Gift from the Heart. Irene Hannon

“All right. And I’ll send Ellen over to help with the cleaning. But if things don’t come together, we’ll work something else out, okay?”

      “Okay.”

      “I’ll order a new mattress, too. The one in the bedroom seems pretty pathetic.”

      She looked relieved. “That would be great. Thanks.”

      “Well, do whatever you need to do. Just save the bills and I’ll take care of them. I assume you’ll be judicious.” He tacked on that last admonition out of habit. He’d always used it with his wife, though it had never worked. That was one of the reasons he hadn’t been able to save much money during their marriage. But he was immediately sorry he’d said it to Clare. Luckily, she didn’t seem to take offense.

      “Of course. I’ll get started first thing tomorrow. If all goes well, I should be able to take on my duties as Nicole’s nanny in a week. If that’s okay.”

      “Absolutely. I’ll have the mattress delivered and the door sanded. Let me know if I can do anything else to help in the meantime.”

      “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten used to handling things on my own.”

      After flipping off the light, Adam followed Clare down the steps. Her head was bent as she navigated the narrow stairs, exposing the delicate nape of her neck below her upswept hair. It made her seem vulnerable. And fragile. And it awakened a protective instinct in him. He recalled experiencing a similar feeling about Elaine early in their marriage. But it had been long absent from his life. Nor did it make any sense now, especially in relation to a virtual stranger who, he suspected, would not appreciate being thought of as either delicate or fragile.

      For so many years, the only woman in Adam’s life had been Nicole. Worrying about her and their rocky relationship had consumed his thoughts and energies when he was away from work. He’d rarely given any other female more than a passing glance, avoiding well-meant setups by friends and keeping all women at arm’s length.

      Now Clare would literally be living in his backyard. But as she’d noted moments before, it was a business arrangement, nothing more. And he would do well to remember that. Because even if he was inclined to consider her in a more personal light, that would be a tragic mistake. It was a mistake he’d made once before, with Elaine. And it was one he didn’t intend to repeat. It wouldn’t be fair to any woman.

      Because he just wasn’t husband material.

      Adam glanced up at Clare’s apartment as he hit the electric garage-door opener. As usual, the lights were on. She’d surprised him by moving in right away, even though he’d considered the place unlivable. And no matter what time he looked toward the garage—early in the morning as he grabbed a cup of coffee before leaving for the hospital, or late at night before he went to bed—the lights were on. A pile of debris had begun to accumulate next to the driveway—including the shag carpeting. His work schedule before holidays was always crazy, so he hadn’t had a chance to stop in. But he wanted to check on her progress and thank her for assuming some of her duties early. When Clare had found out that Mrs. Scott was going away on vacation during the holiday, she’d offered to watch Nicole after school even though she hadn’t officially assumed her position yet.

      Adam glanced at his watch. Since Thanksgiving was tomorrow, he’d closed the office early. It was the first time he’d been home before six o’clock in weeks. And there was plenty of time to pay his new nanny a visit before dinner.

      The ground-level door to the apartment opened without a problem; the carpenter he’d called had obviously paid a visit. He stepped inside, noting that the stairwell had been cleaned up, as well. The bare light bulbs at the bottom and top of the stairs had been hidden under shades that softly diffused the light. The walls were brighter, too, he noted as he made his ascent. They’d been painted in a soft eggshell color. And the wooden steps had been thoroughly cleaned.

      Raising his hand to knock on the door, Adam paused at an unfamiliar sound. His daughter’s laughter. His throat tightened with emotion, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward. He had known it would take a major miracle to get his daughter back on track. But if Clare could get her to laugh, she’d already worked a minor one. He hoped this was just the beginning.

      His knock was answered almost immediately, and his words of greeting died on his lips as he stared at the woman looking back at him. Clare’s honey-gold hair was carelessly pulled back into a ponytail, and her paint-spattered jeans and sweatshirt were a far cry from her usual designer clothes. She didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup, either—unless you counted the specks of paint dotting her porcelain complexion. She looked far younger and less sophisticated than in any of their previous encounters. She also looked very, very appealing.