Page 20 of A Nanny for the Reclusive Billionaire

Chapter Six

“Are we there yet?” Oliver piped up for what seemed like the hundredth time from the back of the UTV.

“Almost.” It was the same answer Mallory, sitting in the passenger seat of the John Deere Gator next to Rhys, had given the previous ninety-nine times. “It’s over that rise.”

She pointed a finger at a steep, grassy hill in the distance, and Rhys’s worst fears came to fruition. Of all the possible picnic locations on Flamingo Key, what had possessed her to pick that remote spot? How had she even found it? Beth had spent weeks exploring before stumbling upon it.

His foot slipped on the gas pedal, and the UTV lurched.

“Everything okay?” Mallory shot him a concerned side-eye.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and followed her finger, maneuvering the UTV around a stand of cypress trees and toward the base of the hill.

“Hang on to that basket.” Mallory half turned in her seat to warn Oliver as they started to climb. “We don’t want to lose our lunch.”

With her attention switched from him to his son, Rhys breathed a mini sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was to explain the war of emotions raging inside him. Shock. Pain. Anger. Longing.

Guilt.

His fingers curled around the steering wheel in a white-knuckle grip, and he did his best to concentrate on navigating the uneven terrain. With every inch forward, the invisible weight pressing down on his chest grew heavier, and not because of the treacherous landscape.

As the UTV crested the hill, Rhys braced himself for the rush of memories. Beth, smiling and laughing as she waded in the surf, her long auburn hair blowing in the breeze behind her. Daring him to jump off the outcropping of rocks at the far end of the beach. Holding nine-month-old Oliver’s hands as he took his first shaky steps.

Surprisingly, the wave of sentiment that washed over him was more a soft swell than a tsunami, filling him with a quiet, comforting warmth instead of the dull, cold ache he’d expected. Rhys slowed the UTV and took in the scene below him. The sharp slope of the embankment leading down to the small strip of pink-white sand visible at high tide. Beth had pestered him to have a staircase built, but he’d never seemed to have the time. Or make the time, if he was honest with himself. Clear, calm, shallow water perfect for swimming thanks to the protection of the coral reef offshore. A handful of palm trees swaying in the breeze, offering a welcome retreat from the midday sun.

Had he been wrong to stay away for so long? To not share this place with his son?

“It’s beautiful.” Mallory’s half-whispered words reminded him he wasn’t alone.

“Are we there?” Oliver bounced in his seat.

“Sit still and hold tight.” Rhys glanced back at his son to make sure he’d followed his instructions. When he was satisfied Oliver was secure, he navigated the UTV down the slope to a shady spot under one of the palm trees.

Oliver jumped down the second the vehicle was stopped. “It’s Mommy’s beach.”

Rhys froze with one leg inside the UTV and one out, his son’s words like a roundhouse kick to his gut. Oliver hadn’t been two years old when Beth died. There was no way he could remember her bringing him there. “What?”

“Mommy’s beach,” Oliver repeated. “From the picture.”

“What picture?” Rhys asked, his stunned paralysis finally subsided enough for him to climb out of the Gator.

“The one that was in the li-bary.” If he hadn’t been so shocked and confused, Rhys would have chuckled at his son’s mispronunciation. “Mommy’s standing in front of that.”

Oliver stuck a chubby finger toward the outcropping. “It looks like a duck.”

Rhys studied the rock formation at the opposite end of the beach, the one Beth had dared him to jump off. His son was right. If he tilted his head and squinted, it looked sort of like a duck’s head, the ledge he’d plunged from jutting out to form the bill. “What do you mean ‘was’ in the library? Where did it go?”

“Mallory gave it to me. So I could put it on the table next to my bed.”

Rhys eyed her questioningly. She had unloaded the UTV and was spreading out a blanket in the shade. She took her sweet time fussing with the thing, kneeling to smooth it down from corner to corner.

When she was finished, she stood and faced him, hands on her slim hips in a don’t-fuck-with-me pose. Damn, this woman. He wanted to be mad at her, but at the same time he admired her spunk. “He wanted a picture of his mother in his room. It was the only one I could find.”

Oliver had talked about his mother? To someone he’d known for barely a month? If Rhys had needed further proof of how strongly his son had bonded with the new nanny, even after the bee sting incident, this was it.

Icy fingers of regret tiptoed down his spine, making him shiver despite the August heat. He should have been the one Oliver went to if he was curious about his mother. The one to tell him how Beth had never learned to drive because her family moved when she was a teenager to Manhattan, where, according to her, you’d have to be crazy to get behind the wheel. How she’d been strangely fascinated with gummy bears, especially the green ones, which you’d think would taste like lime or sour apple but were strawberry. How she loved to dance around the kitchen with a dish towel, singing the old Rod Stewart tunes her mother had played on repeat.

Rhys shoved his hands into the pockets of the swim trunks Mallory had convinced him to change into before they headed out. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “You should have asked me if you could take it.”