Lauren Nichols - Run To Me

“I don’t have a problem helping your grandfather to the bathroom.”

His expression softened slightly, then he looked away again and zipped his bag, his tone brisk again. “Thank you, but I was thinking of Amos. He has a lot of pride.”

“I noticed. And I’d never do anything to hurt it.”

“Good, because he’s all I have, and that makes him my number-one priority. I don’t like thinking he might be at risk—in any way.” He met her eyes again. “You do understand, don’t you?”

Erin nodded. He didn’t have to gush or expand on his statement. It was abundantly clear that he loved his granddad, and if Amos wasn’t treated with care and respect, that Housekeeper Wanted sign would go right back up again.

Mac slung the duffel’s long straps over his shoulder. “I didn’t see a crib or anything like it in your van. Christie sleeps with you?”

“Not always. Sometimes we find a furnished apartment with a twin bed. I have a portable safety railing that slides between the mattress and box spring. That works pretty well.”

“Sometimes you find a furnished apartment?” he repeated in a tone that was cuttingly judgmental. “Do you move around a lot?”

She knew she shouldn’t feel defensive—he had a perfect right to question her—but she did. She also knew that antagonizing him could prompt another discussion between Mac and his grandfather, and this time the younger man might win.

“Is that a problem for you? This job is temporary, isn’t it? Your grandfather said two months at the most, probably less.”

The thoughts moving through his dark eyes weren’t complimentary, and his face was carved granite. “Yes, it’s temporary. I still find myself wondering why you’re so mobile.” His gaze delved more deeply into hers. “Maybe if I ask a few questions—get a few answers—I won’t wonder so much.”

He barely paused a moment before he said coolly, “Ms. Fletcher, are you running away from something?”

She didn’t know how she managed, but Erin spoke in a calm voice. “No. Are you afraid I’ll take off in the middle of the night with the good silver?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know you.”

Feeling a nervous flush creep into her cheeks, Erin turned away from him and began unpacking Christie’s clothes. “Then let’s remedy that right now. What do you want to know?” She was ready with her stock replies.

“All right. But keep in mind that this isn’t a personal attack. I just need to feel comfortable with the people who take care of Amos.”

“I understand. Go ahead.”

“Your van has Maine plates. You don’t have a Maine accent.”

She shook the wrinkles out of Christie’s pajamas and set them aside. “We were only there a short time.”

“You were employed there?”

“Yes, I’ve already told your grandfa—”

“Doing what? And why did you leave?”

Erin put down the tiny bib overalls she’d just plucked from the suitcase, then turned around, realizing that her answers might be better accepted if she were facing him. She hid a shiver of apprehension. The penetrating eyes beneath the shading brim of his Stetson seemed to see straight through her. But as she gazed deeper into those eyes, past the concern, past the strength and confidence there, she saw something else. Something that mirrors had reflected in her own eyes. This man had baggage, too.

She drew a breath. “My last job was waitressing at a small restaurant. It was fun. I enjoy working with people.” She got herself ready for the next lie. “I left because it took me away from Christie too many hours in the day.”

“You had to travel 2500 miles to find a position that kept your daughter with you 24/7?”

“No, Maine was beautiful, but cold. I decided we’d be happier in a warmer climate.”

“So you chose the Flagstaff area? Winters here can be—”

“This isn’t our last stop. I’ve never seen California.”

It was several seconds before he slowly nodded. Again the judgment and doubt in his dark gaze was a near palpable thing. “I assume you included the name and address of your previous employer in your list of references?”

“Yes.” She’d only offered two names—Millie’s and Lynn’s—and thank heaven, they were both confidantes and prepared for phone calls. It still stunned her that Amos hadn’t contacted either of them, saying that he was from the old school and judged people by the look in their eyes—and she looked all right to him. “Until last week I worked for Millie Kraft at Krafty Millie’s Café in Spindrift, Maine, just up the coast from Boothbay Harbor. Your grandfather has her number. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

Again, that long, slow gaze assessed her. But apparently the inquisition was over because he thanked her and walked out of the room. “There’s a twin bed in storage at Granddad’s house,” he called over his shoulder. “I think I can squeeze it in here.”

Erin trailed him through the hall toward the front door. “You don’t have to do that. Christie will be fine, sleeping with me.”

“She should have her own bed,” he said firmly.

Suddenly Christie barreled out of the great room, a page from her coloring book flapping in her hand. Her tiny face was all smiles, her voice a high-pitched squeak. “Wook, Mommy!”

Smiling, Erin scooped Christie into her arms, then held the paper out in front of her. She gasped dramatically at the wild purple and yellow swirls and swishes. “Oh, my! Did you do this all by yourself?”

Christie nodded excitedly.

“It’s beautiful. We’ll have to dig out our magnets and put it on the refrigerator.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks as Mac ambled back from the door. His deep voice gentled as he surveyed Christie’s handiwork, the way most adults’ voices did when speaking to a child. “Mommy’s right. This is a very nice picture. Can you tell me what it is?”

“Me!”

“I can see that now,” he replied chuckling. The skin beside his dark eyes crinkled. “Do you think you could make one for my grandpa’s refrigerator? I’ll bet he’d like that. I know I would.”

Beaming, Christie wriggled out of Erin’s arms and raced back to her crayons.

Mac’s gaze followed her. “How old is she?”

“Three. Well, she will be in three months. September.”

“She’s a cutie.”

“Thank you. I think so.”

His next words landed like a punch. “Her father must miss her very much.”

It was hard to breathe, hard to remain calm, hard to hide the jolt of fear that now accompanied any thought or mention of Charles. But she made it through the moment without betraying any of those things and stated simply, “He’s not with us anymore.”

“He passed away?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

When she didn’t offer more, new questions rose in Corbett’s eyes—curious questions—but apparently respecting her privacy, he didn’t ask them. Instead, the look in his eyes slowly began to change.

The difference was subtle, almost unnoticeable…but for the shortest of seconds, his gaze passed over her hair and the slope of her face—lingered for a heartbeat on her mouth. And Erin’s pulse quickened as awareness came tiptoeing back, all the more potent because they were alone, behind closed doors, and she now realized the attraction was mutual.

Time stretched out on tenterhooks.

The air between them quivered with a tension running just below the surface.

Then Mac abruptly jerked his gaze from hers and retraced his steps to the door. “I’ll see about that bed,” he said brusquely, exiting and closing the screen door behind him.

“Th-thank you again for your trouble,” Erin called.