THE TEXAS BILLIONAIRE’S BRIDE

Zane had just opened his mouth to ask if Melanie was set to leave when the women parted to reveal the nanny in the midst of them.

The words lodged in his chest, then began pumping like a conflicting heartbeat.

Her blonde hair was swept back into a graceful chignon, which complemented the slim lines of a short jacket and long cigarette skirt worthy of Jackie O. Her makeup was elegant, bringing out the breathtaking blue of her eyes and the lovely heart shape of her face.

She fitted the role of a princess and, for a taboo instant, he envisioned her on his arm at a charity event, shining like the brightest of stars.

Seconds must’ve passed. Maybe even minutes. And during each escalating heartbeat, he kept himself from saying something he would regret to this new woman, even if, under the makeup and clothing, she was still the same lady who’d hooked his attention that first day.

THE TEXAS BODYGUARD’S PROPOSAL

Impulsively, she held the apple out to Rafe and asked, “Would you like a bite?”

She expected some joke about Adam and Eve, or a retreat on his part. That’s what he usually did if she didn’t do it first.

But instead of retreating, he leaned forwards, clasped his hand under hers, and took a bite of the apple. The world stopped and then seemed to move in slow motion as Rafe chewed his bite of the apple, his gaze on hers the whole time. Her stomach somersaulted, and any coherent thought she possessed vanished. A breeze blew between them, awakening everything about the moment.

He reached for the apple, took it, then set it aside on the balcony ledge. “What do you want, Gabby?” he asked as if he really wanted to know.

Boldly she replied, “I want you to kiss me again.”

The Texas Billionaire’s Bride

by

Crystal Green
The Texas Bodyguard’s Proposal

by

Karen Rose Smith

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Available in September 2010

from Mills & Boon®

Special Moments™

The Texas Billionaire’s Bride

by Crystal Green

&

The Texas Bodyguard’s Proposal

by Karen Rose Smith

Kids on the Doorstep

by Kimberly Van Meter

&

Cop on Loan

by Jeannie Watt

The Texan’s Tennessee Romance

by Gina Wilkins

&

The Rancher & the Reluctant Princess

by Christine Flynn

Loving the Right Brother

by Marie Ferrarella

A Weaver Baby

by Allison Leigh

A Small-Town Temptation

by Terry McLaughlin

A Not-So-Perfect Past

by Beth Andrews

The Texas Billionaire’s Bride

by

Crystal Green

CRYSTAL GREEN lives near Las Vegas, Nevada, where she writes for Mills & Boon® Special Edition and Blaze®. She loves to read, overanalyse movies, do yoga and write about her travels and obsessions on her website, www.crystal-green.com. There you can read about her trips on Route 66, as well as visits to Japan and Italy. She loves to hear from her readers by e-mail through the “Contact Crystal” feature.

To Gail Chasan, who reigns over these stories that have provided all of us with so much life, love and happiness.

Thank you, Gail!

Chapter One

The toughest tycoon in Texas.

That’s how Melanie Grandy’s prospective employer had been described, to one extent or another, in nearly every article she’d read on the Internet before her quick trip down here.

Thing was, those articles had also painted Zane Foley as a slightly mysterious man who didn’t talk about his personal life to the press, even if he led such a public existence otherwise.

But if anyone understood secrets, it was Melanie.

Sitting at one end of a long mahogany table, she watched the head of Foley Industries saunter over the hardwood living room floor of his luxurious Dallas townhouse while he flipped through her personal portfolio, which showed her creative side.

Lordy, it was hard to keep her eyes off of him, although she knew she should.

Yet…

Well, she couldn’t help but notice the details. His dark hair was obviously cut at a pricey salon, but in spite of its neatness, some of the ends flipped up ever so slightly near his nape. It made her suspect that he hadn’t caught the deviation, and as soon as he did, those ends would be right back in place.

He was also very tall, with broad shoulders stretching a fine white shirt he probably had made to order. His chest was wide, his torso tapering down to a honed waist, his legs long. She didn’t know much about his hobbies, but she could imagine him getting fit while horseback riding, could see him sitting tall in a saddle, just as easily as he no doubt commanded a boardroom.

During his scan of her portfolio—he’d seen it during their initial interview two days ago, so was he only perusing it to make her squirm?—Melanie took the opportunity to read between the lines of his silence.

And, boy, did he ever enjoy his silence.

He’d stopped at the other end of the room in front of a stained-glass window, the subdued early May colors bathing him as he glanced over at her. Dark leather furniture surrounded him with a Gothic stillness, each piece angled just so.

Caught checking him out, Melanie’s stomach flip-flopped, but she nonetheless sat straight in her chair, under the intense scan of his hazel eyes.

Probably, it was a bad idea to let her could-be boss know that she’d been assessing him, yet she didn’t want him to think she was the type to look away or back down. She was here to get this job, taking care of his six-year-old daughter, Olivia, whom she’d met briefly during the previous interview.

And Melanie was going to win him over, just as his daughter had thoroughly won her at first sight.

Calming her fluttering nerves, she watched as he coolly refocused on her file, as if he’d only glanced her way to take her measure when she’d least expected it.

But was there some satisfaction in his expression?

Had she passed the pop quiz?

“Oklahoma,” he said, apropos of nothing. But he’d done it in a low, rich voice that smoothed over her skin just as if he’d bent real close and whispered in her ear.

Melanie made sure her own tone didn’t betray that she’d been affected. “I was born and raised just on the outskirts of Tulsa.”

They’d covered these basics during their first meeting, and she knew he’d combed through the dossier she’d presented to him, as well. Over these past couple of days, he’d no doubt checked her references, which she knew would speak for themselves. After all, she’d been recommended to him by a business associate he trusted, and that was most likely the only reason she’d gotten her discount-rack shoes in the front door.

Why did she have the feeling that he was going over her information again, just to see if she’d trip up?

Or maybe she was being paranoid. That tended to happen to folks who might have something to hide…

He wasn’t saying anything, so she continued talking, supplying more personal details than she had the other day. “It was just me and my mom at first. She put me through day care by keeping the books at a small business, and the minute I was old enough, I dealt with the household after school hours.”

Melanie didn’t add that those books her mom had kept were located in the back room of the greasy spoon where Leigh Grandy primarily waited on tables between double shifts and numerous dates with the “nice men” she brought home for “sleepovers.” In fact, Melanie wasn’t even sure which date was her father in the first place; she just knew that he hadn’t stuck around.

Now Zane Foley moved toward the long table where Melanie sat, nearing the other end, which seemed a mile away. It lent enough distance for her to risk another lingering glance at him while he closed her portfolio, placed it on the table, then picked up her dossier.

Darn, he’s handsome, she thought before forcing herself to get back into interview mode. But the notion wouldn’t go away, brushing through her belly and warming her in areas that should have come with “off-limits” signs.

She would be the nanny, he would be the boss. End of story, if she should be so lucky as to be hired.

“Your information,” he said, his gaze still on the papers, “indicates that you started a child-care career early. I’d like to know a little more about your brothers and sisters and how they led to your choice of profession.”

“Actually, they were my stepbrothers and stepsisters.”

“I stand corrected.”

She smiled, avoiding any hardball, but still not standing down.

He didn’t smile at all, yet she was getting used to that.

“My mom married the man she called her ‘true love’ when I was fifteen.” It was wonder enough that her mother had finally settled down, but it was even more amazing that her marriage was still intact today. “He had four children. Two of them were much younger than I was—little girls—so I watched over them, in addition to other work. The older two were twin boys, but they weren’t around much, because they liked their sports.”

Zane Foley cocked a dark eyebrow as he leveled a look at her. “‘Were’ younger? ‘Were’ twin boys?”

Melanie tightened her fingers where they were clasped on the table.

He sat in the leather armchair at the other end, perfectly comfortable with being the inquisitor.

Please let me get through this, she thought. She’d spent nearly every last penny in her bank account to get here, traveling to Dallas for these interviews, in the hope that her lucky stars would shine and she’d secure this new job, this new direction.

“You keep using the past tense when you talk about your stepsiblings, Ms. Grandy,” Zane Foley said.

“My mistake.” She was determined to keep smiling. “We all still keep tabs on each other, even though we’re adults.” If you counted the odd e-mail as healthy familial relations.

But since she’d left her brood back in Oklahoma, they were the past to Melanie. She was the same to them, too, except for her mom, who called quite often for loans.

When her mother remarried, Melanie had ended up in the valley of a no-man’s land. Her stepfather had preferred his own kids to her, making no secret about his feelings, either. To him, she was his wife’s “bastard issue,” and instead of taking out his frustrations about that on Leigh, he’d put it all on Melanie.

Of course, Melanie had approached her mom about this, actually thinking that it would help if Leigh were to address it. Silly her. Her mother had only accused Melanie of trying to sabotage the happiness she’d finally found.

It’d been a stunning moment of betrayal—an instant in which Melanie had realized that her mother would always prefer her guys to her daughter, who’d worked so, so hard to matter more than any of those “nice men.”

“When I was a teen,” she added, directing the interview back to the more positive aspects of her life, “I took courses at the YMCA for babysitting, and you could say I managed a cottage industry early on. I was booked every weekend, and even during the week, if I could handle it with my studies.”

“Evidently, you could, because you aced your classes in school. You graduated with honors, in fact.”

“I knew I’d never get anywhere without a good education.”

She’d supplied her school records for him, and she was sure someone on his staff had already double-checked those, as well as her employment history.

She only hoped that the one job she’d left off her résumé wouldn’t come back to dog her—a gig that had gotten her through college. A paycheck-earner that she preferred to leave behind with the rest of her past.

Her time as a showgirl in what she now considered to be a seedy off-Strip casino in Vegas.

She blew out a breath, continuing, praying she wouldn’t give herself away. “Besides babysitting, I took up waiting tables at a burger joint after classes. But I was known as the go-to babysitter of the neighborhood, and that got me more and more jobs. So I gravitated toward that, since I think I was good at it.” She laughed a little. “Besides, I could charge more than I made in a restaurant that catered to teens, where the tips were…lacking.”

“Industrious,” he said, but she couldn’t tell if it was just a random comment, or if he was truly impressed.

After all, the Foleys were known far and wide for rolling up their shirtsleeves and working for their fortune. They were self-made men, and Melanie was hoping he would want that in the nanny who was raising his child, too.

“I saved every dollar,” she added, “splurging only on my dancing lessons. Lots of them. I couldn’t go without.”

“We all need an outlet,” he said, but he sounded distracted as he looked at the dossier again.

At his next question, she knew they’d entered the most dangerous part of the interview.

“Why did you head toward Vegas right after graduating high school?”

Nerves prickled her skin. “I’d heard the economy was booming at the time, and the opportunity seemed ripe for the taking. The waitress job I got in a local café paid far more in tips than I’d ever made before.”

He didn’t answer, as if expecting more.

She smiled again, giving as good as she was getting. “Didn’t you also gravitate there for the same general reason, Mr. Foley? You’ve developed several projects in the area.”

Maybe it was her chutzpah, but a slight grin tilted his mouth.

That was his only answer, and it disappeared before Melanie could be sure she’d even seen it. Then he was right back in boss-man mode, scribbling some notes on the cover of her dossier.

Was he thinking that she was naïve for dropping everything and heading to Vegas, just as thousands of dreamers without his kind of money had done before her? Get rich quick. Double your income with the right gambles.

And gamble she had, just not with money.

She’d been “discovered” one night when she went out dancing with some fellow students from community college. A talent coordinator from The Grand Illusion casino had given her his business card, inviting her to an audition.

At first, she’d denied him, thinking that her waitress job would hold her. Then her mom had started to write her, asking for loans, and in spite of how Melanie had wanted to escape Oklahoma, she couldn’t say no to helping out the family.

And that’s when she’d decided to audition. The Grand Illusion had a small, fairly cheesy revue that was half bawdy magic and half sexy musical, although nothing distasteful. Heck, no one even took off their sequined tops. She told herself she probably wouldn’t make it anyway. Yet, much to her surprise, she’d breezed through the process, with them offering her a modest wage and, more importantly, the promise of open days during which she could keep going to school and wait a few tables.

It was an ideal setup, and it wasn’t as if she was doing any exotic dancing. Just as soon as she had her degree, she’d be done with it anyway.

When she had the degree under her belt, she quit dancing, just as she’d promised herself, and she’d signed on for her first nanny job, thanks to a glowing recommendation from her advisor to his personal friend.

Her employer had been an affluent single mom, a prominent business developer who was in dire need of a helper; and it’d been the perfect job for years, until Melanie’s boss got married and decided to become a stay-at-home mother.

