Crystal Green - The Texas Billionaire's Bride / The Texas Bodyguard's Proposal - The Texas Billionaire's Bride

Melanie remembered the woman in the family portrait in Zane’s study. She’d looked so gentle and caring, traits she’d never really grown up with herself.

“So,” she said, feeling an ache in her chest, “Mr. Foley—Zane—was the second man of the house, right after Rex Foley?”

“Yes, ma’am. And the absence of a woman’s guiding touch is why you have the competitive, aggressive Zane Foley, who lords it over the real estate and oil businesses. He’s the leader of the pack.”

Sitting back in the seat, Melanie allowed the image of Zane Foley’s hazel eyes to mist over her thoughts. She sighed without even knowing it, then recovered when she saw Monty watching her in the mirror.

“He’s a haunted man, too,” the driver said, as if he knew just what kind of effect the boss had on her.

Then again, she wouldn’t be surprised if he attracted every woman who came within ten feet of him.

“The missus—Danielle—did a real number on him.” Monty shook his head. “You’re going to hear about this sooner or later, being a part of the family now, so I’ll tell you. But it’s not to be talked about to anyone else.”

“I understand.”

He slumped a little in his seat. “Danielle was bipolar, and during a time when she went off her medication, she took her life.”

Melanie instinctively covered her heart with her hand. Now Zane Foley’s avoidance of discussing his personal life with the press made sense.

But what had the suicide done to Livie?

To Zane?

She recalled his devastated gaze, and she knew.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said softly.

“We were all sorry. It’s been almost six years now, but she still has an effect on every moment, every inch of space around us.”

Melanie stayed quiet. She was going to live in what amounted to a haunted house, wasn’t she? She was going to walk on the floors where Danielle had walked, brush her fingers along the same walls…

“He married her right out of high school,” Monty continued, “but a short time after that, she started showing extreme highs and lows in her mood. Mr. Foley didn’t know how to handle that, yet he did everything he could. The doctors even put her on meds, but when she went off of them…”

Melanie closed her eyes, wanting to hear, but not wanting to.

He added, “Mr. Foley isn’t a helpless kind of man. He’d always been so good at everything—school, home life, sports and then business. But he couldn’t come up with any way to aid Danielle, beyond getting her all the professional treatment he could. When she overdosed on pills, he blamed himself and buried himself in work.”

She opened her eyes. “How about Livie?”

“She was nothing more than a baby when it happened, but every year she grows to look even more like Danielle. You can imagine what that does to Mr. Foley.”

Monty didn’t say anything more, but Melanie figured out the rest of it.

Did her new boss fear that history would repeat itself? Was that why he rarely visited Livie, because he thought his daughter would be just like the mother, not only in appearance, but in everything else, too?

Most importantly, had Livie gone through five nannies in six years because she was acting out, missing a dad who found it painful to be around her?

Now the shadows in his gaze made so much sense.

Yet, as the town car purred on toward Austin, all Melanie really knew was that she was on her way to aid a young girl who needed someone to be there, to help her overcome all the anguish.

Even if that someone was a woman who was trying to leave her past behind, too.

From outside, the Victorian mansion and sweeping lawns of Tall Oaks made it seem as if every single rich-girl fantasy that Melanie had conjured in her life was coming true.

Grand willow and oak trees, majestic wrought iron furniture on the porch under the fine gingerbread woodwork…

But then she stepped foot inside.

As she struggled not to drop either of her suitcases, Mrs. Howe, the estate manager, closed the door behind them, whisking past Melanie on her way to the staircase.

“Ms. Grandy?” the bun-wearing, gray-dressed redhead said, pausing near the faded walnut handrail.

Melanie took a moment to gander at the Spartan foyer, then through the open pocket doors that led to a parlor. The furniture, from a closed rolltop desk set to a loveseat, was what a person would call “bleak.” The wooden herringbone floors were bare of warming rugs. And although the ceilings boasted hand-painted images of angels flying in cloudy harmony, the colors were leeched to almost nothing.

Ghostly, Melanie thought again.

Was it too late to quit?

Her gaze fell to a corner of the parlor, where a tall, unpolished gold cage held a lone canary that stirred on its perch, not even singing.

“That’s Sassy,” Mrs. Howe said. “She’s been in the family for a couple of years. Livie likes to try and persuade her to sing sometimes, but that bird doesn’t always oblige her. She’s a stubborn, quiet little thing.”

Melanie wanted to ask how often a canary like Sassy might want to warble in a place like this, but instead she blinked herself out of her stupor and followed Mrs. Howe, who was already mounting the steps.

Her suitcases seemed to weigh a ton, made all the heavier by the oppression in here, but she had politely refused Monty’s and Mrs. Howe’s help outside, and now she was paying for it as she climbed the stairs.

When they arrived at Melanie’s bedroom, her expectations were already low. And thank goodness, too, because the bed with its circa 1950 turquoise spread, and the muted lamps resting on the dull chests of drawers, didn’t exactly give off any kind of princess vibe.

But she wasn’t here to be royalty, she reminded herself.

Still, she recalled what she’d thought back at Zane Foley’s townhouse, when she’d wondered if she would find Livie stuck in a high-class jail.

She just hadn’t expected to be so right.

Heaving one suitcase, then the other, to the top of the bed, Melanie thanked Mrs. Howe for her welcoming attention.

The manager nodded, continuing the briefing. “Livie’s got some playtime at the moment, then it’s dinner at six, study time afterward, a bit of relaxing time and bed. She wakes up at seven on the dot for you to prepare her, then drive her to school.”

Zane Foley had already gone over all this, even supplying Melanie with directions to the private institution Livie attended for kindergarten.

“Study time?” Melanie asked, still hung up on that one detail. “Livie’s six. What does she have to study?”

Mrs. Howe smiled patiently, and Melanie suddenly saw from up close that the older woman couldn’t have been more than forty, given her smooth skin and the absence of deep wrinkles around her eyes. It was the bun and lack of cosmetics that had made Melanie think Mrs. Howe was even more mature at first.

But, beyond that, she couldn’t read the manager.

“Mr. Foley,” the other woman said, “has Livie read picture books and listen to phonics on her own, applying what she’s learned at school.”

“So much for being a kid,” Melanie said lightly, testing Mrs. Howe, to see just how strict she was.

The woman widened her eyes a tad, and Melanie realized that she might have surprised Mrs. Howe with her spiritedness.

“Sorry,” Melanie said. “It’s only that I got the impression Mr. Foley is rather…”

Okay, how could she put this?

Mrs. Howe helped her out. “A hard case?”

Now Melanie smiled.

But the other woman merely adopted a tolerant grin. “He makes sure Livie toes the line, and we all respect that, because he’s also a good, fair employer.”