It was because a bolt of contained need had shot through him, released from somewhere deep down, where he’d repressed the longing, thinking that it was useless.
He recovered in time to say, “For Pete’s sake, do you two live in a middle-school locker room?”
Travis laughed softly. “Just bustin’ your chops. But he did tell me that Livie’s finally going to have some dedicated company again. I have to say I’m glad for that, because I imagine she’s lonely over there.”
Zane wrapped up all remainders of desire that he’d felt this afternoon, packing it tightly away at the mention of his daughter.
Travis and Jason adored their niece, and occasionally they tried to let Zane know that he could improve his fatherly skills.
But they didn’t understand how tough it was. They hadn’t lived with Danielle, hadn’t tried to keep it all together after her death.
How could they understand Zane’s failures and his need to keep it from happening again with Livie?
“Zane,” Travis said, clearly knowing that he was treading on thin ice, “I know the anniversary of Danielle’s death is coming up, and I’m sorry for broaching this again, but what’re you going to do about Livie?”
“Stay out of this, Travis.”
Every inch a Foley, his sibling did no such thing.
“You think it’s a good idea to keep sweeping every mention of Danielle under the carpet?” his brother asked. “It’s not like Livie’s ever going to forget she had a mother. Your pretending as if Danielle never existed is only going to do more harm than good.”
Zane’s temper crept up, squeezing his temples.
But maybe “temper” was the wrong word. “Remorse” was more like it.
“I don’t need to hear this from you,” he said.
“Zane—”
Unable to stand any more, he hung up on his brother and leaned against the cupboard in the darkness of his home, wanting to say he was sorry.
And not just to Travis, either.
At ten minutes to six, a bell clanged from downstairs, and Livie jumped up from her spot on the floor in her upstairs playroom, immediately beginning to tidy all the Barbies and stuffed animals she’d brought out.
“Dinnertime,” the little girl said, as serious as ever.
Melanie gathered the doll clothes, watching her charge bustle here and there, as if her life depended upon a spic-and-span performance. Once again, she felt for Livie, who’d actually began removing those stuffed animals bit by bit, until she’d opened a hole for herself to come through and get closer to Melanie.
Of course, she’d done it slyly, as if her new nanny wouldn’t notice, and Melanie had played along, trying not to look too happy about even that bit of progress.
Livie was so efficient that she had most of the stuffed toys back in place before Melanie had cleaned her own mess, and before she knew it, the little girl was standing at the side of the door, her back straight as she expectantly folded her hands in front of her.
Melanie wasn’t sure what was happening until Livie said, “This is where you’re allowed to come in to make sure everything is in its place.”
Oh. Right.
But Melanie kept near the doorway, on her side of the invisible semicircle that the girl had created earlier with the stuffed animals. “Do you mind if I come in, Olivia?”
The child gave Melanie a sidelong glance, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
The hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, revealing darling dimples, and she nodded. And went back to not smiling.
Melanie didn’t mind, though; she entered the room, making sure all the dolls they’d played with were lined up on the shelves. She was tempted to mess them up ever so slightly, just because she wondered what Zane Foley would do if he saw the aberration, yet she resisted.
“Top-notch job,” she said, turning around just in time to see Livie watching her, then quickly fix her gaze on a spot above Melanie’s head. “You’re a hard worker, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Ms. Grandy.”
She walked toward her charge, wishing she could rest her hand on Livie’s dark head or touch her shoulder, offering some reassurance.
But sensing that this wouldn’t go over well—not just yet—she instead said, “Let’s get washed up and see what’s on the menu.”
Livie spent one more second checking Melanie out, then spun around and dashed down the stairway.
“Careful,” Melanie said, and the girl stopped, then slowed down, using the banister.
But, as if realizing that she was being too nice to the nanny she still had to haze, she sped up again, yet not enough to be chastised for it.
Good heavens, Melanie thought, wishing she had a million more Barbie clothes to use as placating lures from this point on.
After cleaning up herself, she went to the dining room, which was just as stark as the rest of the house, with a long table—an item Zane Foley seemed to favor for the distance it established between diners—and plain chairs and a sideboard. The only ornamentation, if you could call it that, was a bland chandelier, with frosted glass cups lending illumination.
Livie took a seat at the long side of the table, and just as Melanie sat down opposite her, Mrs. Howe appeared through a door.
It was only when the manager cleared her throat that Melanie noticed Livie’s saucered eyes that stared at her new nanny sitting at the main table.
Oh.
“Ms. Grandy,” Mrs. Howe said, “Livie will eat here. Why don’t you follow me?”
Livie looked down at her table setting, and Melanie couldn’t read her expression.
Without causing a scene, Melanie rose, went through the door with Mrs. Howe, but stopped the manager before they got too far.
“I appreciate that there are certain ways you’ve done things around here,” Melanie said, “but I’d really like to be with Olivia tonight. She’s not resisting me as much as she did earlier, and if I could continue that streak…”
Mrs. Howe’s face was unreadable. “That would be between Mr. Foley and you, Ms. Grandy. He’s the one who wants the help to eat in the kitchen.”
Really now?
“Well, I’m willing to answer to him for this,” Melanie said evenly, smiling at the manager.
With a curious look, the woman left her alone.
Truly alone, too, because when it would come time to answer to Zane Foley, it’d be all on Melanie.
But, seriously—like she was going to leave poor Livie to eat by herself?
She went back into the dining room, and when the girl looked up, her sad eyes softened a tad.
Then she glanced back at her plate; but it was too late—because she’d already wrapped her tiny fingers around Melanie’s heart.
She waited, not trusting herself to speak for a moment.
Finally, when she’d gotten some composure, she said, “I like it better out here. It’s nice and quiet.”
“Yes.” The girl peeked at Melanie.
Melanie gave her a reassuring grin, and from the way Livie held back her own smile, she guessed that the child understood