And that’s how Melanie had come to Dallas at the age of twenty-eight—because her first employer had worked with Zane Foley on the development of a Vegas mega apartment-village complex, and when the businesswoman heard that his latest nanny had quit and he needed to hire another one pronto, she’d given him Melanie’s name.

He nudged the dossier away from him and, for a heavy moment, Melanie wondered if Zane Foley, a man who seemed to cover every base, had dug deep enough into her life to expose her crowded double-wide-trailer beginnings and dancing days.

Was he going to spring it on her now?

“As you’ve heard from Andrea Sandoval,” he finally said, referring to Melanie’s first nanny employer, “I’m eager to get someone in place to care for my daughter. And you almost seem too good to be true, Ms. Grandy, dropping into my lap like this.”

She felt heat creeping over her face, mainly because she could just imagine what it might be like to drop into his lap—Lord have mercy—yet also because she didn’t want to panic at what he might’ve uncovered.

“No one’s perfect, Mr. Foley,” she said, hoping he would agree.

He didn’t, so she kept talking, seeing if she could maybe use a little flattery as backup.

“Although,” she said, “your family seems to come close enough to perfect as it gets.”

He remained distant, over on his side of the table. “We’re hardly perfect.”

“Then you should tell your PR people to stop selling that image,” she said lightly. “The media seems to think that the Foleys are the epitome of what’s good about our country.”

His tone grew taut. “You’ve been looking into my family, have you?”

How could she deny it? News about the business doings of the Foleys, whose holdings had started from a few oil rigs to an empire based on prime real estate and media interests, was legion. Then there were all their charitable causes, behind-the-scenes political power plays and even the social adventures of Zane’s brother, Jason. Hard to ignore, when the media—and the nation—was fascinated with them, even if Zane, himself, tended to avoid the limelight.

“I only did my research,” she said, “because I need to make sure you’re the right family for me, just as you’re making sure I’m right for you.”

Her smile returned full force, but not because she was trying to win him over this time. She was remembering the freckled nose and doe eyes of his daughter. There’d only been a short introduction, yet it’d been enough to convince Melanie that she didn’t belong anywhere else in this world. Something about Olivia had profoundly tugged at Melanie, maybe because the girl reminded her of herself—a little lost and isolated.

Zane Foley didn’t return her smile. In fact, he seemed intent on avoiding it, while the sun from outside shifted enough to slant a patch of red from the stained glass over the strong angles of his face.

Her chest went tight.

“I like your optimism,” he said. “You’d need quite a bit of it with Livie, you know. As I pointed out during our first interview, she’s gone through five nannies in six years.”

“I remember.” Her former employer had already cautioned Melanie. After Olivia’s mom had passed away, the girl had rejected everyone she perceived to be taking her mom’s place.

Melanie had known from the start that this wouldn’t be an easy job; but she wanted to make a difference in the girl’s life, because she sure wished someone had made a difference earlier in her own.

“My daughter’s a handful,” he said. “I’ll make no bones about that.”

“I’ve got more perseverance than you can imagine.”

“Your predecessors thought they had it, too. And on their way out the door, most of them even told me that I ought to think about applying some of that perseverance I show in my own business to my household.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Just to give you fair warning, I don’t employ nannies to get advice from them.”

Melanie kept eye contact, thinking that there was a chink in the steeliness of his gaze—a darkness that showed more than just that notorious arrogance.

“Mr. Foley,” she said softly, “I’d never presume to judge anyone.”

He stared at her a beat longer, then sat back in his chair again, even though he didn’t let up with his gaze. It held her, screwed into her, until a slight thrill traveled her veins.

“The family businesses are important to me,” he said. “Among other things, they’re Livie’s legacy, and I intend to give her a great one. As an only child, she’ll take over all of my share one day, the oil holdings, as well as real-estate interests.”

He said it as if he planned to never get married or have children again. In some weird way, that got to Melanie.

But…jeez. Like she should even be mulling over his most intimate decisions.

“I’m sure your daughter will be grateful for everything you do,” she said.

“You should also know that I spend a lot of time defending our investments, not just building them up. That’s what takes up the majority of my schedule, and the work’s too important for me to spend as much time in Austin with Livie as most people expect.”

“Right,” she said, figuring she would show him just how much research she’d done. “I read that you have to defend against people like the McCords.”

His mouth tightened once more, this time at the name of the family who’d been taking part in a well-known feud with the Foleys for generations.

Oops. She made a mental note never to mention them again.

Zane Foley seemed eager to be rid of the subject. “The bottom line is this—my commitments require a lot of me, and that’s why I need someone to depend on for Livie. Someone who’s more or less my proxy, enforcing my rules and raising her the way I need her to be raised.”

She chafed at his authoritarian tone. What was his daughter to him—another project to develop, like the ones he oversaw in his office?

But Olivia—Livie—was a little girl, and—from what Melanie had seen in her eyes, even for the few minutes they’d conversed—she needed more than rules and routines.

Melanie was on the cusp of saying so when she remembered how much she wanted this job.

“I understand, Mr. Foley,” she said instead, keeping the peace, even if she didn’t really understand him at all.

He gave her one last look from those striking hazel eyes, and she fortified herself against it—almost successfully, too. He only got her tummy to flip one more time.

Then he rose from his chair, leaving her dossier and portfolio on the table.

Melanie held her breath. Was the interview over?

But he only walked away from the table, toward the hushed hallway.

When he saw that she wasn’t following, he waited, and she realized that he wanted her to come, too.

Okay then.

As she stood, she grabbed her suit jacket from the back of her chair, then smoothed down the skirt of the only conservative business outfit she owned.

She made her way across the room to him, her heels clopping on the hard floor, echoing way too loudly for her comfort.

He avoided the door and led her down the hall.

Where was he taking her?

“Livie will receive a full education,” he said, beginning to fire off his expectations, “even when she’s not in school.”

“I’m prepared to teach Livie,” she said, excitement churning. He was going to make an offer! “With Ms. Sandoval’s daughter, Toni, I planned a different learning experience every day, and doing the same here would be wonderful.”

“Livie would benefit from your dance background in particular.”

Melanie’s blood jolted, but then she realized he was probably talking about all the classes, from ballet to jazz to hip-hop, she’d taken. “Livie has taken dance before?”

“No, but she needs to let out her energy in a constructive manner.”

“I see.”

“Other than that, her schedule is set. Firm. Don’t deviate from it, because she responds well to structure. It might be your biggest saving grace.”

Based on Zane Foley’s well-ordered townhouse, as well as all his comments, Melanie wondered if, when she arrived in Austin, she would find Livie inhabiting something like a high-class jail.

Fuming inwardly, she told herself to stay quiet. You want this job, you need this job, so keep your opinions to yourself for now.

They came to what looked to be a study, with more dark, finely etched antique furniture carefully placed about the room: a desk set that held a laptop computer and organized files, a curio cabinet, shelves teeming with leather-bound books that lent the air a thick, musty scent.

There were also large, framed paintings on the walls, the biggest being an old family portrait of the Foleys that featured brothers Jason and Travis, both of whom couldn’t have been more than ten years old at the time, even though Travis looked a little younger. They stood next to their dad, Rex, an affable looking man with a charming grin. Then there was Olivia Marie, their deceased mom, who wore her own gentle smile as she hooked her arm through Rex’s.

On the fringes of them all was Zane, who even in his early teens seemed to carry himself with a combination of cockiness and seriousness.

When Melanie glanced away from the portrait, she found that Zane was behind her, standing in front of a different painting. Livie’s.

A recent depiction of a sweet little girl in a pink dress, her wavy dark hair held back by a lacy headband. She smiled faintly and held a stuffed lamb.

The picture got to Melanie, yet it was the expression on Zane’s face that just about melted her altogether.

Naked love and devotion.

But then it turned into something else—destruction—and Melanie wondered what could have possibly turned one emotion into the other so quickly.

As Zane stared at his daughter’s portrait, he wasn’t seeing Livie so much as someone else entirely. Danielle.

His wife, dead six years now, but still so agonizingly alive in the face of his daughter.

He couldn’t stand the questions that always came afterward: would Livie grow up to be just like her mother? Would his daughter break her own husband’s heart someday, too?

Would she have the same mood swings—from dark to manic—that had escalated into that awful day when Danielle had taken her own life?

He glanced away, his attention locking on the svelte figure of Melanie Grandy. With sunny blond hair that swept her shoulders and blue eyes that seemed to sparkle even when she wasn’t smiling, she was the opposite of Danielle and Livie. But from her heart-shaped face to her ill-fitting blue business suit that he supposed she’d purchased just for these interviews—she’d worn the skirt the other day, too—he got the impression of vulnerability. A leggy wisp of a woman, she might not be so different from Danielle after all.

At his inspection, she raised her chin, a habit he’d become familiar with even during their short acquaintance.

No, this woman had a core to her. She also had an innate dignity that sent a buzz of heat through his veins.

Raw beauty, he thought, flashes of an unpolished diamond lighting his mind’s eye.

But the glare of it made him realize that there was no room for any kind of attraction, especially since she seemed to be a perfect fit for Livie. And thank God for Andrea Sandoval’s timely reference, because the last nanny had quit, leaving Zane at loose ends. He’d needed a quick hire, and since Ms. Grandy didn’t have a criminal record and had come with the highest recommendation from a family friend, he seized the opportunity.

It was just a bonus that his daughter would match well with her new nanny. Livie required someone with spine enough to stand tall and firm, as Ms. Grandy had gracefully done throughout their interviews.

He chanced one last, long second of looking at her, turning the air into a humid fog.

And she seemed to feel it, too. He could’ve sworn it, because she set her jacket on a nearby end table and folded her hands in front of her while concentrating on the picture, a pink tint to her cheeks.

He got back to business, as well.

Always business. Safer that way.

He moved toward his computer, then woke it out of hibernation mode. He’d brought Ms. Grandy into his study to show her the virtual layout of the Austin estate where Livie resided, but even so, he held off on opening the computer file.

She was still back at Livie’s portrait.

“She’s a beautiful child,” Ms. Grandy said, and he could sense that she was being genuine in the compliment. “I can’t wait to start our first day, maybe with some art, where she can express ideas that she might be too shy to say out loud right away.”

“The last time a nanny got the paint out she was scrubbing it off Livie for what seemed like hours. It was even supposed to be washable.”

He could see a battle playing over Melanie Grandy’s face, and it wasn’t the first time. She was clearly wondering if she should put in her own two cents about her child-rearing philosophies, instead of listening to his own cynical point of view.

The other nannies had always kept quiet, but when Ms. Grandy spoke, he was pleasantly surprised that she even dared, although it raised his hackles, as well.

“I’m not afraid of some extra cleanup,” she said, “if it’s the result of something positive for Livie. Maybe she’s the type who would benefit from stepping out of that structure she’s so used to?”

Now he wasn’t even pleasantly surprised with her.

She obviously noticed. “Mr. Foley, I’m not suggesting anything radical. I’m only interested in getting to know Livie.”

He didn’t tell Ms. Grandy that, aside from that one out-of-control paint day, his daughter generally liked to keep her dresses and hands clean—and it wasn’t just at his insistence.

Or was it?

Guilt set in, just as it always did when he thought too hard about how he’d raised—or not raised—his girl. That’s why it was better that he’d adopted such a hands-off policy; he was far more adequate at shaping Foley Industries and concentrating on other important matters, like keeping those damned McCords in line.

Plus, he didn’t know anything about females at all. That was apparent from what he’d let happen to Danielle.

Melanie was still smiling as she looked at his daughter’s portrait, and his heart cracked at how a stranger could so openly display emotion for Livie, when he had such a hard time himself.

He opened the computer file that contained the slides of Tall Oaks.

“Ms. Grandy,” he said.

She glanced at him, and he could see the hope in her eyes.

He didn’t let that affect him. He and hope had parted company a while ago.

“When can you start?” he asked.

She beamed with one of those warm smiles. “When do you want me, Mr. Foley?”

He couldn’t help thinking that, despite the temptation, on a personal level the answer to that would have to be “never.”

Chapter Two

After accepting the job and then rushing through a whirlwind of formalities, such as a salary agreement and a computer-aided tour of Zane Foley’s Austin estate, Melanie had followed her new employer down the hall and to the foyer, barely able to contain a bubbly grin.

Success!

Melanie Grandy, nanny for the eldest Foley’s daughter. She liked the ring of it, and when she found out that she was to be driven in a town car to her motel, where she would pick up her two pitiful suitcases before heading straight to Austin and Livie, she already felt as if she were flying first class.

Okay, maybe business class, because it wasn’t a limo, but, heck, she’d live.

