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“I just don’t get it, Brooke. You like him. He’s nuts about you. You need a job and I’m offering to pay you more than most college grads make the first year out.” He sighed. “So, what’s the deal? Do you think nanny work is below you? Is that it?”
She went silent, but her pained expression puzzled him. Finally, she said, “Please don’t think that. I’m complimented, not insulted that you would trust me with A.J. Caring for children is a high calling, an important job. I’m just—I can’t. I’m sorry.”
All right, he wasn’t stupid. He got the message. Probably she wanted to be free to hang out with friends, do her own thing, shop. Like Tara, she was young and wanted to have fun. She didn’t want to be tied down to a kid.
Gabe stepped on the gas pedal, feeling the Hummer take hold of the rough, graveled road.
He should be relieved. No need to get involved with another irresponsible woman, even as a nanny.
Then why did he feel so disappointed?
Grandpa George’s home was a lovely old Victorian on Grosbeak just off Railroad Street, the main avenue through Clayton. Brooke stood on the big wraparound porch, needing someone to talk to. She hadn’t called before coming over. She’d simply shown up, confused and troubled over Gabe’s job offer and wondering how she was going to last in this town for a full year. The minivan in the drive was a good indicator Arabella was at home.
As she waited for someone to answer her knock, Brooke gazed around at the home where she’d once spent holidays. The house had been a status symbol to Grandpa, but Grandma had made it warm and cozy yet elegant. Family life had begun to sour after Grandma’s death and then fell apart completely after Brooke’s father, George Jr. and his brother, Vern, were killed. So many deaths, she thought, beginning with little Lucy who was A.J.’s age when she drowned.
Gabe had been disappointed in her refusal, she could tell, and she felt like an idiot for the way she’d babbled on and on with excuses. He was likely thanking the Lord she’d refused. The truth was, she wanted kids with everything in her, but she couldn’t take the chance. Lucy’s death had shattered her family. Nothing was worth the risk of that kind of pain again.
A.J.’s bright, smiling face flashed through her mind. She could easily fall in love with a child like him.
“Lord, help me to stand strong. I can’t risk it.”
She let out a gusty sigh and knocked at the door again.
The memory of Lucy’s death still had the power to bring on the black clouds of despair. Lucy was the late baby, the apple of her father’s eyes. Brooke remembered wondering why daddy never tossed her into the air or called her his little golden doll. He’d loved Lucy best. They all had, even Brooke most of the time.
Nothing had been the same after her death. Mama had fallen into a depression so deep no one could reach her. She and Daddy had fought at first, laying blame and sobbing in the dark alone. Then they’d simply drifted apart, too miserable to comfort each other. Brooke would never forget some of the things that were said that awful day of Lucy’s death and the other things whispered so no one thought she could hear. But she’d known.
Sometimes she wondered why God had let something so tragic happen to their family.
Teeth tight, she shook her head to dispel the thoughts. She’d known this would happen if she returned to Clayton. How would she live like this for a year?
She knocked again. Why didn’t someone answer the door?
With determination she grasped for something else to think about. Clayton House was lovely as always, but Arabella had added her crafty hand. The double stain-glassed front doors, embellished with bright sunflower wreaths, shot the afternoon light into dazzling colors. The big porch where Brooke had once played chase with her cousins was adorned with pots of red geraniums, a small, patio-style table and a couple of chairs. A child’s baby doll, dressed in a frilly pink dress and bonnet, lay in one of the chairs.
The front door scraped open. “Brooke! Come in.”
Brooke followed Arabella into the spacious, formal living room where antique furnishings mixed with the modern clutter of children. Three little girls sat around the coffee table playing tea party.
