Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 447(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“No.” I shake my head, pressing my palms to the table as I start to stand.
He grabs my wrist, and I have to stare down at the connection in an effort to understand the jolt of energy the touch sends up my arm. I pull it away immediately.
“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling his hand back and shoving it into his lap. “I’m begging you. I need your help.”
“I can’t,” I tell him. “Have you spoken with Martha Prichard?”
“Bobby Jon Prichard’s wife?” He shakes his head as if it’s the most absurd suggestion.
“She ran the town daycare for years.”
“I don’t want daycare. I need a more personal touch. I ran into Martha Prichard at the grocery store three days ago, and the woman hadn’t remembered to put in her teeth before going out in public. She’d traumatize my boys in fifteen minutes. They’ve been through enough.”
Been through enough.
If that doesn’t hit me right in the chest. I hadn’t considered what a messy divorce would do to the kids. It’s not something I experienced growing up, but I can only imagine not seeing their mother for a long stretch of time is hard on them.
“Your mom said you don’t have a job, and that you just mope around the house all day.”
I grind my teeth. My mother has no business telling anyone such things, no matter how truthful they may be. The reminder of what my life has become hits me in the chest, making me realize just how much I need to get out from under my parents’ supervision.
“On one condition,” I say, holding my head up a little higher.
If the man is begging, that tells me I already have the upper hand.
“Name it,” he says on a breath of relief.
“It will have to be a live-in nanny position.”
His response is as quick as mine was when I rejected his initial offer.
I hate to even ask, but the lack of independence after being free for so long is a slow train to insanity. Staying with him might be even worse than living with my parents, but the house he’s living in is big enough that at least I won’t have to wake up to the sounds of his bed squeaking.
“Not a chance.”
Smart man.
“Okay,” I say and start to stand once again.
“Stop,” he says, desperation in his tone as he reaches out for me once again.
I pull my hand back before he can make contact. I need to get out of my parents’ house. I’d much rather wake to screaming kids or one being sick and puking in the middle of the night than the thumping of a headboard.
His jaw works back and forth as he stews in his options.
“I don’t wear dentures,” I tell him as if it sweetens the pot.
He releases a long, slow puff of air. His cheek twitches as if he’s never been more annoyed in his life, but then he gives me one quick nod.
“Fine, but you have to move in immediately. The position starts first thing in the morning.”
Chapter 7
Chase
Even as I open the door for her and swing it wide so she can enter the house, Madison doesn’t look impressed. Her lip is curled as if she smells something rotten.
“What’s that look for?”
She steps inside, leaving her luggage on the front porch.
I sidestep her and grab the handles of two suitcases after swinging the strap of an oversized bag onto my shoulder. If she were anyone else, I’d think she was being snooty and expectant, but she was raised the same way I was. If there’s something that a man can do to help a woman, then that’s the expectation. The gentleman inside of me should ask why she didn’t let me grab them directly from the car, but the ten plus years I spent in the city keeps my mouth shut.
I never fully understood someone forgetting their raising until the moment I step back inside and drag her luggage across the threshold.
“Why is this place empty?”
I release the handles of her suitcases, and let her bag fall to the floor as I look around and try to see what she sees.
The place is empty. I haven’t gotten around to hanging anything on the walls.
“We don’t spend any time in this part of the house.” I know how uppity that sounds, so I modify, “We spend most of our time in the boys’ part of the house or at the hardware store.”
“How long have you been back in town?”
“A couple of weeks,” I answer.
She spins once again, the look on her face not changing even after my explanation. I hate that she’s looking and finding anything lacking. I have no idea why this woman sets me on edge. She always has. Even as a teen, she’d look at me differently than all the other girls did. Before graduation, I never let it bother me, but as egotistical as it sounds, I haven’t had a woman frown at me in years. The fact that it seems second nature to her sort of makes my skin crawl. I can’t decide if I should dislike her back or work harder to impress her.