As they came to a halt near a leather settee under a gilt-veined mirror, she tried not to be too aware of how their image reflected him towering over her. Tried not to get fanciful about how they stood side-by-side, a tense space the only thing separating them.

She fairly hummed from head to toe, as if charged by his presence, but…No. She’d worked hard to get here, and jeopardizing her new position by stepping out of bounds with her new boss had to be the worst idea in all creation.

She tried not to look in the mirror again: his strapping body, his Texas-noble bearing…

“The drive to Tall Oaks is nearly three and a half hours,” he said, thankfully interrupting her weakening will to stop lusting after him. “It should give my staff enough time to put together the final paperwork for your hiring and then fax whatever we need to sign.”

“I’ll look for those papers when I get there then.”

“Mrs. Howe might even have the documents in hand when you arrive. She’s got run of the house and has been taking care of Livie since the last nanny left less than a week ago.”

“I look forward to meeting everyone at Tall Oaks,” she said, extending her hand for a deal-closing shake. “Again, thank you. I was really hoping you’d choose me to be a part of Livie’s life.”

And there it was again—that flash of anguish in his gaze.

But then he took her hand in his, wrapping his long fingers around hers.

Warm, strong…

For a moment she forgot that she was supposed to be shaking his hand. He must’ve forgotten also, because the hesitation between them lasted a second too long—one in which her heartbeat fell into a suspended throb.

As she pulled in a breath, his eyes darkened back to the cool, detached gaze that had already become so familiar.

But how could she be used to anything about him when she didn’t know him at all? she reminded herself, coming to her senses and finally gripping his hand in a professional shake.

She doubted she would ever really know Zane Foley, and that was for the best.

They disengaged, and he stepped away from her. “I anticipate that you’ll be around much longer than the other five.”

As he began to walk away, she said, “I sure will.”

He paused for a moment, and she thought that maybe he was about to say something else.

But then he moved on, traveling with the ease of a shadow lengthening at sunset, until he blended into the dark of the hallway.

Melanie watched him go, her heartbeat near the surface of her skin.

But she had to get over it; this was her chance to prove that she really was better than the girl who hadn’t been expected by her stepdad to do much more than be “bastard issue.”

She exhaled, sitting on the leather settee by the door and preparing for the responsibilities ahead of her. Livie—the child who would depend on Melanie to raise her to be all she could be, too.

A stately grandfather clock stood across from her, ticking, tocking, marking the passing seconds as Melanie waited for the driver. Meanwhile, her excitement leveled off to something like a Champagne buzz.

She wondered what the Austin estate would look like in real life, how different it would be from her and her mom’s first ramshackle apartment, then the trailer that had served as home back in the day.

On a sigh, she went to grab her suit jacket and purse, preparing for the moment she would walk out this door and into the car, where she would be driven off and away to find out.

Her purse was there, but not her jacket.

She remembered that she’d brought it into Zane Foley’s study, putting it down when she’d been looking at the portrait of Livie.

Duh. She’d been too excited by the job offer to pick it back up again.

Okeydokey then. Her new boss had gone in the direction of the study, so she would just scoot back there, knock on the door, grab her jacket, then be out of his hair.

In and out.

But when she went down the hall, her body started doing the jitterbug about seeing him, heart racing, stomping.

Cool it, she told herself. In and out.

She came to the study, noticing that the door was ajar just enough for her to hear his voice. And, Heaven help her, she couldn’t resist standing there a second to bask in the appreciation of how he sounded while talking to someone on the phone.

But the more she listened, the more she felt the bass of his voice scratching down her skin, leaving her hair to rise and the heat to play all over her. She thought of what it might be like to see him smile, just once.

Would it feel like a rolling ball of sun inside her stomach? A burning ache that sizzled and made her go weaker than she was even now?

Then he stopped talking, and the person on the other end of the speakerphone started.

The different voice—still appealing, but not nearly as much as Zane Foley’s—was enough to kick her right out of fantasyland.

She rolled her eyes at herself, then prepared to knock just before her boss responded to the other person on the phone.

“I hired another nanny today.”

Melanie’s fist paused in midair.

So help her, she stood rooted there, waiting for what he might say, curiosity killing the cat.

The voice on the other end of the line laughed. “How long’s this one going to last, Zane?”

He cut him off. “Not amusing, Jason.”

Zane’s brother, and, according to everything she’d read, the scamp of the three siblings. But he also had the more solid reputation of being the hardworking chief operating officer of Foley Industries—a man who wasn’t above getting dirt underneath his fingernails or on his fine suits.

Zane was still talking. “And this time, don’t you dare suggest that we bet on her longevity.”

“Damn,” Jason said, “because if I bet she wouldn’t even last a year, just like most of the others, it’d be a smarter proposition than anything Granddad ever put his money on.” There was a pause. “So what’s this one like? Can you tell me that much?”

In spite of her better judgment, an all-too-human Melanie leaned closer to the door.

Zane was standing by a window with a showcase view of downtown Dallas, across from the gleaming Trinity River. He wasn’t sure how to answer his younger brother’s question about what he thought of Melanie Grandy.

Should he be honest?

There was something about the new nanny that made him want to tell Jason about her bright hair and brighter smile, even though he knew he wouldn’t.

With any luck, he would never see her much, anyway. Staying away from Tall Oaks was best for Livie and him.

“This nanny,” he finally answered, “enjoys using art to bring out the creativity in children. She likes dance especially, and I think that’ll be good for Livie. Ms. Grandy’s got a lot of…spirit.”

Jason, as perceptive as he was, called Zane out.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“That’s all you’re gonna get.” Zane turned away from the window and headed toward his desk. It was second in size and comfort only to the one in his downtown Dallas office, where he would be right now if it hadn’t been for the interview. “Now, I suspect you didn’t call to gab about nannies, Jace. What’s on your mind?”

“The McCords.”

Zane could almost picture his brother behind his own desk in Houston, as his voice lowered to a more serious tenor. They’d all spent too many years sharing an intense dislike of the other family for Zane not to recognize the signs of a very serious discussion about them coming on.

“Travis gave me a heads up about something I thought you’d want to hear, too,” Jason said. “It’s about his ranch.”

God, the ranch. The property had sparked a feud between the families way back when Grandpa Gavin had put the West Texas land up for grabs during a poker game that a card cheat named Harry McCord had been manipulating. To add insult to injury, the place had produced silver—the foundation for the McCord jewelry store empire, which catered to the rich and famous and was renowned worldwide as the height of luxury—the premier jewelers of the earth.

“What about the ranch?” Zane asked, an edge to his question. “We signed a long-term lease for the land after the mines were played out. The McCords have no reason to be sniffing around it just yet.”

Of course, the McCord matriarch, Eleanor, had once been courted by Zane’s father, Rex, so that might’ve had something to do with the olive branch the other family had offered. And one would think that her generosity would’ve defused the feud, but her husband, Devon, a devil who was surely getting his just desserts now, after his recent death, had still kept the animosity alive with all his talk about how he’d “won” Eleanor and Rex had lost.

“But,” Jason said, “they do seem to be sniffing, and if Grandpa Gavin were still alive, he’d be yelling like thunder. We didn’t all pitch in and make that ranch what it is, only so he could live his last years there. Dad accepted the lease because he thought you, me and Travis would benefit from what it could yield.”

“Damned straight.” Zane would sooner brave the fires of hell, before he saw the McCords relocate Travis, who’d decided to forgo family business in favor of ranching on the property that should’ve belonged to the Foleys in the first place. “It’s just like the McCords to rub salt on a wound. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were just trying to remind Travis that they’re the ones who still own the property.”

“And they’ve got to know it burns him, with all the blood and sweat he’s put into it.” Jason’s tone grew even angrier. “But I’m not sure it’s just about reminding Travis of what’s what. The McCord kids are taking after the old man after all.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because, when Devon passed from that heart attack, the clan actually backed off for a while. He was always the one who took the greatest pleasure in the feud. That’s what I thought, at least. Now I’m not so sure. Rumor has it that the family lawyers have been taking a real long look at the lease…”

Zane didn’t even have to hear the rest.

“…just as if they’re trying to find a way to get out of it.”

His blood ran hot at the notion of his baby brother losing what meant the most to him.

He wanted to strike out at the McCords, but as his gaze fixed on the portrait of Livie, he pulled his temper back.

Again, he saw Danielle in his daughter.

Living with a bipolar wife had taught Zane that losing his head only made everything worse. Retreating—whether it was into work or into himself—had been the best way to handle her.

She’d also taught him that there was a difference between his personal life and business. In the latter, he could uncork the frustration that built up at home, striking quickly and lethally during deals, allowing him a sorely needed outlet.

And the McCords were just asking for it.

Dragging his gaze away from Livie’s image, he refocused on the old family portrait above the fireplace. There was a measure of serenity at seeing the picture that’d been painted just before his mom, his daughter’s namesake, had suffered a fatal fall during a horseback ride. His father had tried his best to raise the three boys on his own, but they’d missed their mom terribly.

And sometimes her death even made Zane wonder if all the women in his life would leave before their time.

At any rate, her absence had bonded all of them, and it had molded Zane into a man early on, as he’d taken up where his father had to leave off in raising Jason and Travis. Even now, at the age of thirty-six, Zane felt as if he was still in charge of so much: their holdings, their tanglings with the McCords.

Jason was speaking again: “At first, I wasn’t sure why the McCords would be so interested in the ranch right now. I thought maybe they wanted to sell off the acreage, if those rumors about money trouble in their jewelry business are true. But then, what difference would that relatively small cash influx make? Then I thought about the silver mines on the property.”

“Those are abandoned, Jace. Tapped out. That’s why the McCords leased the land to us.”

“I take it that, during this latest nanny search, your ear hasn’t been to the ground.”

He stiffened until Jason chuckled, revealing that he’d only been injecting a little humor where some was sorely needed. But Zane took his duties as oldest brother seriously. Having the McCords get the best of them during his watch was never going to happen.

“One of my assistants,” Jason said, “heard that Blake McCord has been buying up as many loose canary diamonds as possible on the world market.”

Diamonds?

Zane started to see where his brother might be going with this.

Jason added, “I imagine you’re remembering those news reports from several months ago?”

“The Santa Magdalena Diamond,” Zane said. He’d filed the information in the back of his mind, way behind Livie and other more urgent matters, but he sure as hell hadn’t forgotten.

A flawless, forty-eight-carat canary gem with perfect clarity, the Santa Magdalena Diamond was legendary, said to transcend even the beauty and brilliance of the Hope Diamond itself. Supposedly, the piece had been mined in India, and was cursed, because it had resulted in bad luck for everyone who ever owned it. It was only when the gem rested with its rightful owner that any personal misfortunes would end.

The diamond had been missing for over a century, but fairly recently, divers had uncovered a wrecked ship that was supposed to have been carrying the jewel, in addition to other treasures of murky origins.

Really, the only reason the Foleys were interested in the diamond was because their great-grandfather, Elwin Foley, had been on that ship, which might have also been populated by thieves, although that never had been proven. When the transport went down, a few passengers had survived, including Elwin, and according to family stories, he’d snagged the gem, along with a jewel-encrusted chest of coins. But since no one had found either object since, the tale had passed into legend.

However, the ship’s recent discovery had resurrected all the rumors, especially since the diamond and the chest hadn’t been located.

“The Santa Magdalena Diamond came to my mind, too,” Jason said. “I’ve been going through a lot of scenarios, but the best I can figure, maybe the McCords believe that Elwin Foley did get away with the gem when he survived the wreck, and he hid the diamond somewhere on the land where Travis’s ranch is located now—land that used to belong to Elwin before it passed to Gavin, who lost it in that poker game. And don’t you think the Santa Magdalena would pay a few bills for a cash-strapped business?”

“The theory’s a stretch,” Zane said.

“But the timing’s pretty telling. The divers find the shipwreck, rumors recirculate about Elwin taking the diamond, then the McCords express a heightened interest in the property.”

“Whatever their intentions, I’m not about to let Travis be hassled by that family.”

“Glad you’re on board then.” His brother sounded as confident as ever.

Zane shot a skeptical glance at the phone. “What exactly did I board, Jace?”

Right about now, his sibling was probably grinning to himself about one of his genius ideas that kept Foley Industries in the black. “If the McCords want to give us trouble, I say we find out about it ahead of time. Cut them off at the pass.”

“Your lawyer friends—the ones who got you that information about the McCords looking into the lease—will only get us so far.”

“Exactly. I’ll be taking matters into my own hands until we know Travis isn’t in for some harassment.”

Zane waited for it.

“The McCords have a few soft spots,” Jason said, elaborating. “One of them is named Penny.”

Penny. Penelope McCord. Zane recalled one of the daughters of the other family—the quiet twin in a set of burnished blond-haired sisters. A jewelry designer who basically kept to herself.

