“No. He’s not there much at all. Birthdays, Christmas, an annual fundraiser for the Dallas Children’s Hospital, and that’s about it. Mr. Foley’s a busy man, but he gives Livie what she needs otherwise.”
Yes, nannies.
Yet, as Melanie had told her boss, she wasn’t one to judge, and she needed to keep that in mind.
Monty seemed to have shut himself off from saying any more about it, so Melanie decided to pursue another avenue.
Then she would stop. Really.
“Funny how life works. I mean, if Harry McCord hadn’t cheated in that card game with Gavin Foley, the Foleys might’ve been the ones with the jewelry empire that the McCords developed.”
“True,” Monty said. “There were five abandoned silver mines on that property. Five. That’s a lot of can-noli they missed out on because their grandfather made a bad bet.” He chuckled. “But, depending on who you talk to outside the family, you’re going to get a different story about that poker game.”
“What do you mean?”
Monty looked over his shoulder, amusement written on his face, then returned his gaze to the front again. “None of this goes out of the car, understand?”
Heck, she didn’t want to summon the wrath of her coworkers by betraying them. “Absolutely.”
Her pulse got a bit louder in her ears.
“It’s sour grapes, that’s what I say. Gavin made the bet, and he should’ve owned up to it. But it must’ve been tough to see that land pay off in so much silver to the McCords.”
“I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like,” she said.
“Fortunately,” he added, “the Foleys found their own strike of luck in their East Texas oil fields, but Gavin always claimed that the McCord silver should’ve been theirs, too. The boys grew up on those sorts of tales, especially young Travis. He practically lived at his grandfather’s knee, while our Zane ran the roost over at his dad’s house.” The driver smiled. “Testosterone Lodge. That’s what they called their household after their mother passed on.”
Melanie remembered the woman in the family portrait in Zane’s study. She’d looked so gentle and caring, traits she’d never really grown up with herself.
“So,” she said, feeling an ache in her chest, “Mr. Foley—Zane—was the second man of the house, right after Rex Foley?”
“Yes, ma’am. And the absence of a woman’s guiding touch is why you have the competitive, aggressive Zane Foley, who lords it over the real estate and oil businesses. He’s the leader of the pack.”
Sitting back in the seat, Melanie allowed the image of Zane Foley’s hazel eyes to mist over her thoughts. She sighed without even knowing it, then recovered when she saw Monty watching her in the mirror.
“He’s a haunted man, too,” the driver said, as if he knew just what kind of effect the boss had on her.
Then again, she wouldn’t be surprised if he attracted every woman who came within ten feet of him.
“The missus—Danielle—did a real number on him.” Monty shook his head. “You’re going to hear about this sooner or later, being a part of the family now, so I’ll tell you. But it’s not to be talked about to anyone else.”
“I understand.”
He slumped a little in his seat. “Danielle was bipolar, and during a time when she went off her medication, she took her life.”
Melanie instinctively covered her heart with her hand. Now Zane Foley’s avoidance of discussing his personal life with the press made sense.
But what had the suicide done to Livie?
To Zane?
She recalled his devastated gaze, and she knew.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said softly.
“We were all sorry. It’s been almost six years now, but she still has an effect on every moment, every inch of space around us.”
Melanie stayed quiet. She was going to live in what amounted to a haunted house, wasn’t she? She was going to walk on the floors where Danielle had walked, brush her fingers along the same walls…
“He married her right out of high school,” Monty continued, “but a short time after that, she started showing extreme highs and lows in her mood. Mr. Foley didn’t know how to handle that, yet he did everything he could. The doctors even put her on meds, but when she went off of them…”
Melanie closed her eyes, wanting to hear, but not wanting to.
He added, “Mr. Foley isn’t a helpless kind of man. He’d always been so good at everything—school, home life, sports and then business. But he couldn’t come up with any way to aid Danielle, beyond getting her all the professional treatment he could. When she overdosed on pills, he blamed himself and buried himself in work.”
She opened her eyes. “How about Livie?”
“She was nothing more than a baby when it happened, but every year she grows to look even more like Danielle. You can imagine what that does to Mr. Foley.”
Monty didn’t say anything more, but Melanie figured out the rest of it.
Did her new boss fear that history would repeat itself? Was that why he rarely visited Livie, because he thought his daughter would be just like the mother, not only in appearance, but in everything else, too?
Most importantly, had Livie gone through five nannies in six years because she was acting out, missing a dad who found it painful to be around her?
Now the shadows in his gaze made so much sense.
Yet, as the town car purred on toward Austin, all Melanie really knew was that she was on her way to aid a young girl who needed someone to be there, to help her overcome all the anguish.
Even if that someone was a woman who was trying to leave her past behind, too.
Chapter Three
From outside, the Victorian mansion and sweeping lawns of Tall Oaks made it seem as if every single rich-girl fantasy that Melanie had conjured in her life was coming true.
Grand willow and oak trees, majestic wrought iron furniture on the porch under the fine gingerbread woodwork…
But then she stepped foot inside.
As she struggled not to drop either of her suitcases, Mrs. Howe, the estate manager, closed the door behind them, whisking past Melanie on her way to the staircase.
“Ms. Grandy?” the bun-wearing, gray-dressed redhead said, pausing near the faded walnut handrail.
Melanie took a moment to gander at the Spartan foyer, then through the open pocket doors that led to a parlor. The furniture, from a closed rolltop desk set to a loveseat, was what a person would call “bleak.” The wooden herringbone floors were bare of warming rugs. And although the ceilings boasted hand-painted images of angels flying in cloudy harmony, the colors were leeched to almost nothing.
Ghostly, Melanie thought again.
Was it too late to quit?
Her gaze fell to a corner of the parlor, where a tall, unpolished gold cage held a lone canary that stirred on its perch, not even singing.
“That’s Sassy,” Mrs. Howe said. “She’s been in the family for a couple of years. Livie likes to try and persuade her to sing sometimes, but that bird doesn’t always oblige her. She’s a stubborn, quiet little thing.”
Melanie wanted to ask how often a canary like Sassy might want to warble in a place like this, but instead she blinked herself out of her stupor