“That’s all.” She jiggled Quinn, coaxing out a smile.
The infant grabbed her glasses, giggling while trying to shove them in his mouth.
“Whoa,” she said with a laugh. “If you want breakfast, I’m going to need those.”
Calder strolled past her with a box of books so heavy she’d had to take rest stops every few feet. He eyed her funnily. Longer than usual. Was everything okay? He couldn’t tell from just the acrid smell lingering on her belongings where she’d been living, could he? A lot of the women had smoked heavily. Sometimes, Pandora feared she might never rid herself of the stench.
On his way into the house, Calder said, “I left a credit card for you on the kitchen table. Quinn’s seriously low on baby food and formula and stuff, so you’ll probably need to fix that situation and grab anything you want for yourself. I usually get fast food on the way home. If you run into trouble, just call my cell. Number’s on the fridge. What’s your number?”
“I, ah, don’t have one.” Too expensive. She’d made her Saturday calls to Julia on the pay phone outside the halfway house.
“Wow, okay. Well, we’ll work on that. Also, while the weather’s nice, use my SUV since it has Quinn’s car seat and stroller. Keys are hanging on a rack by the garage door. Oh—and you might as well park your car in the garage. There should be plenty of room.”
Toying with the bear on the tummy of Quinn’s pj’s, she asked, “How will you get to work?”
“Motorcycle. Usually only use it on the weekends, but this’ll give me a great excuse to ride.”
“Oh.” His shoulders, chest and arms were so tanned. Did he do a lot of work outdoors? Was it wrong she had a tough time focusing on anything but his sheer, male magnificence?
* * *
“SHE HOT?” Calder’s friend and fellow SEAL team member, Mason Brown—also known as ‟Snowman” because he grew up in Alaska and never got cold— finished his bologna sandwich and tossed the wrapper from three-point range into the trash. He missed.
“Who?” Calder asked as he opened a bag of chips. They’d been stuck in a classroom studying smart-bomb mechanisms all morning. The fresh air felt good. Plus, the day was pretty nice for a change—not too hot. They shared a picnic table with their other friends.
Across from Calder sat Heath “Hopper” Stone, nickname earned from his knack for hopping over any obstacle while at a full-on run.
Next to him, Cooper “Cowboy” Hansen. Rumor had him riding into Basic Underwater Demolition—affectionately known as BUDs—on horseback, but Calder always figured he’d just grown up on a ranch.
The group was rounded out by a bunch of boring-ass married guys who talked about nothing but their wives and kids. Deacon and Garrett used to be fun, but lately Calder had to force himself to even be normal around them. Oh, he loved Quinn because he was his son, but he also loved the life he’d made for himself.
Commitment wasn’t his thing.
He sure as hell didn’t want to hear about the so-called promised land of marriage. What a joke. Besides, for all practical purposes he was married—to the navy.
He loved his job. He loved how being a SEAL made the ladies go weak in the knees—not that he bragged about being a SEAL. That wouldn’t be cool. But they were a different breed and women smelled them from a mile away. Adrenaline rushes and seeing the world were his life. Before Quinn, the apartment he’d shared with Mason, Heath and Cooper had only been a temporary layover between adventures.
“Duh,” Heath said, “the nanny. Is she hot?”
Mason groaned. “Nannies rank right up there with kindergarten teachers on the sexy meter. I like to think there’s a whole lot of naughtiness going on under all that nice.”
Calder crossed his arms and glared. “Show some respect here, people. She’s nice—and really knows her stuff around Quinn.” And though he sure as hell wouldn’t mention it to this crew, when Quinn had helped himself to Pandora’s glasses, and she’d laughed, Calder had been forced to do a double take. In that moment, with the morning sun making her complexion glow, holding his giggling son, she’d been genuinely pretty. Wholesome. Exactly the look he wanted for his son. “I’m lucky to have found her and wouldn’t even think of screwing up a good working relationship by making it personal.”
Mason roared. “Just keep tellin’ yourself that, man.”
“Keep it down,” Garrett snapped from the other end of the table. He and his wife, Eve, had just had a baby boy and Garrett was obsessed with showing everyone his latest cell-phone videos. “My son’s talking...”
Calder shook his head. As the parent of his own infant, he knew kids were far from expert communicators. Guilt consumed him for not feeling more in regard to his son. What was wrong with him? When Pandora asked how Calder stood being away from Quinn, he hadn’t had a good answer. Single-handedly caring for an infant was so stressful, whenever he got the chance to bolt, he did.
So why didn’t he miss his baby and take hundreds of pictures of Quinn? Most days, Calder felt as if he lacked the most basic of dad genes. Probably had something to do with the way Quinn had abruptly entered his world.
But now that he’d finally found a nanny, he could do right by his son while at the same time getting back to what he did best. Killing terrorists with his guns, then slaying the ladies with his looks.
Chapter Two
When Calder left that morning, for Pandora the house took on the almost-reverent peace she’d only previously found in a church. Maybe it was because of the sun streaming through the many-paned windows? Or could it be as mundane a reason as her boss had painted most of the house angelic white? Regardless, she held Quinn on her hip, kicking off her sandals carefully, quietly taking it all in.
She admired the honeyed glow of maple floors in the kitchen, den and entry. In the living room, the carpet caressed her bare feet like crushed velvet. The brown leather couch and armchair still had tags hanging from them. The coffee table and a flat-panel TV sitting atop a wood stand were the room’s only other pieces. Calder mentioned he and Quinn hadn’t lived in the house long. Was he taking his time finding more stuff? Waiting till he had money in his budget? Or did he genuinely not care whether or not his house felt like a home?
She hoped he didn’t want to rush a big decision like finding just the right clock for the fireplace mantel and serene landscapes to hang on the walls. But then why would a rough, tough soldier care about any of that? He’d also admitted how much he worked. Why would a comfortable home even be high on his priority list? All he essentially needed was a place to park.
Which made her sad. Not for her, but for his son.
A survey of the kitchen showed Calder was right about her needing to go to the store. Unless she and Quinn wanted to eat baby-food peaches, carrots or protein shakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner, the day’s first priority was a trip to the store.
Noting the blender on the counter, Pandora decided no more bland, premade fare for her tiny charge. “You’re going gourmet, cutie.”
Quinn giggled when she landed a playful poke to his belly.
At the restaurant where she used to work after first getting her life back on track, she’d struck up a fast friendship with the chef. Huge, funny and French, in his laughable English he’d taught her to prepare most everything on the menu and a few items that weren’t. He’d been the only kind father figure she’d ever had, and his sudden heart attack had almost once again thrown her off course. All she remembered of her own dad was him constantly beating the crap out of her mom, occasionally taking a turn on her, then one day never coming home. Pandora would’ve thought