In a contest between her and Jason, the so-called lady killer, she had no chance at all.

“What are you intending, Jace?” Not that Zane had sympathy for any McCord, but…hell, a lady was a lady, and there were limits.

“Nothing fancy. I just discovered we’ll be attending the same wedding pretty soon. I’ve done business with the groom, so he invited me to his big, high-society bash. I figured I might just happen across her table, sit myself down for a rest, offer my own sort of olive branch in polite conversation…”

“…and feel her out for what she might know, without being too obvious about it.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, and when Jason didn’t say anything, Zane knew he was probably in his desk chair, relaxing with his hands behind his head, content with the plan.

“Okay,” Zane added. “A wedding sounds like a good place to casually learn if the McCords have discovered the location of the diamond, and to find out just how true these rumors about the McCords’s finances are.”

“And if that wedding should turn into something afterward…”

Zane raised an eyebrow. “Jace.”

“I’m talking about a coffee date—or whatever.”

No, his brother was talking about more than that. Zane knew how Jason loved his women, especially ones as lovely as Penny McCord.

Zane was just about to mention it, when he heard something outside the door.

“Wait a sec,” he said to his brother, then went over to check on the noise.

But…nothing.

Still, he thought he smelled a hint of sunshine-like perfume that traced the rough edges of his heart until it felt about ready to fall out of him.

Steadying himself, he closed the door to the dim hallway—and to the very idea of sunshine, too.

Melanie was halfway through the drive to Austin when her nerves finally settled.

She’d only managed to calm down by gazing out the black-tinted window at the passing scenery, as well as chattering with Monty, the town car driver, who, as she now very well knew, had four daughters with tempers as quick as their mama’s and tastes way beyond his table wine budget.

The conversation almost made her forget that she’d been standing in a hallway and eavesdropping on her boss. And that her boss had only said that she was…“spirited.”

She tried not to let that bother her, but it did. Deep inside, she’d been hoping to hear Zane Foley say that she had a great smile. She’d been wishing for a lyrical description that would’ve belonged in a song, like maybe there was something in the way she moved…

Right. Anyway, after telling herself that she was being eleven kinds of fool, she’d found that she was sitting there still listening to him and Jason talking about the McCords.

And the Santa Magdalena Diamond.

If Melanie hadn’t been confused and intrigued by her new boss before, she sure was now. Since she hadn’t been living under a rock, she’d heard about the diamond and how it had been connected to the recent shipwreck discovery. Hearing Zane and Jason discuss all of it just piled one more question upon the other questions that had been weighing in her brain about the Foleys.

Monty glanced in the rearview mirror, checking on her during a lull in their talk. On the downhill side of his thirties, he had thick-lashed, dark eyes that tipped up at the corners in perpetual good humor, dusky skin scraped by a five-o’clock shadow, and a long nose that topped a smile.

“You need me to turn the air on higher?” he asked.

She crossed one leg over the other, aiming her body in his direction and away from the window. “No thank you. It’s just…”

“Come on, spill it out to me. Long rides go by a lot quicker with a good discussion.”

He was too nice to shut out, but she wasn’t going to “spill” anything about Zane Foley.

“I remembered that I left my suit jacket back at the house,” she said instead. “Excellent start, don’t you think? Mr. Foley probably believes I don’t have a brain in me.”

Laughing, he shrugged. “Listen, once I fill up my stomach with leftovers from Cook’s fridge, I’ll be turning this baby right back around, to be on standby for Mr. Foley in Dallas. I’ll fetch that jacket for you and make sure you get it soon enough.”

“Really? I hate to be such a bother.”

He made a dismissive gesture, and she thought it was sincere.

She told him where she left the jacket, before adding, “Must be nice for Mr. Foley to have a driver whenever he needs one. He’s worked for it, I know, but what perks, huh?”

He rested his hand on top of the steering wheel. “Mr. Foley doesn’t take nearly the advantage of his good fortune as I would. Sure, he has a great place in Austin, but he uses it to house Livie more than anything else. He’s never around to enjoy it. And he has that nice town home, too. But with his money? It could’ve been a castle.”

“He never comes to Tall Oaks?”

“No. He’s not there much at all. Birthdays, Christmas, an annual fundraiser for the Dallas Children’s Hospital, and that’s about it. Mr. Foley’s a busy man, but he gives Livie what she needs otherwise.”

Yes, nannies.

Yet, as Melanie had told her boss, she wasn’t one to judge, and she needed to keep that in mind.

Monty seemed to have shut himself off from saying any more about it, so Melanie decided to pursue another avenue.

Then she would stop. Really.

“Funny how life works. I mean, if Harry McCord hadn’t cheated in that card game with Gavin Foley, the Foleys might’ve been the ones with the jewelry empire that the McCords developed.”

“True,” Monty said. “There were five abandoned silver mines on that property. Five. That’s a lot of can-noli they missed out on because their grandfather made a bad bet.” He chuckled. “But, depending on who you talk to outside the family, you’re going to get a different story about that poker game.”

“What do you mean?”

Monty looked over his shoulder, amusement written on his face, then returned his gaze to the front again. “None of this goes out of the car, understand?”

Heck, she didn’t want to summon the wrath of her coworkers by betraying them. “Absolutely.”

Her pulse got a bit louder in her ears.

“It’s sour grapes, that’s what I say. Gavin made the bet, and he should’ve owned up to it. But it must’ve been tough to see that land pay off in so much silver to the McCords.”

“I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like,” she said.

“Fortunately,” he added, “the Foleys found their own strike of luck in their East Texas oil fields, but Gavin always claimed that the McCord silver should’ve been theirs, too. The boys grew up on those sorts of tales, especially young Travis. He practically lived at his grandfather’s knee, while our Zane ran the roost over at his dad’s house.” The driver smiled. “Testosterone Lodge. That’s what they called their household after their mother passed on.”

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.

Chapter Three

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.”

The insinuation—Mr. Foley’s way or the highway—was clear.

And that was all she said, although Melanie kept thinking, What about Livie? Is she an employee, too?

Before she could even dare ask, Mrs. Howe’s brown gaze moved to the doorway, focusing on something behind Melanie.

She turned around just in time to see the last of a flowered spring dress flare out of sight in the hallway.

“I believe,” whispered Mrs. Howe, “you’ve drawn some interest.”

Melanie’s heart folded, as if trying to embrace itself.

Livie.

She walked to the door, but when she got there, no darling little girl was in sight.

Frowning, she glanced back at Mrs. Howe, who was fussing with the bedspread, correcting the wrinkles Melanie had already made by putting her suitcases on the cloth.

Oh, dear.

The manager straightened, ran her hands down her gray skirt. Then she walked out the door, saying one last thing to Melanie as she passed.

“You might want to continue up the staircase, Ms. Grandy, to Livie’s playroom.” She smiled once more. “Best of luck to you.”

And as she eased down the hall, Melanie could’ve sworn she heard Mrs. Howe add, “A lot of luck.”

After wondering if her ears were just playing tricks on her, Melanie went to the staircase again, traveling up to a dead end, where a closed door bled light from around its edges.

Lest she doubt that this was Livie’s playroom, she saw a sign written in the tremulous letters of a dark purple crayon.

LIVIE.

Somehow, the name felt like a territorial statement, and Melanie hesitated to knock. After all, with the structure put on Livie, didn’t she deserve a private place that allowed her some time alone when it was actually scheduled?

After knocking, she waited a moment, listening for a muffled “Come in” that never came.

She put her ear to the wood. Nothing.

“Livie?” she said. “Remember me from the other day? I’m Ms. Grandy, your new nanny. I’d like to say hello to you.”

Still no response.

Was the girl even in there?

Cautiously, Melanie tested the doorknob, finding it unlocked. It wasn’t a shock, since she doubted that Zane Foley would stand for being shut out of anything.

She thought of her own room in the quiet of night. Her own door creaking open. Mr. Foley paying a surprise visit…

A quiver ran through her, but she chased it away as she pushed at the door.

At first she only saw an austere attic, clean and ordered, with a couple of low, wood tables and several closed chests amongst shelves of toys.

Then, as she looked down, she found herself blocked by an army of stuffed animals that had been hastily tossed in a semi-circle.

A little voice came from the left.

“They don’t want you in here.”

Melanie glanced toward the sound, finding Livie sitting in a miniature rocking chair, her hands folded in her lap. She was wearing Mary Jane shoes with ankle socks, and her dark hair was held back by a lacy band, the bridge of her nose lightly freckled, just as the portrait in Zane Foley’s study had shown.

All that was missing was the stuffed lamb in her hands, but there was something Melanie saw in Livie that the painting hadn’t captured sufficiently at all.

The sadness in the girl’s big eyes.

It dug into Melanie’s chest.

“I thought the room might be empty.” She used her smile in a peacemaking fashion, gesturing toward the animals. “You’ve got a real collection.”

The little girl just kept serenely assessing her new nanny, and Melanie thought of how pretty she was, how pretty her mom must’ve been, too, although she hadn’t come across any published pictures of her to know for sure.

Livie glanced at her stuffed menagerie. “Daddy had them sent for my birthday this year. He couldn’t visit me this time.”

Owie.

Melanie only wished she had a huge bandage that would cover Livie’s heart from the damage done to her. She herself knew what it felt like to have a special time like a birthday fall to the wayside. It had happened every year with her own mom, until Leigh would suddenly remember after the fact and try to make it up to Melanie with day-old cake on sale at the bakery.

“So what are the animals doing right now?” she gently asked Livie, even though she knew they’d been set there to bar Melanie from intruding.

The girl stood up from her chair, and the rocker stirred, creaking, adding an odd level of discomfort. She went to a toy shelf, her back to Melanie. “It’s their room, and they want you to know that.”

And the gauntlet hits the floor, Melanie thought.

“Excellent,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll agree that there are other ground rules we’ll need to establish besides that, Livie. Why don’t we sit down to talk about them? I didn’t get much of a chance to do that the other day with you, and I’d really like to.”

Even with her back to Melanie, it was obvious that the child was crossing her arms. “My name is Olivia.”

“All right.” Melanie wasn’t going to lose even an iota of patience—not with what this child had gone through with her mother. “Olivia, maybe you’d enjoy lemonade on the back porch with me. How about it?”

“Lemonade has sugar. Sugar makes me hyper. Daddy says so.”

Melanie came this close to rolling her eyes, but she refrained. Zane Foley wasn’t even here, and he was still being a pain.

“Then if you can’t have sugar,” Melanie said, “perhaps I can wrangle up some ice tea without sweetener.”

Livie sighed, as if exasperated, and went about picking through her toys and ignoring Melanie altogether.

But the new nanny didn’t go anywhere. Nope. She just stood there and memorized the details of the room, the display of toys that would tell her something about Livie, whether or not the child wanted her to know.

Stuffed animals—dogs, sheep, dolphins. All gentle creatures.

Puzzle boxes nearer to the doorway that looked to have never even been opened.

Dolls—especially Barbies.

Melanie grinned to herself, then retreated down the stairs, but only because she had a secret weapon that had also served to disarm her first charge in those initial days with her.

She went to her room, to one of the suitcases, and pulled out a smaller bag that was filled with sewing materials and doll dresses. She’d taken up this hobby early, back in her babysitting days, because she’d found that Barbie clothes were catnip for ninety-nine percent of all little girls.

Then she went back to Livie’s domain.

There, she sat within the semicircle of sentinel animals and took out the most exquisite wee bridal dress. She began to fluff the airy sleeves and spread the sheer, belled skirt.

She didn’t call attention to herself, but then again, she didn’t have to.

Over the course of the next few minutes, Livie gravitated from one shelf to the other, closer to Melanie, although she wasn’t obvious about it.

Melanie lay the bride’s frock on her knee, smoothed it out, then reached into her bag for a long, splashy pink satin party dress that always made Barbie look like even more of a knock-out.

As she traced a finger over its sleekness, the glitz took her back to neon and jangling slot machines, and she shoved the memory of her old casino life away, just as if it were baggage she would keep in her own attic.

Soon, Livie was near Melanie, although still on the other side of the animals. Melanie glanced up, as if surprised to see her.

She casually offered the wedding dress, and Livie touched it with her fingers, then drew them away.

“It’s okay,” Melanie said. “Why don’t you get one of your dolls and see how she looks in it?”

Without meeting Melanie’s gaze, Livie went across the room to her toy shelf, and when she returned with a brunette Barbie, her gaze was fixed on that dress, her eyes shining.

As she put the frock on her doll, Melanie’s gaze lit on the bridal dress, too, unable to look away, as thoughts of Zane Foley taunted her with something she knew she would never have with a man like him.

