Temporary Nanny

“Would you mind hanging out with Jake after school?”

Royce started pacing.

“Royce?” Katy asked.

“I’m here. Just checking my calendar.”

More like stalling for time.

In the past he would have avoided getting tangled up in Katy’s problems. But that was before he woke up in a hospital room unable to recognise his own son because the kid had grown into a man when Royce wasn’t looking. Though he’d failed Michael, maybe he could help out Jake. It was only one day, after all.

“Yeah, I guess I can to it.”

“You don’t sound too sure. I really shouldn’t have asked. My mum can probably take time off work.”

Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m sure. No big deal.”

But it was a big deal. Anyone who knew him well would have been downright amazed.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

With two teenage sons, two dogs and three cats, Carrie Weaver often feels she lives in a state called Chaos (not to be confused with Dysfunction Junction, a place she’s visited only once or twice). Her books reflect real life and real love, with all the ups, downs and emotion involved, and in 2006 she was a finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA^® Award.

Dear Reader,

I wanted Royce McIntyre’s experience in Temporary Nanny to reflect an injury with which our military troops could relate. My goal was to provide hope during times of trauma.

On the surface, Royce’s life doesn’t resemble that of a soldier. But he triumphs through challenges a wounded soldier might face.

Katy Garner is a single mother struggling to maintain a career and be the best mum possible. Royce is perhaps the last person on earth she’d initially choose to care for her precious ten-year-old son. But soon she realises there’s more to Royce than meets the eye.

I hope you enjoy Royce and Katy’s story!

Yours in reading,

Carrie Weaver

www.carrieweaver.com

Carrie loves to hear from readers through her website or by snail mail at PO Box 6045, Chandler, AZ 85246-6045, USA.

Temporary Nanny

CARRIE WEAVER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For my mother, Mary Ellen. Love ya lots, Mum!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

I’d like to thank Jack Swanson for graciously providing a glimpse into the life of an expatriate in Russia. Any errors are strictly mine.

PROLOGUE

Russia

IT WAS A WELDER’S worst nightmare: the odor of gas.

Royce started diving for cover a split second before the force of the explosion knocked him flat.

That’s when things began moving in slow motion. Debris rained down on him in waves distorted by the lens of his welding helmet. He grunted as jagged metal tore his flesh. The sound of his coworkers’ shouts was muffled by the ringing in his ears.

Dimitri ran to his side and yelled something in Russian.

Hang on. Or the Russian equivalent.

Royce tried to respond, but merely groaned.

Dimitri grasped his right hand, telling him it was going to be okay. But on some level, Royce understood it would never be okay again.

He tried to grasp Dimitri’s shoulder, but his fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Blinking blood from his eyes, Royce focused. Mangled tissue hung from the wrist where his left hand had once been.

A blessed numbness chased away the pain, but chills racked his body. Then darkness descended.

But not before the irony struck him.

Damn.

His ex-wife had been right. He would die chasing an elusive dream.

CHAPTER ONE

Phoenix, Arizona Six months later

ROYCE FUMBLED with his keys. Things came harder these days, even those he was accustomed to doing with one hand.

“You’re sure you’re up to living alone? You’re welcome to stay in the guesthouse.” His sister, Becca, pushed her honey-blond bangs out of her eyes. Even nearing forty, she reminded him of an exuberant cheerleader.

“Absolutely not. You’ve turned your life upside down for me long enough.” He silenced her protest with a pointed look.

At last, he maneuvered the key into the lock. He turned the knob, opened the door and gestured expansively with his good hand. His only hand. “My palace awaits.”

She strode inside and crossed her arms. “This apartment looks exactly like what it is. A furnished place to hide out and feel sorry for yourself. You need a home. You need my home.”

“Like hell I do. It’s about as restful as Grand Central Station. There are kids and pets and old people all over the place.”

“Those old people are my in-laws and they’re very sweet. My kids can be a pain in the rear, but they’ll grow on you.”

