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The Nanny. Judith Stacy
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Though her heart seemed to be beating faster than usual, Annie was tired. She’d have her hands full tomorrow with the children and—
The book. Annie gasped aloud in the silent room. She’d left the book Josh had given her in the study.
What if Josh found it there in the morning? He’d likely think she’d completely disregarded his instructions, blatantly defied him.
Would he fire her? He wasn’t all that happy with her already.
She had to retrieve that book.
Annie crept to the door and peeked into the hallway. No one was there; no cracks of light shone from under the other doors. Which room was Josh’s? she wondered.
And what was he doing in there? Annie’s thoughts meandered for a few seconds. Was he undressing? In bed already?
A little mewl slipped from Annie’s lips. She slapped her hand over her mouth. Goodness, such thoughts. She certainly had more pressing things to think about—such as keeping her job.
Annie listened, her ears straining. No sounds. It seemed everyone had retired for the night.
She hurried to the stairway and leaned over the railing. Faint light shone from below. Annie glanced around, then slipped down the steps.
At the landing, she paused, listened and hurried on.
Only the ticking of a clock sounded as she hurried through the house. Holding her breath, she peeked into the study. A lantern burned low on the desk. A book and some papers were spread out.
Josh was still up. He hadn’t retired for the evening as she’d thought.
He wasn’t at his desk at the moment, but surely he’d be back any second. Annie darted into the study. Where was the book? Where had she left it?
She spied it on a table near the fireplace, grabbed it and dashed to the door, reaching it just as Josh walked in.
He jerked to a stop not two steps away from her, splashing milk from the glass he carried. It spattered his shirt and chin.
He froze, letting the milk drip from his face, and drew in a big breath.
“Am I going to get doused with something every time I see you, Miss Martin?”
Annie cringed. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I wasn’t frightened,” he insisted, swiping at his chin with his shirtsleeve. “What the devil are you doing down here?”
Remembering the book, Annie looped her arm behind her, hiding it.
“Well? I asked you a question,” Josh said, setting the glass aside and frowning at her.
Instead of cowering, apologizing and begging for her job, as she probably should have, Annie felt her spine stiffen. “Mr. Ingalls, in the future I’ll thank you not to speak to me in that manner.”
His hand stilled on his shirt. But the outrage she’d seen budding in his expression melted as his gaze dipped, taking in her trousers and shirt, her braid hanging over her shoulder.
Annie’s skin burned, even through the fabric of her clothing, as his gaze raked her in a long, hot sweep. Her heart banged in her chest. Heat tingled in her cheeks.
Annie wished desperately she could think of something to say, wished her feet would move so she could run out of the room. But she could only stand there gazing at Josh, who seemed equally paralyzed.
Finally he pulled his gaze from her and looked around the room, wall to ceiling, floor to desk.
Annie lifted her hand to his face. “You have a little drop of milk on your…”
With her thumb, she wiped the droplet from his jaw. But, somehow, she couldn’t pull away. His flesh was hot, his beard rough. Heat spread up her hand, through her arm, warming her.
Their gazes met and held for an instant before Josh stepped back. “This is my private study,” he said softly. “No one comes in here without good reason.”
His words jarred Annie, reminding her why she’d come here in the first place. She knew she looked guilty because Josh’s eyes narrowed.
“What’s that behind you?” he asked, leaning sideways to see.
Caught dead to rights, she couldn’t claim, “nothing,” as her instincts screaming at her to do.
Annie pulled the book from behind her. Josh’s frown deepened.
“I was reading it, of course,” she told him.
He raised one eyebrow. “Of course.”
“And I wanted to look up a word in your dictionary,” Annie said, waving vaguely in the direction of the bookshelves.
His frown deepened as if he were judging whether or not her claim was believable. Finally, he stepped around her and went to his desk.
“The children are in bed,” Annie said. “Do you want to come up and tell them good-night?”
“No,” Josh said. He shuffled through the stacks of papers on his desk, not looking at her.
“You don’t tuck your children into bed at night?” Annie asked. “Why not?”
He looked up at her. “Because, Miss Martin, that is your job.”
Annie pondered his response while he continued to sort through his papers. “You don’t eat supper with them, or see them at bedtime. Why is that, Mr. Ingalls?”
Josh stopped fumbling with the papers and looked at her as if he didn’t understand why she’d ask such an odd thing. “Because that’s the way it’s done,” he explained simply. He turned back to his papers. “Good night, Miss Martin.”
He was dismissing her. Sending her on her way, telling her politely to mind her own business, reminding her of her place in his household. Annie wouldn’t let it go.
“But don’t you miss them?” she asked, taking a step closer.
Josh’s gaze came up quickly and landed on her with a force than shook her. Yet his expression wasn’t one of anger or irritation at her continued prying. Something else shone in his face.
Maybe it wasn’t his children he missed, Annie realized. Maybe it was his wife.
A knot jerked in Annie’s stomach. She should have kept her mouth shut. Should have minded her own business. Kept to her place.
He picked up a single sheet of paper, forcing his attention on it. “Good night, Miss Martin.”
Still Annie didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay, to do something to make him feel better. The urge overwhelmed her.
But what could she possibly say?
“Good night,” she mumbled. At the door she looked back and saw Josh hunched over his desk; from the expression on his face she doubted he saw a single word written on the papers there.
As she climbed the stairs, Annie reminded herself that Josh’s feelings for his dead wife were none of her business. Yet, for some reason, her heart ached a little thinking he still grieved for her after all these months.
But what about his feelings for his children? Weren’t they her business?
Not if she wanted to keep her job.
At the top of the stairs, Annie peeked into the children’s room again. Three little bulges under the covers slept soundly. She checked on the baby, as well, and found Hannah sleeping.
In her room, Annie undressed, washed at the basin, and slipped into her pink nightgown. The cotton fabric seemed coarse, not nearly fancy enough for the room she’d been given. She sat in front of the mirror, unraveled her braid and combed out her hair.
As