Zane hadn’t moved an inch from his desk, ever since getting off the phone with his brother. Jason and he had been cut short by a slew of phone calls from Zane’s office, and he was just wrapping up the latest one while he multitasked, paging through a bound hard-copy file for the Santa Magdalena Diamond that he’d pulled from his library.

Magazine articles, news transcripts—everything, he thought, as he scanned a computer printout about Great Grandfather Elwin and his alleged role in making off with the gem. Zane was going through it all, just to see if he could find something he’d missed, a clue that might let him know where that diamond could’ve gone—something to lead him to it before the McCords saw it first.

Meanwhile, he listened to his assistant, Cindy, as she talked over the speakerphone.

“Just in case you’re wondering,” she drawled in her wry manner, “we’ve got your Fourth of July Dallas Children’s Hospital charity event about set and ready.”

“Two months ahead of time?”

“I aim to please, sir. Expect a crew to be descending on Tall Oaks within the month, to start whipping the estate into shape. You’ve commented yourself that it’s not exactly in showcase form.”

Zane was still looking at the diamond file. Sometimes Cindy could be incredibly direct, like a less-tactful version of—

As he thought of Melanie Grandy, his gaze drifted from the paperwork. Lively blue eyes, a spark in every gesture…

He wondered how she was getting on with Livie so far. Wondered if he would be having to hire another nanny soon.

Something like disappointment sank within him, but he ignored it.

“Next item on your list?” he asked.

“I’m working on your other charity commitments, but there’re no updates on those yet. However, we’ve got a lot to cover about that state representative seat. Judge Duarte’s been ringing my phone off the hook to get through to you about running during the next election.”

“I know.” Zane had been avoiding any and all calls about it. “That man’s head is thicker than timber. What’s it going to take to get him to understand that I’m not interested in running for anything?”

“You’d be perfect for it, Mr. Foley. Besides, your family isn’t exactly the hands-off type when it comes to politics.”

True, but Zane preferred to let his fundraising abilities and civic activism do the talking.

“I’ll call Duarte tomorrow,” he said. “By the way, isn’t it about time you headed home? Mike probably has dinner all cooked up for you.”

“Carne asada. I love being a newlywed and having a barbecue master for a hubby.”

“Then scram before he leaves you.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, they ended the call, but it wasn’t two minutes later that Zane got another one.

He didn’t mind, though. Business kept him going, gave him less time to think about everything else.

He saw his youngest brother Travis’s number on the caller ID, so he donned his earpiece, left the study and went to the kitchen, since his stomach felt empty.

“Hey, Trav,” Zane said as he walked down the dark hall. He knew every unlit step by heart. “You out on the range?”

“Just got back in from seeing to some fences that needed fixing. I hear Jason told you about the McCords’ unwelcome interest in the ranch.”

“That’s right.”

“I already talked to him about the grand plan with Penny McCord. I don’t love this sneaking around Jason’s going to be doing with her,” he said, “but if it clears the air in any way, I’ll live with it.”

He distrusted the McCords just the same as any of them, yet Travis was a cowboy, a loner, and loathed being distracted by what he thought to be less important matters, such as the other family’s “sniffing around.”

“Jace and I didn’t want to go forward on anything without your knowing it,” Zane said, opening the fridge, discovering that it didn’t contain much more than a drop of milk in a carton, and several long-neck bottles of beer. He grabbed one of those and headed for a pantry cupboard.

“Jason said the same thing.” Travis waited a beat, and Zane could hear the change in his voice as he switched gears. The less time he could dwell on the McCords, the better. “Aside from the drama, I hear you’ve got yourself a new nanny. Jason thinks you like her.”

Zane almost dropped his beer, and it wasn’t just because Travis was being a smart-ass.

It was because a bolt of contained need had shot through him, released from somewhere deep down, where he’d repressed the longing, thinking that it was useless.

He recovered in time to say, “For Pete’s sake, do you two live in a middle-school locker room?”

Travis laughed softly. “Just bustin’ your chops. But he did tell me that Livie’s finally going to have some dedicated company again. I have to say I’m glad for that, because I imagine she’s lonely over there.”

Zane wrapped up all remainders of desire that he’d felt this afternoon, packing it tightly away at the mention of his daughter.

Travis and Jason adored their niece, and occasionally they tried to let Zane know that he could improve his fatherly skills.

But they didn’t understand how tough it was. They hadn’t lived with Danielle, hadn’t tried to keep it all together after her death.

How could they understand Zane’s failures and his need to keep it from happening again with Livie?

“Zane,” Travis said, clearly knowing that he was treading on thin ice, “I know the anniversary of Danielle’s death is coming up, and I’m sorry for broaching this again, but what’re you going to do about Livie?”

“Stay out of this, Travis.”

Every inch a Foley, his sibling did no such thing.

“You think it’s a good idea to keep sweeping every mention of Danielle under the carpet?” his brother asked. “It’s not like Livie’s ever going to forget she had a mother. Your pretending as if Danielle never existed is only going to do more harm than good.”

Zane’s temper crept up, squeezing his temples.

But maybe “temper” was the wrong word. “Remorse” was more like it.

“I don’t need to hear this from you,” he said.

“Zane—”

Unable to stand any more, he hung up on his brother and leaned against the cupboard in the darkness of his home, wanting to say he was sorry.

And not just to Travis, either.

At ten minutes to six, a bell clanged from downstairs, and Livie jumped up from her spot on the floor in her upstairs playroom, immediately beginning to tidy all the Barbies and stuffed animals she’d brought out.

“Dinnertime,” the little girl said, as serious as ever.

Melanie gathered the doll clothes, watching her charge bustle here and there, as if her life depended upon a spic-and-span performance. Once again, she felt for Livie, who’d actually began removing those stuffed animals bit by bit, until she’d opened a hole for herself to come through and get closer to Melanie.

Of course, she’d done it slyly, as if her new nanny wouldn’t notice, and Melanie had played along, trying not to look too happy about even that bit of progress.

Livie was so efficient that she had most of the stuffed toys back in place before Melanie had cleaned her own mess, and before she knew it, the little girl was standing at the side of the door, her back straight as she expectantly folded her hands in front of her.

Melanie wasn’t sure what was happening until Livie said, “This is where you’re allowed to come in to make sure everything is in its place.”

Oh. Right.

But Melanie kept near the doorway, on her side of the invisible semicircle that the girl had created earlier with the stuffed animals. “Do you mind if I come in, Olivia?”

The child gave Melanie a sidelong glance, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

The hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, revealing darling dimples, and she nodded. And went back to not smiling.

Melanie didn’t mind, though; she entered the room, making sure all the dolls they’d played with were lined up on the shelves. She was tempted to mess them up ever so slightly, just because she wondered what Zane Foley would do if he saw the aberration, yet she resisted.

“Top-notch job,” she said, turning around just in time to see Livie watching her, then quickly fix her gaze on a spot above Melanie’s head. “You’re a hard worker, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ms. Grandy.”

She walked toward her charge, wishing she could rest her hand on Livie’s dark head or touch her shoulder, offering some reassurance.

But sensing that this wouldn’t go over well—not just yet—she instead said, “Let’s get washed up and see what’s on the menu.”

Livie spent one more second checking Melanie out, then spun around and dashed down the stairway.

“Careful,” Melanie said, and the girl stopped, then slowed down, using the banister.

But, as if realizing that she was being too nice to the nanny she still had to haze, she sped up again, yet not enough to be chastised for it.

Good heavens, Melanie thought, wishing she had a million more Barbie clothes to use as placating lures from this point on.

After cleaning up herself, she went to the dining room, which was just as stark as the rest of the house, with a long table—an item Zane Foley seemed to favor for the distance it established between diners—and plain chairs and a sideboard. The only ornamentation, if you could call it that, was a bland chandelier, with frosted glass cups lending illumination.

Livie took a seat at the long side of the table, and just as Melanie sat down opposite her, Mrs. Howe appeared through a door.

It was only when the manager cleared her throat that Melanie noticed Livie’s saucered eyes that stared at her new nanny sitting at the main table.

Oh.

“Ms. Grandy,” Mrs. Howe said, “Livie will eat here. Why don’t you follow me?”

Livie looked down at her table setting, and Melanie couldn’t read her expression.

Without causing a scene, Melanie rose, went through the door with Mrs. Howe, but stopped the manager before they got too far.

“I appreciate that there are certain ways you’ve done things around here,” Melanie said, “but I’d really like to be with Olivia tonight. She’s not resisting me as much as she did earlier, and if I could continue that streak…”

Mrs. Howe’s face was unreadable. “That would be between Mr. Foley and you, Ms. Grandy. He’s the one who wants the help to eat in the kitchen.”

Really now?

“Well, I’m willing to answer to him for this,” Melanie said evenly, smiling at the manager.

With a curious look, the woman left her alone.

Truly alone, too, because when it would come time to answer to Zane Foley, it’d be all on Melanie.

But, seriously—like she was going to leave poor Livie to eat by herself?

She went back into the dining room, and when the girl looked up, her sad eyes softened a tad.

Then she glanced back at her plate; but it was too late—because she’d already wrapped her tiny fingers around Melanie’s heart.

She waited, not trusting herself to speak for a moment.

Finally, when she’d gotten some composure, she said, “I like it better out here. It’s nice and quiet.”

“Yes.” The girl peeked at Melanie.

Melanie gave her a reassuring grin, and from the way Livie held back her own smile, she guessed that the child understood that her nanny had risked a spot of trouble just to eat with her.

The door behind them opened again, and a young blond man with a scraggly beard stepped through with a table setting for Melanie. He was dressed in chef’s whites, so she assumed he was the cook.

Without saying anything, he nodded to her, then winked.

Approval. Thank goodness there was someone here who wasn’t giving her the near-silent treatment.

Then he left, but only to bring out a well-balanced meal of meatloaf with broccoli, fruit cocktail and macaroni and cheese.

Livie dug right in after the cook was gone, then slowed down when she saw Melanie’s are-we-at-the-zoo? expression.

She swallowed. “I’m only eating fast because Mrs. Howe said I can play with my new present from Daddy after dinner and study time.”

“Oh?”

The girl nodded, a fork full of mac and cheese halfway to her mouth now. “An American Girl doll. Daddy sends one every week if I’m good.”

Livie chowed down again, but Melanie didn’t touch her food yet. Her stomach roiled a bit at the thought of how Zane Foley couldn’t be bothered to visit his daughter, seemingly buying her off with gifts instead.

And when Livie next spoke, she only confirmed Melanie’s heartsick suspicions.

“I like the dolls,” she said softly, “but they’d be even better if he’d bring them to me.”

Melanie held back a swell of emotion. This little girl needed the love and attention of the only parent she had left.

Why couldn’t he see that?

“I know what you mean, Olivia,” Melanie said, thinking of her own mom. “I know exactly what you mean.”

The child didn’t look up from her plate, but her next words revealed everything, even if her tone was just as subtly guarded as it’d been earlier in the attic.

“My name’s Livie.”

Melanie swallowed back the tightness in her throat, then picked up her fork so they could eat their meal together.

She only wished that Zane Foley could be here, too—for his daughter, of course.

But when an unwelcome, low burn heated her belly, pooling down and down, Melanie admitted that maybe she also wanted him here for a different reason altogether.

Chapter Four

The days sped by with more dolls being delivered to Livie, more meals that Melanie took at the table with her charge and even more instructional hours for the girl.

But to supplement those regular study sessions, Melanie also brought her love of dance into the playroom, where Livie had been allowing her nanny to slowly but surely spend more time.

Still, out of all of those passing days, Zane Foley hadn’t paid a visit to Tall Oaks once, nor sent for Livie to come to Dallas.

Not even one darn time.

Oh, sure, there’d been phone calls to the little girl—about one every few days—but Melanie guessed they were more out of habit than a true need to connect with Livie, because each one left the child looking sadder than ever.

Yet, this only encouraged Melanie to step up her “save Livie” campaign, paying the child as much attention as the girl was open to on any given day. She showed her that someone really did care, even if Livie turned away from Melanie at times, and let those stuffed animals that had protected the playroom on that first day speak for her.

“They want you to leave them alone,” Livie would say sometimes. “They don’t need anyone to pretend they like them.”

Little did she know that Melanie wasn’t pretending; so the newest nanny hung in there, doing her best to give Livie her all.

She just wished she knew how to confront the problem of Zane Foley himself. How to talk some sense into him. How to make him see that he wasn’t doing Livie any favors by staying away.

Melanie wanted to despise him, but then night would come, when the wind thumped branches against the old house, when the moon shined through her window and lulled her to close her eyes and imagine how it had felt to touch him when she shook his hand.

