. There is absolutely no reason why Hayley should have to a wear a uniform. Not in this day and age.”
Christine squirmed and Hayley put her down. As the three of them talked some more about the strengths and weaknesses of Dillon’s new house, they watched Christine crawling about, exploring the sprawling first floor.
While Dillon went into the utility room off the large country kitchen to check out the fuse box, Hayley observed Marge’s rapt gaze. “You really like babies, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Marge admitted with a yearning smile. “Even more so, now that my own children are out of the nest.”
Dillon rejoined them, adding, “To the point, she’s doing everything she can to get me to procreate one for her to fuss over.”
“Well, Dillon,” Marge delivered a heartfelt sigh, “you are forty—”
Dillon narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t you have a nursery school class to teach today?”
“Nope. I’m all done for the day. I’m through at noon, remember?”
Dillon groaned.
Marge knelt down to explore a red satin throw pillow with black fringe with Christine. “Now that my three kids are off at college, I’d do anything to have a baby in my life again.” She looked at Hayley, woman-to-woman. “You’re very lucky to have such an adorable child. Enjoy these days while they last.”
Hayley thought of the year ahead of her, and even though she knew it would be fraught with hard work, she anticipated only happiness. “I intend to,” she said.
* * *
“I APOLOGIZE for my sister,” Dillon said the moment Marge left; Christine napped peacefully in the playpen Hayley had brought with her.
Hayley paused to lift two paintings off the living room wall. “I thought she was very nice.”
Dillon took the paintings from her and put them in the trash. “And hopelessly outspoken,” he continued.
“That, too,” Hayley remarked, inhaling the bracing scent of his cologne as he came back to her side. “But it’s very clear she loves you and wants only the best for you. I envy you that.”
He gave her a searching look, the intensity of his regard drawing her eyes to the rugged lines of his face. “You don’t have any brothers and sisters?” he asked in a soft, low voice.
“No.” Aware that she was having trouble catching her breath standing so near to him, and that it was ridiculous for her to be reacting that way, Hayley stepped back. Picking up a ficus plant that was deader than a doornail, she carried it to the trash. “Though maybe I should be glad about that,” she teased over her shoulder, “considering how anxious yours is to marry you off.”
Dillon strode after her, each of his long, easy strides matching her two. “Don’t remind me,” he groaned, keeping his voice low, so as not to wake the baby. “Not that it’s anything new. Marge has been trying to fix me up with the right woman ever since I can remember.”
“Without much luck, obviously,” Hayley observed.
“Every time I come home she’s got at least one potential mate waiting in the wings.”
“And?” Hayley picked up a telephone shaped like the head of Daffy Duck and held it up for his perusal.
“And I don’t believe in fairy tales,” Dillon said, unhooking the phone from the wall and placing it atop the pile marked for charity.
“Neither do I,” she admitted.
“Unfortunately most women do,” Dillon continued gruffly. “And I’m no knight on a white charger.”
Their gazes met, held. For a moment Hayley felt she could drown in the dark blue depths of his eyes. To her surprise, he looked similarly entranced. This job was going to be both easier and harder than she’d thought.
“So, which master suite do you want?” he asked, finally recovering enough to break their staring match. “The one at the top of the stairs, or the one at the far end of the hall, over the garage?”
“The one nearest the stairs, so I can get up with the baby at night.
“Fine with me. What about the furniture?” Dillon continued, leading the way up the stairs and into the master suite that would be Hayley’s.
Hayley looked around at the sunny yellow walls and thought it had possibilities. If only this were going to be her house, too, and not just Dillon’s, she thought wistfully, aware she was already falling in love with the place, envisioning the way it could and would be. “I’d like to bring my own, if it’s okay. Except for the brass bed. It’s really nice. Unless you have other plans for it—”
“Not a one.” Dillon shot her a wicked grin, as if the mention of a bed, any bed, brought all sorts of thoughts to mind. But then, to her relief, he merely shrugged his broad shoulders laconically.