The manager sneered. “I knew you wouldn’t last the day!”
“You’re just mad because the owner made you hire me!”
“It obviously wasn’t for your waitressing skills,” he returned snidely.
Adam threw his napkin on the table. “Mister, you’re asking for a broken nose!”
Laura gasped and threw up a protective hand. “No, don’t! I don’t want the job, honestly, and I can’t stand fighting. Please.”
Adam looked at the mixed desperation and hope on her face and felt his heart lurch inside his chest. He swallowed down the anger and glanced around the table. “Get your coats on, kids,” he ordered brusquely, digging into his pocket. “We’re getting out of here. And we won’t be back,” he added for the manager’s benefit.
The odious man snorted. “Now that’s a real tragedy.”
Adam fixed him with a narrow glance. “Tell your boss that he’ll be hearing from Adam Fortune.”
At the mention of the Fortune name, the man went pale. Adam nodded with satisfaction and helped Robbie down from his chair, while the woman named Laura hurriedly did the same for Ryan. Adam stepped to her side, reached out and grasped her by the arm. “Where’s your coat?”
Her eyelids lifted with surprise. “I-in the back, but—”
“Get it,” he said flatly, leaving no room for argument. “You’re going with us.”
“B-but I can’t just—”
“Look, you were just trying to help out an inept father when this jerk came storming over and fired you.”
“He didn’t fire me, I quit,” she pointed out, lifting her chin.
Adam smiled. Oh, he liked this woman, a lot. “Fine, you quit, but you wouldn’t have had to quit if it hadn’t been for us. So, in my book, that means I owe you. Now get your coat.” He turned her toward the back of the little café, then counted money out onto the table. “That should do it.” He looked up at her. “Go on!”
“I—I’ll have to change out of the uniform,” she told him over her shoulder, hurriedly threading her way through tables full of gaping diners.
“We’ll warm up the car,” he said, grabbing Ryan by the hand as he reached for a milk glass. He snagged the collar of Robbie’s coat as he dropped toward his knees, intending to crawl under the table.
“Uh, n-no need for this,” the manager stuttered nervously, scooping up the money and shoving it into Adam’s coat pocket. “Breakfast is on the house…sir. S-sorry for the, um, misunderstanding.”
“Nice try,” Adam said through perfect white teeth, “but I still think I’ll speak to the owner.”
The man gulped and mopped his brow with a shaking hand. “M-Mr. Fortune, c-couldn’t we, ah, discuss this?”
“No.” Adam hauled Robbie to his feet and moved him bodily toward the door, dragging Ryan behind him.
Wendy stuck her tongue out at the man and ran before them to hold open the door. It hadn’t even closed behind them when she launched into speech. “I like her, Daddy! Don’t you? Wouldn’t she be a good nanny? Wouldn’t she?”
Adam grinned down at his astute young daughter. Maybe she understood more about everything than he realized. Her happy, expectant doll’s face sent a surge of love through him. “Yeah,” he said, “I think she might at that, but she has to agree, hon, so don’t get your hopes up just yet.”
“Oh, but she needs the job!” Wendy assured him sagely.
Adam cocked his head. “Maybe so, but she might not want it. We’ll see. Now get in the car. It’s cold out here.”
He opened the driver’s door, and Wendy scrambled inside. “Back seat,” he said, flashing her a grin, “just in case.”
Nodding, she crawled over and squeezed in between the twins’ car seats. Adam went through the laborious routine of getting the boys into their seats and buckling them in. Robbie hated being restrained in any way, but he stopped fighting when Adam told him that he had to check on her. Adam glanced at the front of the café, but he had learned a few things in the past eighteen months. Before he stepped away from the car, he fixed each one of the little heathens with a stern glare. “Don’t touch a thing!” Three little heads nodded eagerly. He closed the door and trotted over to the front of the café, flailing his arms against the brutal cold.
Just as he suspected, the manager had waylaid her to plead for clemency. Fat lot of good that would do him. Adam pushed the heavy glass door open and leaned inside. “Laura?”
She looked up in surprise at the mention of her name. “Coming.”
She threw on her coat and left the manager massaging his temples. Adam watched her graceful, long-legged glide with a dry mouth. She looked taller in those skinny blue jeans than she had in that dumpy uniform. And that hair! His fingers itched to get into it. His heart whammed in his chest as she slipped through the door and by him.
“It’s Laura Beaumont,” she said huskily, her smile suddenly shy.
“Laura Beaumont,” he repeated dumbly.
“And you are Adam, I think you said?”
He realized abruptly that he was staring and stuck out his hand. “Adam Fortune.”
The name didn’t seem to mean a thing to her. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Fortune.”
Her hand felt delicate and weightless and utterly feminine in his. “Call me Adam.”
“Yes, of course, if you’ll stick with Laura.”
“Oh, I will,” he mumbled absently, warmed by the bright golden droplets of laughter that filled the cold February air. “Indeed I will.”
It suddenly seemed no burden at all to be single with children.
Two
“I’ll make a deal with you,” he was saying. “I won’t call the owner of the diner if you’ll come to work for me. You see, we need a nanny.”
Laura pulled her gaze in and tamped down her excitement. He was entirely too good to look at, and if she had learned anything, it was to be leery of good-looking men. And yet… She shook her head. “I don’t have any experience or training in that area.”
He looked at her, momentarily taking his eyes off the road. “No? Well, maybe that’s a good thing. You sure seem to have a way with them, and maybe that’s more important.”
She sucked in her bottom lip, wavering. Something good could happen once in a while, couldn’t it? Her luck didn’t have to be all bad. What did she have to lose, anyway? She tried to think. “I, um, don’t have a car.”
“Oh? Well, that doesn’t matter, really. It’s, um, a live-in position. Room, meals, salary.” He shot her a grin. “And I think we can do better by you than that pancake house back there.”
Laura caught her breath. Room, meals, and a salary? He went on talking.
“Breakfast is the sticking point. Trained nannies don’t like to cook. However, our cook doesn’t like to live in. She’s married, you see, and by the time she can feed her husband and get him off to work, straighten her house and get out to ours, it’s time to fix lunch. And since I’m about as useful in a kitchen as a coat hanger, the nanny has to fix breakfast. Think you can handle that?”
Laura had to smile. As if making breakfast were a problem. She’d once thought that she’d gladly do without just to escape kitchen duty at the group home where she spent the majority of her childhood. Once