He couldn’t allow her to see how tempting he really found her offer. Wife, mother, businesswoman, caretaker—the last thing she needed was her injured brother taking up space with the rest of her strays.

Touching her arm, he said, “I appreciate the invitation. Really. But I need to do this on my own.”

“So why not get an apartment close to me? Or close to Dad in Florida?”

“Dad’s started a new life with Evelyn. He spent enough time raising us, he deserves this second chance. Anyway, Phoenix was home before I started the expat life. Maybe I can figure some stuff out here. Besides, you know, the old McIntyre stubbornness.”

Becca blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “I have a passing acquaintance with it. Fortunately, the family curse seems to have passed me by completely.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. I bet Gabe has a whole ’nother story.”

“Don’t you dare compare notes with my husband. He’s hard enough to handle as it is. It’s going to make me very uneasy with you clear across the country. Won’t you at least let me stay a few days to get you settled?”

“Absolutely not.”

Becca sighed. “Then allow Tess to come visit for a while?”

“No way. The last person I need in the middle of my catastrophe is my ex-wife. I have no intention of wrecking her second marriage.”

Tilting her head, she asked, “You’re not the tiniest bit jealous?”

“No.” The truth was, Royce was a bit relieved that Tess had remarried. Knowing she had finally moved on and found happiness put his guilt on a bearable level.

“I don’t think I could be as easygoing if Gabe ever remarried.”

“Then don’t get divorced in the first place.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I bet your husband is eager for you to get home to start your anniversary festivities. Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

Becca touched his cheek with her fingertips. “Royce, I quit being fooled by the tough guy act a long time ago. I know you’re hurting, physically and emotionally. I hate leaving you like this, but I guess I understand wanting to do it by yourself. If you need anything, call. Anytime, day or night.”

Royce cleared his throat. “You bet. Now get back to your own life.”

Becca kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye, Royce.”

Then she turned and walked out the door.

Royce dropped to the couch, fighting emotion.

The silence echoed louder than the explosion.

Jake tried to appear innocent. He looked his mom straight in the eye, though it took all his courage. He didn’t want Sally to get in trouble. And he didn’t want his mom to worry.

“You be good for Sally today, okay?” She handed him his favorite Diamondbacks baseball cap.

“I’ll be very good.” There. It wasn’t really a lie. He’d just left out the Sally part. She’d called the night before while his mom was in the shower. He’d listened to the voice mail, then deleted it.

“Be sure to ask her to help with your math homework because I might be late.”

Jake nodded. A nod wasn’t a lie, either.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to school?”

“No. You can drop me off at the bus stop, though.”

“You bet.” She had that same sad expression when his dad didn’t show up to take Jake for the weekend. Like she blamed herself for all the sucky stuff that happened.

He flung his arms around her neck and hugged her hard. Before she could hang on to him and get all mushy, he pushed away and ran to get his backpack. “Let’s go.”

“Sure, honey. Let’s go.”

ROYCE CRANKED OPEN an eye and glanced at the clock. The numerals told him it was four o’clock, even if he hadn’t already suspected the fact. And the infernal tapping had been going on for at least fifteen minutes.

He should get a broomstick and bang on the ceiling so his upstairs neighbor would get a clue. But he doubted it would work. The noise had started promptly at three forty-five yesterday, too.

Cocking his head, Royce decided it wasn’t tap dancing. It sounded almost like Morse code.

Damn. If he didn’t know better, he’d think his pain medication was making him hallucinate again. But he’d quit taking the meds months ago.

Royce listened intently while he removed a bowl from the kitchen cupboard. Then a spoon from the drawer. He poured cereal and milk.

Voila! Dinner.

And who said the one-handed guy couldn’t be self-sufficient? Certainly not his physical therapist, Gus, who led him to believe he’d be as good as new with a space- age prosthesis and a crapload of physical and occupational therapy.

The series of taps intruded on his thoughts.

