The Nanny's Plan. Donna Clayton

Epilogue

      Chapter One

      Amy Edwards had spent her whole life avoiding the traps: relationships, love, marriage and, most of all, kids. So why had she agreed to spend the summer caring for a set of six-year-old twins?

      The only answer she could come up with was that she’d totally lost her mind.

      She chuckled as she cut the engine. “Imagine that,” she murmured, pulling the key from the ignition and opening the car door. “Temporary insanity made me a temporary nanny.”

      Because an inner ear infection had caused the airline’s company physician to ground her for two months from her new job as a flight attendant, all she’d have been doing was watching the corn grow in Kansas while she waited to heal. And the pay offered to her had been generous.

      Still …taking care of children.

      If anyone other than her father had asked this of her, she’d have turned them down flat. But she’d have crawled to the top of Mount Everest on her hands and knees for her dad. The good Lord knew he’d sure sacrificed for her.

      She pulled her suitcase from the trunk and lifted her gaze. The stone-and-stucco house looked like something right out of the pages of a glossy architectural magazine. The vast grounds were neatly manicured, and flowers bloomed in a riot of color. The blue-green water of the Delaware Bay served as a tranquil backdrop to the setting. Even the idea of minding children couldn’t dampen the bright prospect of spending eight weeks in this paradise.

      Giddiness churned in her belly, urging her to go and take a quick peek at the cove. She should fight this feeling. This overzealousness that swallowed her up since escaping the Midwest made her feel so…small town. So unrefined. But before a few short weeks ago, she’d never seen a body of water larger than the man-made fishing pond just outside Lebo. The Delaware Bay was out there just waiting for her to feast her eyes on the view. Veering off the path that wound its way to the front door, she made a beeline for the water.

      She heard the young voices before actually spotting the boys. Her charges, she quickly surmised. Two peas in a pod. Or rather, in a rowboat. They bobbed on the surface of the bay just offshore. She frowned and searched the area for whoever was supposed to be with them. Young children and deep water didn’t mix well, in her mind.

      “Jeremiah!” she called, lifting her hand in friendly greeting. “Benjamin!”

      When the boys’ mother had flown to Kansas to reacquaint herself with Amy, the woman had been clear that Benjamin was called Benjamin. Not Ben. Not Benny. But Benjamin.

      The twins seemed startled by Amy’s appearance; however, they tentatively returned her wave. She realized then that one of the boys had been crying.

      She dropped her case to the grass. “What are you guys doing out there?”

      It was impossible to tell one boy from the other, so she had no idea who it was who tipped his chin up defiantly and said, “We’re going east. We’re rowing out into the Atlantic Ocean.”

      Amy’s mind raced. She quelled the urge to shout at them to return to shore this instant. Instead, she thought it better to make friends and coax the boys to safety.

      “I’m not an expert in geography,” she told them amiably. “But I’m pretty sure that, if you head due east, you’re going to run smack into New Jersey.”

      The boys looked surprised by this news.

      Before they could regroup, Amy called, “How about if you come ashore and we’ll go inside to check the atlas and you can see for yourself where you are.”

      The child with the red-rimmed eyes stood up, clearly impatient with her suggestion, at the same time stating, “We know where we are.”

      Panic made Amy’s tone grow more stern. “Sit down. Right now.”

      The boat was hit with a gentle wave that sent it rocking, and both boys’ eyes widened in alarm. An oar slipped from its ring, momentum sending it bobbing several feet from the boat.

      “I’m coming.” Without thought, Amy slipped off her high-heeled shoes and started toward them. She hoped the water wasn’t too deep. Swimming wasn’t much of a concern in Kansas, where you were surrounded by farmland.

      The bay was cold, despite the clear, sunny sky overhead. Her skin broke out in goose bumps when the water reached waist level, and she shivered. She was nearly within arm’s reach of the rowboat when the thought passed through her mind that the twins had gone oddly silent. That’s when she heard a masculine voice behind her say, “Maybe this will help.”

      She twisted around just as her hand closed over the wooden bow.

      Sunlight gilded the man’s jet-black hair, sparked the greenest gaze in all the universe. The honed angles comprising his features made for an utterly handsome face. A breath-stealing face.

      Amy gaped.

      Inexorably, she slowly became aware that the gorgeous man standing on the shore had a rope in his hand. Her gaze followed the dripping line, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment when she realized that one end was tethered to the front of the rowboat.

      “Jeremiah,” the man said, “sit down.”

      The child obeyed. The boat swayed under her grasp.

      “Hold on,” he told the twins. “I’m going to haul you in.”

      Out of the corner of her eye she spied the oar. She waded toward it, and when her fingers curled around the smooth surface, she was struck with the realization that the salty bay water had surely ruined her silk shirtdress. She was going to look a wreck when she trudged ashore.

      Confidence. She must remember to don an air of self-assurance. Her instructor at flight attendant school had been adamant—perception was everything. If a traveler sensed you were calm and in control during any given situation, then the battle was nearly won.

      She slogged onto the sand, the fabric of her dress sticking to her thighs as if it had been glued on.

      The man had pulled the bow of the boat onto dry land and was plucking the boys from it when he said to her, “You’re Amy Edwards? The nanny?”

      “Yes. That would be me.” She stepped forward meaning to offer him her hand, but realized her fingers were cold and damp, so she eased them behind her back. “You’re Dr. Kincaid. The boys’ uncle.”

      Her well-practiced, cocksure tone came without thought, but she was anything but certain. The boys’ parents had been scheduled to leave before she arrived in Glory, Delaware. But for all Amy knew, plans could have changed. Cynthia Winthrop had told her that her brother would be with the boys when Amy arrived; however, the man could be anyone—another relative, a family friend, a neighbor.

      He smiled, and Amy’s brain went haywire. She felt as if she might melt right into the carpet of thick grass beneath her bare feet.

      “That’s right,” he told her. “Call me Pierce.”

      He crouched down on his haunches then, turning his attention to the children.

      “I thought I left you in front of the television watching a video,” he said, a distinct reprimand in his tone.

      “But the movie’s been over for a long time, Uncle Pierce,” one of the boys complained.

      “A long time,” the other parroted.

      Surprise lifted his features. He studied his wristwatch. Then his shoulders rounded a bit and he looked down at his nephews. “So it has. I’m sorry, boys. I guess I got caught up in my work.”

      Once again that vivid green gaze was on her, and it unsettled her all over again. She fought the urge to smooth her hand over her soggy dress.

      “I have to say,” he told her,