How the contact had shaken her to the core.

And morning would arrive again, and she’d go right back to thinking about what to do about him and Livie.

Today, as the June sun spilled through the attic window, Livie had decided to celebrate summer—and her leaving kindergarten behind—with an impromptu performance for some of the house staff. Accordingly, the audience of two sat on the quilts spread over the floor in front of a makeshift blanket curtain that Livie and Melanie had constructed.

The little girl was behind it now, while Mrs. Howe and Cook waited.

Cook, who was in his chef’s whites, crossed his legs Indian-style and grinned at Melanie, who was just in front of the curtain, ready to open it. His name was Scott, and from that first week forward, he’d encouraged Melanie to call him that.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Howe sat in a ladylike position, her knees to the side, her pale skirt covering her legs. Her name was Sue, but when Melanie had dared use it one time, she’d gotten a raised eyebrow and hadn’t tried it since.

“Is it almost showtime?” Melanie asked Livie.

“Five minutes!” the girl said from behind the curtain.

“Okay.” Melanie smiled at the audience, then walked toward them, sitting on the edge of the quilt while making sure her sundress skirt was in place. “Last-minute rehearsals behind that curtain, I imagine,” she whispered. “Livie’s nervous.”

Scott shrugged, but he was so mellow that Melanie often suspected life was one big “oh, well” for him, anyway.

“It’s her first show,” he said. “The squirt can take her time to give us the premiere.”

Mrs. Howe sighed at the nickname “squirt.” She sighed a lot about Cook’s surfer-in-Texas attitude.

Melanie grinned at Scott. “I guess that’s the beauty of summer—no school to work a schedule around.”

“But,” Mrs. Howe said, “a schedule’s still important.”

During the past weeks, Melanie and the manager had experienced some…philosophical differences…about many things, although Mrs. Howe hadn’t tipped off Zane Foley to the new nanny’s slight adjustments. At least, that’s what Melanie suspected, because her boss hadn’t rung her up yet to give her a talking to or fire her.

“You’re right,” Melanie said, “schedule’s are important, and we still have one. Livie does well with them, so it seemed counterproductive to change her way of life midstream. But there’s room for flexibility when it’s warranted.”

Scott playfully made the sign of the cross, like he was extending Mrs. Howe some help in fighting off Melanie’s words.

“Mrs. Howe,” he said, “would lose her mind without lists and charts and diagrams. Them’s fightin’ words, Mel.”

The manager made a dismissive gesture at him, as if that would cause him to disappear, but she had an air of barely restrained amusement just the same. Melanie had decided that Scott was like Mrs. Howe’s little brother, and their relationship was one long drive in a backseat where they get on each other’s nerves.

Nothing romantic, though, Melanie thought. Mrs. Howe had a husband down the hill in their own cottage, and Scott had mentioned something to Melanie once about a serious girlfriend.

Livie’s voice came from behind the curtain. “Almost ready!”

“Okay,” all the adults answered back.

Scott kept looking toward the performance area, but now there was something pensive about him.

Melanie leaned near so her voice wouldn’t have to carry. “What is it?”

He started to talk, then stopped, shrugged and smiled vaguely.

Melanie knew if she waited long enough he would go on.

And he did.

“It’s nice to see her like this,” he said. “I don’t know exactly what you’re doing, Mel, but I can’t imagine Livie ever wanting to give any kind of performance before you came along.”

Melanie blushed, knowing she was no miracle-worker.

Whispering, she said, “Livie’s giving her performance in an attic, so it’s not as if this is some grand coming out for her.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Howe said, “but it is.”

For the first time, Melanie saw a pleased openness about the other woman, and that took her aback.

Melanie glanced away from the others and their approval; she wasn’t willing to accept credit for anything, because there was still such a long way to go. There were even times when Livie would sit quietly staring out the window, and Melanie feared that no one would ever be able to get in. And there were the days when Livie could be so stubborn that it stretched Melanie’s supply of patience to the breaking point.

Those were the moments when she could see why the other nannies had walked away. However, Melanie had come to the realization that it hadn’t been Livie who’d driven the others away, so much as it’d been the hopelessness of the situation itself. Maybe it even broke their hearts to be so strict with the child.

The difference was that Melanie vowed to never give up.

“At any rate,” Scott said, getting her attention again, “you’re a real find, Mel. Mrs. H. agrees with me, too.”

The manager hmphed. “I wasn’t sure at first.”

“You came around quick enough from the opinion you used to have.” Scott made his voice higher, imitating Mrs. Howe. “‘Mr. Foley has no idea how to pick ’em, does he? Set a pretty face in front of him, and he’s sold.’”

“Cook,” Mrs. Howe admonished.

“That’s what you said,” Scott added, that little-brother mischief in his eyes.

But Melanie was barely paying mind to that.

Pretty?

Zane Foley had only called her “spirited” on the phone to his brother, but did the employees at Tall Oaks know something else?

And…Wait.

Had the other nannies caught Zane Foley’s eye?

A spear of jealousy stabbed her, and she scolded herself. Ridiculous to even be thinking it. Or to believe he’d hired her because she was slightly above average.

Still, she’d been spending so much time tuning in to any and all clues from the staff about the distant Mr. Foley that she all but vibrated now with this tidbit from Scott. No one but Monty had really talked about their boss—or the subject of Danielle—so she was much too open to any leaked detail.

“Ready!” Livie finally called out.

Melanie stood and went to the boom box by the curtain. She selected the Enya song Livie wanted to dance to and pulled back the material to reveal the little girl, who was dressed in a pink leotard and ballet slippers that Zane Foley had sent the second day of Melanie’s tenure.

Mrs. Howe and Scott applauded, but as the synthesized strings began to play, the child just stood there, staring at them.

“Livie?” Melanie stage-whispered.

The child fixed her doe eyes on her nanny, as if forgetting everything Melanie had taught her about any of the dances they’d tried so far. They hadn’t even come up with a routine for this performance, because Melanie had just encouraged her to do whatever the song inspired at any given moment, whether it was ballet or contemporary or even a few tap moves.

Maybe that had been a mistake.

Maybe Livie did need that firmer structure she was so used to. Maybe she couldn’t depend on anything else.

Heart contracting, Melanie took the girl’s hands and began to dance with her. Livie reacted immediately, still looking into her nanny’s eyes as if nothing else existed, and laughing as she imitated everything Melanie did.

Soon the song was over and the audience clapped again, shouting out their “bravos” as the performers took their curtsies.

Livie’s cheeks were flushed while she kept smiling up at Melanie.

The breath caught in Melanie’s throat. No one had ever looked at her that way—not even the other children she’d cared for—and without thinking, she bent to wrap her arms around Livie.

The girl hugged her back, resting her head on her nanny’s shoulder.

For a moment the world seemed to stop, to clarify everything about what Melanie wanted: being needed and being able to give as much as she got from just one simple embrace.

Her imagination kicked into motion, picturing another pair of arms around them, hugging them all close together, creating the cocoon of a family that Melanie had never truly had.

Zane Foley’s arms.

The sound of hammers against the back of the house knocked Melanie out of the moment. It was the maintenance crew, getting Tall Oaks in shape for the charity event that would take place here on the Fourth of July. Obviously, their break was over.

At least Livie would get to see her father then, Melanie thought, drawing back from the girl and smoothing a dark, wavy strand of hair away from her face.

As if she could read Melanie all too well, Livie got that sad look in her eyes, then hugged her nanny once more before backing away and going to Mrs. Howe and Scott, who congratulated her with their warm gestures.

It was nice while it lasted, Melanie thought. Maybe she was just as starved for affection as Livie.

When Mrs. Howe’s phone rang with a chirping tone, Livie listened to Scott as he told her about his favorite part of the dance. In the meantime, the woman extracted the device from her pocket, checking the ID screen, and her relaxed demeanor altered as she answered the phone.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Foley,” she said.

A burst of adrenaline jolted Melanie from head to toe, warming her—no, heating her—through and through.

She shut off the boom box, lending the attic silence as she noticed that Livie had gone bright-eyed and hopeful, watching Mrs. Howe talk to her dad.

Once again, Melanie hurt for her, because she knew that he’d just called Livie yesterday and he wasn’t yet scheduled to do so again.

Darn it all, what could she do to take care of this situation?

Mrs. Howe kept talking to him, nodding, assuring him that the maintenance crew was making headway with the exterior of the mansion. In the meantime, Livie grabbed the manager’s skirt, as if to get her dad’s attention through Mrs. Howe.

Unable to stand it anymore, Melanie went to Livie, resting a hand on the girl’s head.

“Can I talk to him?” the little girl whispered to Mrs. Howe.

Something like a heartfelt reaction overtook the manager’s face. She looked at Melanie almost regretfully, while tacitly asking her to usher Livie out of the room so Zane Foley could conduct business without interruption.

Anger boiled in Melanie, taking over—or maybe even mixing—with the surge of awareness she’d been feeling before.

She got down to Livie’s height. “Maybe we should try calling him later,” she whispered, “after business hours?”

That sorrow—so familiar, so gut-wrenching—consumed Livie’s gaze.

Scott shook his head while wandering out of the room, and Melanie thought that he might’ve been expecting more of her—the woman who’d taken Livie under her wing.

And shouldn’t he?

Mrs. Howe signed off, silent, as if not knowing how to react or what to say to the little girl who’d been all but forgotten here at Tall Oaks.

Forgotten. Melanie knew exactly what that felt like—to live in a place where there were people crowded all around you, but you didn’t seem to exist in any significant way.

It was the last straw.

“Know what?” she said, tweaking Livie under the chin, trying to distract her, even though it was so tough, with her throat choking every word.

Livie’s mouth formed around a silent “What?” She was trying hard not to cry.

“I’m going to make sure you see your daddy soon,” Melanie said, skimming her fingers over the girl’s hair.

She heard Mrs. Howe gasp but ignored it, because Livie’s eyes had already gotten that gleam of hope in them, and Melanie would move mountains to make her promise come true.

Too late, she wondered if she was crossing a line—if this vow would get her fired. Flying in the face of Zane Foley’s wishes might take away all the security she’d won by landing this job.

But no one had been fighting for Livie.

“Really, Ms. Grandy?” the little girl asked, as if she couldn’t believe any promises when it came to her dad.

“Really.” Melanie stood, facing Mrs. Howe. “Father’s Day is just around the corner, isn’t it?”

She wasn’t so used to celebrating the holiday, but she knew it was sometime near mid-June.

“Ms. Grandy…” the manager began in a warning tone.

Brushing that aside, Melanie took Livie’s hand and squeezed it. “We’re going to make a present for him. And we’re going to be hand-delivering it.”

As Mrs. Howe closed her eyes and sighed, Melanie smiled down at her charge, who was already hopping up and down.

“Yay!” Livie danced in front of a cautious Mrs. Howe. “We’re going to Dallas!”

Yes, they were going to Dallas.

And somewhere in the back of Melanie’s mind, she realized that perhaps the trip was just as much for her to see Zane Foley as it was for Livie.

Even if it was a Saturday, it’d been a typically long day at the office for Zane: putting the finishing touches on acquiring an old, junky amusement park near San Antonio, with the intention of polishing it into a environmentally conscious spa complex; having yet another needless discussion with Judge Duarte about that state representative seat; hearing from Jason about how he’d met Penny McCord at that wedding this past weekend.

Zane showered and donned some sweats and a T-shirt. All the while he went over what his brother had told him about pouring the charm on Penny, as he’d tried to subtly coax any information he could about her family’s interest in Travis’s ranch. She hadn’t seemed to know much, and Jason hadn’t believed it, so he’d decided to pursue her further, perhaps through another “chance” meeting soon.

Truthfully, it’d all worn Zane out—maybe because, in spite of his support of the plan, it still wasn’t sitting well with him.

Then again, this had to do with the McCords, so all was fair.

Since he’d already had dinner at his downtown desk, he grabbed some paperwork about the Santa Magdalena shipwreck from his briefcase, then went to the living room and turned on the TV, thinking he would sit and read for a spell.

But he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Zane looked at the clock on his DVR unit. 8:00 p.m.

Who the hell was paying a visit?

He set down the papers and went to the foyer, accessing the security video screen console that was hidden in a wall panel.

When he saw a hint of blond hair, his libido instinctively went wild because he’d been imagining that same light shade, plus a slender body and long legs, every night since he’d met Melanie Grandy.

And as his vision focused, allowing him to see the rest of her standing right there, in the flesh, in front of his door, the air deserted his lungs, stirring him up, electrifying him in a way he hadn’t felt for years.

He hadn’t had time for it, and business took up all his energies. Women had gotten him into too much trouble before, and staying away from them made life easier.