One-handed man.

“One-handed man,” he murmured, looking heavenward. Was it possible?

“Bring…what? Treats?”

Now he was really losing it. He was imagining an upstairs neighbor tapping out a take-out order in Morse code. And addressing it to the man with one hand.

Last time he’d checked, Royce had been the only one-handed man in the apartment building. Possibly even for miles.

What other explanation could account for the mystery message? There was that cute redhead he’d seen on the elevator. More likely, it was the kid she’d had with her. The boy who looked enough like her to be her son.

More taps.

Definitely bring treats.

Royce booted up his laptop and did an Internet search to refresh his memory of Morse code. When the taps started again, he noted their order, then translated.

“One-handed man. Bring Rice Krispies Treats to 472.”

Royce was in apartment 372. But he wasn’t interested in playing games with the kid. Was he?

Royce thought back to all the afternoons he and Becca had spent home alone while his dad worked. They’d had each other, but it still had gotten old quickly. Wouldn’t it have been nice to have someone new break up the monotony?

Absolutely.

Then another thought occurred to him and he was slightly ashamed. But chatting up the kid could lead to meeting his mother.

More tapping. Another request for Rice Krispies Treats.

It kind of tickled Royce’s sense of the ridiculous. And the redhead was cute.

He grabbed a pencil and paper and figured out the Morse code for what he wanted to say. Then he got the broom from the closet.

Grasping the bristles, he tapped on the ceiling.

Four- seven- two, you want treats?

When the tapping started a few moments later, Royce grinned.

“Rice Krispies Treats.”

As the tapping continued, he scribbled down the pattern. It translated to, Homemade.

He chuckled. “Picky, aren’t you?”

But he had to admit, the idea of humoring the kid appealed to him—harmless entertainment to distract both of them.

Royce checked his kitchen cupboards, just to make sure marshmallows hadn’t magically appeared. They hadn’t. By the time he walked to the corner store and back, he wondered why he’d decided to do this. After the first batch tanked because the bowl kept scooting and he couldn’t stir fast enough, he was ready to admit defeat. But dammit, he’d do it no matter what. It was, after all, a simple chore.

And finally, four hours later, he stood outside apartment number 472. He knocked and waited, balancing the covered plate on his left forearm.

He knocked again.

No sound of movement, no strains of a television program. He was too late.

Royce set the paper plate outside the door, trying to ignore his disappointment. It was only a silly game to pass the time.

CHAPTER TWO

KATY BREATHED a sigh of relief as she unlocked the apartment door. It had been one intense Wednesday.

“Hi, Mom.” Jake glanced up from his handheld video game.

“Hi, honey. I missed Sally again?”

“Uh-huh. She left five minutes ago.”

“I don’t like you being here alone, but I guess five minutes won’t hurt.” She set her purse and keys on the table next to the door and went to give Jake a kiss on the top of his head. “Still, I should probably call her.”

“Sally said it was important for her mom to go for dial—um, to get her blood filtered.”

“Well, her mother’s dialysis is important. But it’s important for you to stay safe, too.”

“Aw, nothing’s going to happen in five minutes.”

“You’re probably right. But I want to make sure it’s not going to turn into more than that.” Between school and her ill mother, Sally had too much on her plate. But Katy’s first concern had to be Jake. “I’ll call her later.”

“She’s got class tonight. You don’t want to get her in trouble at school.”

“I forgot she had class. I’ll call her tomorrow from work.”

Katy went to the kitchen and retrieved water from the fridge. The chill of the bottle was welcome against her palm. It was only March, but in Phoenix the weather was already warm enough for sundresses.

Jake came into the kitchen, grabbed water of his own and sat on a stool at the breakfast bar.

“How’d the math test go?” she asked.

“I got an A.”

“Good job.” She gave him a high five. “You’re on a roll.”

“You want one of these Rice Krispies Treats, Mom?” Jake peeled the plastic wrap from a paper plate she hadn’t noticed.

