Connor groaned again.
The woman made him uneasy. She made most men in town uneasy, even the stalwart, battle-toughened, Ethan Scott. No wonder the coward had pawned her off on Connor.
Hitting his cue perfectly, Ethan stuck his head out of Exam Room 2. “Tag, buddy, you’re it.”
Connor snarled. “Anyone ever mention you have a mean streak?”
“Only every other person who meets me.”
* * *
Following the GPS voice commands on her phone, Olivia swung her car onto Aspen Way. Anticipation building, she inched along, verifying addresses as she went. Each block she covered brought her closer to the edge of town. At the last house on the street, she slammed on the brakes.
Her mouth dropped open and waves of delight washed over her. Connor had bought Charity House.
The sprawling old home had once been an orphanage in the 1800s. Or rather, a baby farm, which was really just a fancy name for a place where prostitutes in the Old West sent their illegitimate children for a solid Christian upbringing.
Both the Scotts and the Mitchells had ancestors directly connected to the place. Some of the stories were legendary, others so far-fetched Olivia hadn’t believed them for a moment.
Members of both families had worked at the orphanage, while others had married someone closely connected. All had lived out their faith, showing God’s grace to abandoned children and their prostitute mothers.
Smiling, Olivia swung her car onto the gravel road leading to the grand old mansion.
A sense of rightness filled her. This temporary nanny position came at a perfect time in her life. During the day, she would concentrate on taking care of Connor’s daughters. Maybe even teach them how to cook while testing out new recipes. At night, she would work on her business plan, perfecting it until she was ready to present her idea to a bank or potential investor.
Win-win.
As long as she kept her heart firmly guarded and remembered her place in Connor’s home.
The three-story house was undergoing renovations, as evidenced by the scaffolding. Even in its unfinished state, the home was something straight out of a fairy tale—whimsical in design, the sharp angles of the roof were softened by clinging wisteria, rounded windows and wrought-iron balconies.
Head full of damsels in distress and happily-ever-afters, Olivia parked her car at the end of the drive and climbed out. She’d barely commandeered the steps leading onto a lovely wraparound porch when the front door flew open. Out spilled a wild-eyed, frazzled young woman Olivia immediately recognized.
“Good morning, Avery.”
“What’s good about it?”
The poor girl looked so overwhelmed, so flustered that Olivia found herself wanting to lighten the mood as quickly as possible. “That’s some kind of greeting after all these years.”
Avery’s face fell. “Oh, Olivia. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Cheeks bright pink, her golden eyes round with remorse, she clasped Olivia’s hands. “It’s been a bit hectic this morning.”
Aside from her flushed face, several blond locks had slipped out of her ponytail and now fluttered over her eyes.
“Are the girls giving you trouble?”
“Not even a little. They’re wonderful. But that dog of theirs?” Avery executed an impressive eye-roll. “He’s a walking nuisance on four pudgy legs.”
Samson’s latest victim. Unlike Carlotta’s experience with the puppy, at least Avery only suffered a large case of frustration.
“Let’s try this again.” Avery blew a strand of hair off her face. Her smile came quicker now, fuller. “It’s really great to see you. You look amazing.”
“I was thinking the same about you.” She squeezed her old friend’s hand. “And the good news is—”
A loud crash from inside the house cut off the rest of her words.
“Samson, no.” A panicked squeal followed the command. Then came the cringe-worthy statement “Not on the floor.”
“Here we go again.” Avery took off in a dead run.
Trailing after her, Olivia only had time for impressions as she rushed toward the back of the house. She noticed the décor and concluded that, much like the exterior, the interior was still a work in progress.
She caught up with Avery in the kitchen. She was on her hands and knees attacking Samson’s latest magnum opus with quiet fervor and a handful of paper towels.
The culprit was nowhere in sight. Nor, Olivia noted, were the twins.
“Megan and Molly hustled the puppy outside, probably to keep me from killing him. I wouldn’t have, you know.” Avery tossed the soiled towels in the trash, then went to wash her hands in the sink. “I’d never hurt the little guy.”
“Of course not.” Olivia patted her hand in commiseration.
“He’s just so full of...” Avery moved her shoulders as if trying to dislodge a heavy weight. “Energy.”
That was one way of putting it.
“Well, I have good news. I have nothing pressing on my calendar today. I can stick around and observe or help or whatever for as long as you need me.”
Avery leaned in close, nearly pressing her nose to Olivia’s. “How long are you suggesting?”
“All day, if necessary.”
“Woot!” Pumping her palms in the air, Avery wiggled her hips, twirled in a circle.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. To use Avery’s words, the girls were wonderful. And, yes, Samson was a nuisance. At least he was a cute nuisance, and easy enough to manage, once Olivia taught the stubborn little guy who was in charge. That had only taken three exhausting hours.
By midafternoon, Avery started making noise about needing to reread her anatomy and physiology notes before starting work in Connor’s office. After checking with Connor, Olivia told Avery to go on home.
She was out the door in a flash.
Now, a few minutes shy of six, the girls were busy setting the table in the kitchen’s breakfast nook while Olivia checked on the casserole she’d popped in the oven earlier. Satisfied it was cooking nicely, she carefully shut the oven door and looked around.
This must have been one of the first rooms Connor had renovated. Aside from the usual appliances, all top-of-the-line, there was an enormous refrigerator and a massive center island with a built-in grill.
She could do a lot of creating in a kitchen like this.
Sighing over the possibilities, she dragged her fingertip along the granite countertop, scooting around a slumbering Samson as she went. The puppy slept as hard as he played.
Smiling at him, she reached down to rub his upturned belly. The sound of a key turning in a lock had him leaping to his feet and bolting out of the kitchen.
“Daddy’s home,” Molly declared, chasing after the dog.
Megan joined the welcome-home party a half step later.
Olivia remained in the kitchen. She smoothed a hand over her hair, straightened the hem of her shirt, then checked her white jeans for stains and unwanted wrinkles.
Jeans don’t wrinkle, she reminded herself. Feeling oddly out of sorts, she didn’t know what to do with her hands.
What was wrong with her? She was usually so in control. Stubborn CEOs determined to