Didn’t it?

Angered at all the questions—and even more so at Melanie Grandy’s presence—he was about to press the security speaker and demand to know what she was doing here.

Then he spied Livie next to her nanny, holding Melanie Grandy’s hand, and paused.

Livie.

Guilt consumed him until he banished it, focusing instead on the anger because it was so much simpler to understand.

He unlocked the door, yanked it open, and the force of the motion made the warm air outside stir Melanie Grandy’s hair.

The soft-as-silk strands that he’d been fantasizing about…

“Hello,” she said as calmly as you please, with a polite smile to match.

But Livie’s grin was much more excited as she said, “Hi, Daddy!” and held up a light blue construction-paper card decorated with feathers and sequins and doodads.

It read “Happy Father’s Day!”

The sight almost brought him to his knees, and that made him even angrier.

Still, he gently took the card from Livie, giving her all he could with a half smile that he hoped expressed everything he wasn’t able to say out loud, because he knew emotions and investment in them would only backfire someday.

When he didn’t say anything else, Livie’s smile faltered.

Dammit. Dammit to hell.

But he didn’t know how else to handle her.

The helplessness got to him again, and he refocused his frustration on a less vulnerable target.

The nanny.

“I don’t remember arranging a trip out here,” he said, his teeth clenched because he was trying so hard to rein in his temper.

And his inadequacy as a father.

She didn’t back down even an inch. “Father’s Day is tomorrow, and we thought we’d wish you a happy one. Livie made you a gift, too.”

He could see the nanny squeeze his daughter’s hand, urging Livie to present a slim box to him. But the child seemed reluctant to do so after how he’d responded to her card.

He couldn’t blame her.

Unable to stand himself, he relented just this once and bent down to Livie, accepting the box, then opening it to find a hand-sewn tie made out of flannel R2-D2 material.

Livie spoke up quietly. “Ms. Grandy helped me.”

“It’s made out of pajamas she’d grown out of,” the nanny said.

God help him. He just stared at the gift, thinking he’d never seen anything so wonderful in his life.

But when he glanced at his daughter, he saw Danielle’s smile—the sweet, innocent expression his own wife had worn when they were young.

Back then, it had been so easy to think everything was going to be okay. Yet, then hell had hit, and he’d realized that he should’ve been so much more careful.

He tried to say something to Livie, failed, then tried again, even though the words scraped on the way out.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he finally managed, touching her cheek.

“You’re welcome.”

He could see in her eyes that she wanted more than just a thank you, so he awkwardly held open his arms.

She hesitated, but Melanie Grandy helped out by guiding Livie forward.

When his daughter fell against him, he closed his eyes, squeezing her tight. Probably too tight, because she backed away and went back to holding her nanny’s hand.

His own daughter, preferring a near stranger.

But that’s what he was, wasn’t he?

If thoughts could make a person bleed, he’d be dying.

“Why don’t you go inside, Livie?” he said, his tone measured. “The TV’s on.”

“TV?” she asked, clearly intrigued about an activity she rarely got to indulge in.

He gestured for her to enter, and after she did, he tried to contain himself in front of his guest.

But there was too much to bottle up: the frustration, the shock of his unwelcome attraction to her, the barely quelled rage of both combined.

He dragged his gaze over to meet hers, and the flash of her blue eyes twisted into him.

His words were low and tight. “You’ve been making ties and cards instead of concentrating on schoolwork?”

She furrowed her brow. “Mr. Foley, Livie’s out of school for the summer.”

Mortified by not realizing that, he found a million other reasons to still be put out with the nanny.

“And what did you expect to accomplish by bringing her?”

She smiled oh-so innocuously. “Aside from the fact that you have a new tie, she wanted to wish you a Happy Father’s Day. In person. Coming here was a gift to her, too.”

Was this woman brazen enough to be pointing out his shortcomings to his face?

No one had dared before—not until after they were out of his employment.

Before he could erupt, she added, “We got a late start on driving, mostly because when I called your number, an assistant answered and said you wouldn’t be home until after seven.”

“Then you’d best get back to Austin, since it’s a long ride.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, and her agenda hit him square in the middle of the forehead.

“You set this up so I’d feel compelled to have you both overnight,” he said. “Is that it?”

“I didn’t think it’d be such an imposition. She’s your daughter, not a nuisance.”

He shook his head, ready to terminate her employment. But…

Dammit all, he didn’t have time to go through another nanny search. He’d felt terrible enough after his daughter lost yet another caretaker. Besides, switching nannies so often did nothing for her structure, and Livie seemed to really be getting on well with this one.

But in the back of his thoughts, he wondered if there was another reason he was hesitating to let Melanie Grandy go…

Hell no.

Not even remotely.

Still, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, the nanny was right. It was the eve of Father’s Day, and what kind of dad would he be to turn out his daughter?

Holding up a finger, he said, “One night, and I’m only agreeing to it because I don’t want you driving Livie home in the dark all that way.”

“Fair enough.”

Maybe he should add more for good measure. “I’m extremely busy, and I don’t want either of you underfoot.”

Hollow, he thought. It all sounded as hollow as he felt.

“I understand,” she said, her smile strained.

Then she turned around to retrieve two suitcases—one scuffed, one pristine.

Melanie Grandy’s and Livie’s baggage, he thought. But he wasn’t about to let it become his own.

After entering, the nanny set the suitcases by the circular staircase, then immediately went to Livie. He took up the luggage, intending to get it out of the way and into the upstairs guest rooms, where he wouldn’t have to look at it. His own bedroom was on the ground floor, so it would keep him removed, just the way he wanted it.

Yet, when he came back downstairs to hear his daughter and her nanny laughing about something or another on TV, he found himself walking toward them.

But then he changed direction, moving toward the sanctuary of his study.

But he could still hear them.

And weirdly enough, he kind of liked the sound.

Chapter Five

That night, Melanie couldn’t sleep. Not with Zane Foley in the same townhouse.

She lay in the guest bedroom with the sheets tangled around her legs, trying to find a position that worked.

But she was restless, unable to stop thinking about him. And when she paired the stimulation of just being in the same pheromonal range as Zane Foley with the fact that she hadn’t been intimate with a man for a long time, this resulted in one wide-awake woman.

For a while, she’d dated a Vegas bartender who nursed ambitions to open his own place, and the relationship had gotten serious enough, so that she’d developed what she’d believed could become serious feelings—at least until he dumped her. Otherwise, over the years, she spent her emotions wisely, knowing that sex didn’t feel right unless there were fireworks during kisses, and dreams of being with that man for the rest of her life.

But thoughts of intimacy with a certain nearby boss weren’t the only thing keeping her eyes wide-open tonight: it was also hard to wait until morning, when Father’s Day would really arrive.

Boy, she hated having to plot and scheme like this, but she’d seen Zane Foley’s eyes go gentle when Livie had given him that tie, and it had justified the chance Melanie had taken of losing her job altogether. However, if there’d been any sign of his closing himself entirely to Livie, Melanie would’ve cut the plan short and taken the little girl back home.

Yet, that hadn’t been the case.

It was clear that Zane Foley loved his daughter and he didn’t know how to show it. But Melanie wasn’t so simple as to think that the situation could be changed in the course of one holiday, because Danielle’s death had left too many scars.

As the grandfather clock downstairs struck twelve, Melanie sat up in bed. No use trying to sleep at all. Her mind and emotions were all over the place.

Maybe she could dig through his cupboard to see if he had any soothing tea?

Yeah. Right. Like he’d have tea. Yet, maybe he’d have some milk. Soothing, good old milk worked every time.

Melanie crawled out of her guest bed, then adjusted her above-the-knee, rose-sprigged linen nightgown and headed for the door.

The clock stopped chiming as she crept down the hall past Livie’s room, where Melanie peeked in to find the girl sprawled over the mattress, all relaxed knees and elbows.

Sleeping like a rock, as always, Melanie thought.

Warmth lodging in her upper chest, she shut the door and continued on her way. Down the circular stairs, quietly, slowly. Toward the kitchen.

But before she got there, she heard something in the living room. A wall blocked her view, but that didn’t stop her from wondering if it was Zane.

Her heart butted against her chest.

Was he up, too?

She peered around the wall, but she must’ve already made some noise, because she saw him under the light of a dim Tiffany lamp, shoving some object into a small chest, his shoulders hunched.

Heart in her throat, she pulled back around the corner. Maybe she should go back to her bedroom and leave him alone.

Yet that was the last thing she really wanted—her body was very clear about that, too, as it began a sultry melt—hot, liquid, weak.

“Livie?” she heard him ask gruffly from the other room.

Shoot! No escaping now.

“No.” Melanie realized she was wearing a nightgown. Conservative by most standards, but…a nightgown. Her breasts pressed against the linen, her nipples hardening at the sound of his voice alone.

But she couldn’t hide here like a kid playing games.

Exhaling, she pulled her gown away from her chest, hoping that would do as she walked around the corner.

“It’s me,” she said. “I was going to the kitchen for something to drink, and I…”

He was staring at her, and it ratcheted her pulse up to high speed, enough so that she could feel the tiny, propulsive rhythm of it in her neck veins.

Just the two of us, she thought—after midnight.

While she’d been behind the wall, he’d clearly placed the wooden chest on a shelf to the side of his massive TV, but her mind wasn’t so much on that, or even what might be inside of it.

One hundred percent of her was concentrated on him.

As he put his hands on his hips, making the muscles in his arms that much more obvious, making him seem like that noble, Western everyman, she corrected herself.

She was paying one hundred and ten percent attention to him now.

Those shoulders under his T-shirt, she thought. And that broad chest…

She bet that he had corrugated abs under his shirt, and she could just about feel them under her fingertips right now—ridges, muscle, flesh.

Hot and smooth…

“Sorry I bothered you,” he said in a low voice that shook her, even over the quiet hum of everything else.

“No bother.” What to say now? Hi, yes, I’m sporting a nightgown, but you must admit it’s prettier than that business suit you saw me wearing at our interviews.

“You want me to…?” He motioned toward the kitchen, as if asking if he should fetch her something to drink.

My, how polite they suddenly were with each other.

“No, no, I’ve got it.” She started to leave, thinking she would skip the beverage and just scram.

“Wait.”

It was as if he had a pull on her, and she didn’t go anywhere.

“Yes?” she said.

During his pause, she looked at him again, to find him running a slow gaze over her. When he saw that she noticed, he crossed his arms over his chest.

She was tingling all over. How could just a look do that?

“About earlier tonight…” he said, business as usual.

Great—did they have to talk about this now? “If you’re going to fire me, could you do it tomorrow? I’d like to at least say goodbye to Livie—”

“I’m not going to fire you.”

She stared at him as he leveled a firm gaze at her.

“Not yet, anyway,” he added.

This man. Dear God, she couldn’t make heads or tails of him. Was he angry because she’d brought Livie here, or not? After all, he’d retreated to his study right after they’d settled in; then they’d gone to bed after saying good-night. No more mention of anything. But she figured she would have to pay the piper when the timing was more convenient for him—like in the morning.

Yet, now she couldn’t predict him at all.

He was as mysterious as whatever he’d put back in that chest by the TV.

“Then I’m glad you’re not going to kick me out of the job,” she said, gathering her guts, standing up for herself and for Livie. “I think I’m good for your daughter.”

“I see that. She looks…happy.” The corners of his mouth seemed to rise for a fleeting moment, then stopped as if his mouth was so unused to the expression that it rejected any change.

“She’s happier,” Melanie said.

She waited for him to react, but he only got that shadowed look in his eyes again, the one she’d seen so many times during her interviews.

What could she do to get rid of it?

“You know what she’d really like?” Melanie asked.

“What?” The shadows were still there.

“If you’d do something with her tomorrow. Even just lunch. Or, if you could spare any more time, she talks about trying some horseback riding. Maybe that’d be an activity you’d both like.”

As if he’d been waiting for something to reject, he said, “Livie’s grandma died from a riding accident. I’d prefer we didn’t go that route.”

Talk about stepping on a mine in a field full of them. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

She hadn’t come across any family history articles that went so deep beyond rumor and innuendo, and that family feud with the McCords.

“I try to keep most things private, if I can manage,” he said. “Even from the press.”

She thought of Danielle but didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to, when it looked as if those shadows were about to wrap around him and drag him into the walls.

“Instead of riding,” she said, “how about an hour in the neighborhood park with us? I saw one about a block away.”

He hesitated, and Melanie stabilized herself.

For Livie.

“She’s missed you,” she added. “This would mean the world to her.”

When he glanced at that chest on the shelf, the tightening of his jaw made her think he was going to refuse the invitation. But then he started to walk away from the object, toward that hallway, as if leaving whatever was in the chest behind.