“Did Sally make these?” She bit into one, enjoying the sweet, sticky goodness.

Jake bit into one, too. “Uh-huh,” was his muffled reply.

THE REDHEAD barely glanced at Royce when they passed in the parking lot. Though she’d seemed distracted, he’d hoped for some spark of recognition.

Shrugging philosophically, he settled the grocery sack more securely on his hip and headed toward his apartment. Once inside, he went through the now-familiar process of making Rice Krispies Treats.

Royce swore under his breath as the mixing bowl scooted across the counter. He half suspected his upstairs neighbor was on his physical therapist’s payroll.

The first batch of snacks had been made only after he’d sat on the floor and braced the bowl between his shoes while he combined the marshmallow mixture with puffed rice.

But there was something almost barbaric about cooking that way. Now, he kept the bowl braced between his stomach and left arm so it wouldn’t slide all over the counter.

Damn.

His injured arm was still sensitive to pressure. He wiped his face against his shoulder. Who knew a fairly simple task could be such a workout? A year ago, he probably would have laughed at the idea. But now he was seeing things a whole lot differently.

It took at least four times longer than it should have, but finally, he had the treats cut and on a plate. He’d left the first plate two days ago. A coded rave review had come through yesterday. And this morning, a short request for more.

Glancing at his watch, he waited for the afternoon transmission. Three forty-five came and went. No message. What did that mean?

He heard footsteps upstairs.

Royce got out the broomstick and tapped on the ceiling. “U there?”

No answer.

He tapped again and still nothing.

Maybe he’d only heard one set of footsteps instead of two and the boy was home alone. And this wouldn’t be the first time he had been left on his own. What if the kid was hurt or something?

A man of action, Royce grabbed the plate of snacks and headed out the door.

Katy grated cheese for enchiladas with her phone wedged between her chin and shoulder as she talked. “Yes, Mom, I’m concerned, too. I’ll talk to Sally about it and make sure she only leaves five minutes before you pick up Jake when I’m out of town. But she’s worked for me for three years. I trust her.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Jake hollered.

Katy dropped the cheese, the grater and nearly the phone. She managed to get the speaker covered before she called, “No you don’t, Jake.”

“Aw, Mom, that’s a silly rule.”

Katy said, “Mom, I’ll have to call you back.” She clicked her phone shut and hurried to the door.

“It’s probably just someone selling magazines.” Jake crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture so reminiscent of Katy’s late father she had to smile. “I can tell ’em to get lost as well as you can.”

Ruffling his hair, she said, “I bet you can. But it’s best if I do.”

She opened the door and saw a strange man standing there. A strange, good-looking man holding a plate of Rice Krispies Treats.

“May I help you?”

The man grinned. “These are for you. From 372 to 472.”

“Um, thank you.”

“I’m the one-handed guy.” He held up his left arm and she saw air where there should have been a hand.

“Yes, I…can see that.” Katy felt as if she’d been dropped in the middle of a Twilight Zone episode.

“I made these especially for you guys. Just like before.”

“Before?”

“Ask and you shall receive.” He eyed her expectantly as if she should invite him in.

“I think there’s some mistake. Maybe you have the wrong apartment.”

He glanced at the number on the door. “Nope. You’re 472, I’m 372. Someone’s been sending coded messages to me.”

Oh, great. Katy bet he wore a tinfoil hat to keep the aliens from interfering with his brain waves, too. Although he looked pretty normal. Other than his injured arm.

“Like I said, I’m sure you’re mistaken.” Except something about the treats was familiar….

“Just take them. The kid likes them.” He extended the plate.

“No, thank you.” She started to close the door.

The man planted his size-twelve shoe in the gap.

Recalling a recent burglary nearby, Katy’s protective instincts went into overdrive. Especially when she realized this man fit the thief’s description.

“Mom—”

She blocked Jake as he moved into view. Making a split-second decision, she brought the heel of her shoe down on the man’s instep.

