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Pale moonlight filtered in through the window. Brooke could see him clearly, a necessity given the clutch of fear strangling her stomach. As long as she didn’t take her eyes off him, A.J. would be safe.
The emotional day of digging through family photos followed by the bizarre phone call and the time with Gabe and A.J. had left her weary, but she refused to sleep. Instead, she focused on the threatening phone call, considering the who and why.
As kids, Great-Uncle Samuel’s kin, particularly Vincent and his sister, Marsha, had considered her a “scaredy cat.” She’d been easy to intimidate, easy to frighten. No doubt they thought they could scare her away from Clayton and the inheritance with a few well-placed threats. Maybe they could. If Zach or Vivienne or some of the others didn’t return to Clayton soon, she might as well give up anyway. Vivienne was still making noises about staying in New York. And Zach? Well, no one ever knew for certain what Zach was thinking until he acted.
There would be no inheritance without all six of them.
Then what would she do?
She’d get a job. That’s what she’d do. Like every other college graduate, she’d find work and figure out the future from there. A future that would likely not include Clayton, Colorado, although the idea of being run out of town by her own kin brought out a stubborn streak.
A.J. moaned in his sleep and flopped to one side. Brooke jerked, horrified that her mind had wandered.
He gave another restless flop and let out a sharp cry. His face twisted. Then he whimpered.
Brooke placed a hand on his chest. “Shh.”
The little boy’s eyes popped open, glazed with sleep and terror. He lurched upward and screamed.
Brooke lurched, too, pulse pounding in her throat, as scared as A.J. What did she know about caring for a screaming, frightened child?
“Shh. Everything’s okay. Don’t cry.”
The cries escalated. Whether he’d had a nightmare or just awakened scared, a pat on the chest wasn’t enough to soothe him.
With a prayer on her lips, Brooke pulled him to her. Chubby arms clutched at her neck and squeezed hard. Hot tears dampened her neck.
“Daddy. Daddy.” The shuddering, heartbroken little voice tore at Brooke’s heart. Poor little man was so upset, and she was virtually a stranger.
“Daddy will be back soon.” Please Lord, send Gabe home right now! “Don’t cry, precious. Don’t cry.”
Shuddering sobs racked A.J.’s small body. Between cries, he babbled, and Brooke despaired at not understanding his baby talk.
“Did you have a bad dream?” she crooned. Rocking back and forth, she patted his back, feeling helpless but longing to give comfort. “You’re okay. You’re okay. Brooke’s here.”
She didn’t know what else to say as his cries continued, deep and heartrending. She wondered if she should call Gabe, then scoffed at herself. She was a scaredy cat—afraid of a crying two year old.
Shaking, her own anxiety matching the child’s, she began to softly sing “Amazing Grace.” It was the only song she could think of at this hour, the song her mother had sung to her.
Slowly, A.J’s sobs dwindled to shudders and the grasping hands around her neck loosened. Worried he’d scream again if she stopped, she continued to sing, thankful that the melody and her voice soothed him. Singing was a small thing, but the sound seemed to be the thing A.J. needed at the moment.
The power of that knowledge filled her with new courage. She had something this child needed, a simple thing called a woman’s love and attention.
With the warm, sleepy, little-boy scent of Gabe’s son strong in her nose, and his need for her even stronger, Brooke made a terrifying decision.
She was going to take that nanny job. She was going to be here for A.J. and Gabe.
Please God, she prayed, don’t let me fail.
She met him at the front door.
Silhouetted in the golden light between the porch and living room, a sleepy smile on her face, Brooke welcomed Gabe home.
It was a strange thing to feel welcomed by the babysitter as if she belonged there and he was the head of the house coming home after a long day’s work. The sight warmed a cold place inside him.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, voice low and husky with fatigue.