Or at least putting distance between him and it.

“One o’clock,” he said as he continued toward the hallway, but she wasn’t even sure she’d heard him right. “I have to go into Dallas before that, but I’ll work the rest of the day from here.”

“Did you say—?”

He paused, staring at the ground. “One o’clock.”

Melanie could’ve shot through the roof. “Perfect. I’ll pack a lunch, so don’t worry about eating.”

“You’ll find the cupboards pretty empty around here,” he said, meandering away again, barely looking at her. “Maybe I should leave money, if you don’t mind stopping at the market.”

“I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.”

She was smiling to beat the band, and he lifted his head, his gaze coming to rest on her mouth.

Then his eyes met hers again, thrashing her with a slam of that awareness she’d been trying so hard to dodge.

But dodge she did, nodding at him and then leaving before he could, walking past the kitchen and back to her bedroom, where she intended to shut the door nice and tight behind her until tomorrow.

He’d meant to get to the park for their Father’s Day date.

He really had.

But Zane had found some accounting errors while reviewing a monthly report he was catching up on, and by the time he’d finished smoothing out the near damage, he’d looked at his watch to see that it was past three o’clock.

Three o’damned clock.

How had that happened?

He wanted to blame anyone but himself: why hadn’t Melanie Grandy called him when he hadn’t shown up at the park?

Yet, he figured the nanny had probably given up on him and hadn’t bothered to even pick up the phone, because he had only confirmed that he was the worst dad in existence.

As his hand fell to his side, he wondered how Livie had taken his absence, but the answer wasn’t hard to come by. She’d had plenty of practice at dealing with disappointment in him before, and he imagined that her opinion hadn’t changed today.

And there it was—the exact reason he’d excused himself from bringing her up in the first place.

He called Monty to pick him up. When Monty arrived he didn’t make any comments. Then again, unlike Melanie Grandy, the driver knew it wasn’t his place to do so.

No, his employee only handed him a box after Zane had settled in the town car’s backseat.

“What’s this?” he asked Monty.

The driver pulled the vehicle away from the valet station in the office building’s parking structure. “Ms. Grandy sent it for you. She said she figured you might need it.”

Steam fogged over him, an equal mix of disliking the position the nanny had put him in and…

God. He remembered last night, when she’d been standing there in her nightie. Even though the sleepwear had been modest, it had shown more leg than he’d ever seen of her.

Long, lean leg. And he’d wanted to go to Melanie Grandy, bend down to curl his fingers around her ankle, then start from there on up, skimming over her toned calf, the soft, damp back of her knee, higher…

But he’d barred himself from doing any of it, mostly because of what he’d stowed in the chest just before he’d heard her moving around while going to the kitchen.

Danielle’s ashes in an urn.

He supposed that the approaching anniversary of his first wife’s suicide had urged him to take out her remains. But then again, he often contemplated her—the memories of what he could’ve done. The penance for not being able to stop her…

In any case, he’d been in a brooding mood, and the nanny had broken it open for a short time before he’d told himself to get out of the room, to resist a situation he just couldn’t handle.

Now he looked at the box she had sent for him to open, and like that chest, he wished he could just keep it closed.

But since he had a feeling about what was inside, he took off the lid.

The R2-D2 tie.

He tossed the box lid to the seat. Damn that woman. She’d probably found it where he’d placed it on the kitchen counter last night.

Legs or not, she was making his life hell.

Zane caught Monty’s gaze in the rearview mirror just before the driver looked away.

The rest of the ride was like a session in a torture chamber, with the world’s most invisible, cutting, self-inflicted weapons. Zane went back and forth between cursing himself for blowing it with Livie today and thinking that he should just send her back home, until Monty pulled up to his townhouse, with its luxurious, sleek façade that didn’t offer even a hint of the darkness inside.

They would be waiting in there for him: Livie, with those eyes that slayed Zane every time he saw them. And Melanie Grandy—who had quite a way of killing him softly, too.

Dammit.

He took off his Armani tie and put on the R2-D2 one, feeling like an ass, but not just because he was wearing a cartoon character on his chest.

Then Zane got out of the car, held up a hand to thank Monty and watched his driver pull away in a stream of red taillights.

He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath and entered his home, thinking that he’d never been so cautious about coming into his own doggone place before the nanny had arrived.

Standing in the foyer, he set down his briefcase, listening for any signs of life. No TV. No clanging around in the kitchen.

He went back outside to check the stand-alone garage, to see if Melanie’s designated Tall Oaks Volvo was still there where he’d parked it for her, last night before retiring.

Present and accounted for.

When he wandered back inside, ready to capitulate and call her cell phone, he heard something floating down from the stairway.

Laughter.

The roof terrace, he thought, his veins going taut as he took in the sound. It rang through him, and for a forbidden moment, he allowed it to settle.

What would it be like to have a house that sounded like this all the time?

Then reality returned. He had to go up to the roof, and the minute they saw him the laughter would stop.

Okay, you’re a man, he told himself. Face the consequences.

He straightened the R2-D2 tie and climbed the stairs, following the laughter—actually drawn to it, as he’d been last night, when it had filled this house.

When it had even filled something else that he wasn’t sure he could define.

Arriving at the roof, he found them sitting in lounge chairs that faced the Dallas skyline. The river sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine. They’d turned on the small rock waterfall near the hot tub, and the splash of it mingled with Melanie’s voice as she told Livie some story about a time she’d gone waterskiing.

“I never drank so much water as I did that day on the lake,” she said at the end of her tale. “I had a stomachache for hours afterward.”

Livie was giggling and sipping from a straw in a glass that looked to be full of milk. Her gaze was fixed on her nanny, as if she were the most incredible thing to drop from the sky since stardust.

As Zane watched them, his stomach ached with something sharp and empty stabbing it.

When was the last time Livie had looked at him that way?

Last night, he thought. And he hadn’t returned the affection.

Worst father ever, he thought again, taking no pride in this accomplishment.

He felt like such a nothing, all he wanted to do was change the perception—even if it were just for the final hours of Father’s Day.

He cleared his throat and both females looked back, Livie watching him, her gaze wounded.

And Melanie?

She was watching him, too, but she looked about ready to throttle him. Yet, how could he be offended when she was angry for the sake of his daughter?

“I apologize,” he said, “for missing our date. I lost track of time.”

The excuse didn’t hold any water at all. In fact, with the way the nanny was visually shooting bullets at him, his words seemed punctured.

He continued. “Livie, I know how much you wanted me there.”

Her gaze had come to rest on his tie. That darn R2-D2-riddled tie.

And lo and behold, she smiled. An injured smile, to be sure, but at least he’d done something right today.

Thanks to Melanie, he reluctantly admitted to himself.

The nanny saw the tie, too, but that didn’t change her expression. “We understand. Work’s important.”

Yes, it is, he wanted to say, but he didn’t. It didn’t seem so true right now.

They were both still sitting in their lounge chairs, their bodies slanted toward the skyline, as if they knew better than to commit to turning all the way toward him.

“We had fun, Daddy,” Livie said. “Ms. Grandy made peanut butter and jelly starfish sandwiches. And we shared oranges with Sheree and Tammy.”

Zane almost flinched. Even after what he’d done, his daughter was still talking to him as if he hadn’t screwed up?

“Sheree and Tammy are neighbor girls,” the nanny said, grinning at Livie. “Their mom told me that they’re six and seven years old, almost twins with Livie.”

“And they have American Girl dolls, too!” his daughter added.

They laughed again, and Zane wished he could join in.

But he could—couldn’t he?

Even though he wondered, he knew that he would have to make it up to Livie somehow, because having her go back to Austin just after he’d pulled the rug out from under her was unthinkable.

Distance was fine, he told himself. It was subtle. But this afternoon he’d done something cruel—and he even wondered if he’d done it subconsciously, because he knew that going to the park would lead to daytrips and that would lead to week-long trips, and…

He stopped himself, vowing to give them a great night instead. Afterward, they could all go back to where they belonged, feeling the better for it.

“We’re going to do something else right now,” he said. “So why don’t you get yourselves up so we can go?”

Now Livie swung her legs to the side of her chair, and Zane smiled.

“Where’re we going, Daddy?”

“To a place that’ll make you real happy. Trust me on that.”

As his daughter clapped her hands, he couldn’t help but notice that Melanie wasn’t applauding at all.

Melanie had always told herself that she couldn’t be bought off, but as she stood in front of the mirror of the personal shopper’s boutique in Westenra’s, a high-class department store in the swanky Garden Faire Mall, she wasn’t so sure.

“Gorgeous,” said the sales associate as she adjusted the skirt of the sea-blue cocktail dress that Melanie was trying on. “It compliments your eyes, hair and skin tone. You look like a movie star!”

In back of Melanie, Livie glanced up from her picture book from where she was sitting on the leather sofa. Zane had already bought her a bunch of stuff at a bookstore.

“Oh, Ms. Grandy,” Livie said. “You’re bea-u-ti-ful.”

Melanie smiled at her while avoiding looking at Zane, who was sitting right next to his daughter.

“We’ll take this last dress, too,” he said.

Ecstatic at the commission she’d rung up, the personal shopper scooped up the six other outfits her client had tried on and flitted off, leaving Melanie alone in the mirror.

She tried not to give in to the lure of all this, but at the sight of herself she went a little dreamy. She looked like she’d found a glass slipper, but like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, she knew this was only transient.

Still…

Zane Foley seemed to catch her doubt. “That dress is all yours, if you want, just like the other outfits you’ve tried on.”

Yes, she wanted. And…darn him, he knew. She could tell from the contented way he was sitting there, taking it all in, as if this made up for his ditching Livie this afternoon.

Melanie ran her hand over the silk of the dress’s haltered neckline. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe he’d lost track of time at the office. Oh, yes, she truly had faith in that. And that was the problem.

He would always lose track at the expense of Livie unless something was done about it.

Turning around, she faced him, and once again she was thrown off by his mere presence. The dark hair that seemed slightly ruffled from a long day. The hazel eyes that were even now stroking over her and making her get butterflies in her tummy.

And the R2-D2 tie.

He was still wearing it, and she couldn’t help but appreciate that, even if she’d pushed it on him.

“Mr. Foley, I don’t think—”

“Stop with the polite refusals,” he said. “As Livie’s nanny, you need to look the part.”

“You already told me that.”

She shot him a glance that said the rest: and this has no connection to how you win over people? With how you buy Livie all those dolls instead of showing up to be with her every once in a while?

She couldn’t say it out loud. Not with Livie here, even if the child had gone back to reading her books.

“Besides,” Melanie continued, “I’m guessing that Livie and I probably won’t be attending many cocktail parties together.”

He leaned forward, and as those butterflies painted the lining of her belly with flutters, she almost touched her stomach, calming them.

Chasing them away.

“Okay, maybe I’m aiming for more than appearances,” he said quietly.

He left it at that.

But what did he mean? Was he using these dresses as a means to thank her for what she’d done for Father’s Day?

She searched his gaze for more of a hint, and when she didn’t find any, she looked further for a shade of dishonesty.

None of that either, but she had to turn back to the mirror, because he made her feel like a hypocrite.

Talk about dishonesty.

She ran a hand down the dress. Classy—so unlike the former showgirl or lower-class daughter whose family skimmed the poverty line.

But even in this dress, the old days still seemed to cling to Melanie, refusing to let go, no matter how hard she was trying.

The secret of her past levered down on her as, in the mirror, she saw Zane Foley come to a stand. He whispered something to Livie, and the girl sprang to her feet, clutching her books.

“We’ll be back soon,” he said as he began walking away with his daughter.

Melanie gave him a quizzical look in the mirror.

He smiled, and it ripped through her, upending every cell in its wake.

“We’re headed for the pièce de résistance,” he said, glancing down at Livie, who gazed back at him adoringly. “There’s a massive Toys ‘R’ Us store that rivals the one in Times Square, and I thought Livie might have some fun there.”

“But…” Melanie began.

By now, his daughter was tugging him away, and he actually seemed amused by that.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll be busy here.”

As Livie pulled him out of the boutique, the personal shopper returned, seeming so chipper that it almost scared Melanie.

“Are you ready?” the woman asked.

Melanie wasn’t sure if she liked this or not. “For what?”

The other woman laughed, almost sounding like one of those twittering birds who’d created Cinderella’s dress in the Disney movie.

“You’ve got a makeover waiting for you, ma’am.”

Melanie’s pulse leaped before she tamed it.

A…makeover?

She glanced in the mirror again, and instead of seeing the present, she thought back to a girl who used to wear drab dresses, the young woman who’d worked hard to get where she was today.

A makeover.

How could she refuse?

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