He grunted in pain, cursed and withdrew his foot.

She slammed the door and flicked the dead bolt. Leaning back, she closed her eyes, relieved when she heard the sound of retreating footsteps.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, honey, but I should call the police.”

“No, don’t!” Jake’s face was pale, his eyes wide with fear.

“It’s all right, the police will find the man and make sure he’s not sick or something. And if he’s a bad man, they’ll take him to jail.”

“He’s not a bad man! He’s my friend.”

An awful feeling started in the pit of Katy’s stomach. Then she recalled the plate of Rice Krispies Treats they’d had yesterday.

“Jake Garner, is there something you should tell me?”

“He’s our neighbor, Mom, so he’s not really a stranger and it’s okay that I asked him for Rice Krispies Treats.”

“You what? When?”

“The past couple of days while you’ve been at work. I got kinda lonely after school. I saw him in the elevator last week and thought it was pretty cool that he only had one hand. I’d been watching Frankenstein and figured maybe he could be somebody’s experiment someday and—”

“Get to the point, Jake.” How many times had she said that to her son? It seemed like thousands. He had such a vivid imagination.

“I figured maybe he was lonely, too,’ cause nobody looks at him once they notice his hand. They kinda pretend he’s not there. And I saw him getting mail one day for apartment 372. He was reading his mail, so he didn’t see me.”

“So he is our downstairs neighbor.”

“Yeah. One day I was bored and there were some weird shadows on the wall that made me think of monsters and stuff, so I started tapping out a code on the kitchen floor with a hammer. You know, so somebody would know if the shadows got me.”

“Sally would know, wouldn’t she? Didn’t she object to you pounding on the floor with a hammer?”

“I wasn’t pounding, I was tapping.”

“Jake,” she warned. “What did Sally say?”

“Um, she didn’t say anything.” Jake looked at the ceiling, the floor and everywhere in between.

She gently grasped his chin. “Out with it.”

And the whole story came pouring out. Sally’d had a scheduling conflict this week with her mother’s dialysis and Jake had been afraid she might get fired. So he’d decided to soldier on and stay home alone until Katy or her mother got there.

KATY COULD HAVE SMACKED her forehead. Why hadn’t she seen through his ploy? Because she’d been too preoccupied making a living. And in total denial that her child-care provisions were contingent on everything going as planned.

She grasped Jake’s hand and rose. “You are so grounded. But right now, we have an apology to make.”

Royce set the bottle of vodka on the table, along with a glass. His foot throbbed, his left hand itched and his pride screamed for oblivion. Foregoing the glass, he removed the cap and drank straight from the bottle. His throat burned. If he closed his eyes for a moment, the sharp taste of vodka would almost convince him he was back in Russia and none of this had happened. Convince him he was whole again.

But if he kept them closed, he’d start to see the horror and fear on the redhead’s face.

A tear trickled down his face. Becca had been right. He didn’t have any business living alone and pretending he could lead a normal life. Who’d he been fooling, trying to act as if the explosion hadn’t been a big deal? It was the elephant in the corner and the redhead had seen it with searing clarity.

He pushed away the bottle, cradling his head in his hand. No amount of alcohol was going to fix the mess his life had become.

There was a knock at his door, but he ignored it.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

Then a female voice. “Um, Mister, if you’re in there I owe you a huge apology. I didn’t realize you and my son had struck up a…friendship. Not that I approve of Jake having friendships with adults I don’t know, but, well, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Hope I didn’t hurt your foot.”

“My mom didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, either. She was just surprised is all.” The boy’s voice cut cleanly through the door, straight into Royce’s soul. The kid seemed to understand that Royce’s heart hurt much more than his bruised foot.

Almost against his will, Royce stood and walked over to the door.

Another knock. The boy’s voice again. “Mister, we’re not gonna leave till we know you’re okay.”

Slowly, Royce opened the door.