Gift from the Heart. Irene Hannon

This wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. She needed to convince Adam that she would make a capable and competent nanny. She took a deep breath and looked back at him.

      “I appreciate your honesty. But from everything you’ve told me, it sounds like you need a nanny even more than you realize,” she said.

      “Maybe. But you haven’t answered my question. Why are you willing to do this?”

      “I need the money.”

      His gaze swept over her attire again, lingering on the logo on her handbag. When he looked up, she saw the skepticism in his eyes.

      “Don’t let my clothes fool you, Doctor,” she said quietly. “This suit is several years old. The purse is even older. At one time I was in a position to buy expensive things. That’s no longer the case. Aunt Jo’s legacy will help me pay off some debts and get a new start. And I will do my best to earn it. I promise you that I will do everything I can to help you with your daughter. If it will make you feel more comfortable, I can supply some character references.”

      Adam studied the woman across from him. He had no reason to doubt Clare’s story that she’d fallen on hard times. And as for a character reference, he couldn’t ask for anyone better than Jo—the very person who had sent Clare to his door. But the whole thing still struck him as odd. And somehow unfair to the woman across from him. Despite his thumbnail sketch of the situation, she had no idea what a mess she was stepping into. And he had a feeling she’d already seen enough trauma in her life. The echoes of it were still visible in the depths of her eyes. Which, for some odd reason, troubled him, even though she was a stranger.

      “That’s not necessary,” he said. “But I’d like to…”

      “Who are you?”

      The two adults turned in unison toward the foyer. Nicole stood in the archway at the entrance to the living room, dressed in hip-hugging jeans and an abbreviated crop top. Her brown hair, worn parted in the middle, hung past her shoulders, the ragged blond ends suggesting that it had once been dyed. She was barefoot, and her toenails were painted iridescent purple.

      “It’s not polite to interrupt a conversation,” Adam said with a frown.

      Nicole shrugged insolently. “Whatever. We’re out of cereal. Again.”

      The tension between father and daughter was apparent to Clare even in such a short exchange. Before Adam could respond, she smiled and addressed the young girl. “You must be Nicole.”

      “Yeah. So why are you here? We never have company.”

      “I had some business to discuss with your father.”

      “Are you sick or something?”

      Clare looked startled for a moment, then grinned. “I’m not a patient, if that’s what you mean.”

      “Too bad. That’s the only thing he cares about.”

      The remark was meant to cut, and if the sudden clenching of muscles in Adam’s jaw was any indication, his daughter had hit the mark. But Clare knew it was also a cry for help. And her heart went out to the lonely little girl.

      “Oh, I don’t know. We weren’t discussing medicine,” she said, keeping her tone casual.

      Nicole tilted her head and gave Clare an appraising glance. “So are you his girlfriend or something?”

      “That’s enough, Nicole.”

      Clare could hear anger in Adam’s voice. And frustration. Her heart went out to him, too. He was clearly in over his head with Nicole and clueless about how to control a prepubescent daughter.

      “Actually, we just met,” Clare said mildly.

      Nicole studied Clare for a moment. “I like your hair.”

      “Thanks. But I was just admiring yours. It’s so long and full. You could do some really cool things with it.”

      “Really? Like what?”

      Clare considered Nicole for a moment. “Well, I think you’d look terrific in a French braid.”

      Nicole stuck her hands in her pockets. “I don’t know how to do that.”

      “It’s not hard. But it is easier if someone does it for you. Of course, you’d have to even out the ends a little first.”

      “I haven’t cut my hair in a long time,” Nicole said skeptically.

      “Well, you wouldn’t want to lose any length. Just cut it enough to smooth things out.” And get rid of the dyed ends, Clare added silently.

      “Do you know how to do a French braid?”

      “Mm-hm. I used to do them for my sister, A.J., when we were younger. I’m sure there’s a salon in town that could do one for you so you could see if you liked it.”

      “Maybe.” Nicole tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. “So…do you live here?”

      “No.”

      “I didn’t think so. Everybody here is such a hick. I bet you’re from a big city.”

      “I live in Kansas City now. But I grew up on a farm in Ohio, out in the middle of nowhere. Hope Creek would have been a big city to us,” she said with a smile. “What I’ve found, though, is that most people are pretty nice anywhere you live if you give them a chance.”

      Nicole grunted. “Not the kids at my school. They all…”

      The sudden ringing of the phone interrupted her, and she turned to Adam with a long-suffering sigh. “It’s going to be for you.”

      “Would you grab it and just take a message, please?”

      She gave him a hostile look, then disappeared down the hall.

      Clare turned to find Adam studying her. “Is something wrong?”

      Slowly he shook his head. “I’m just trying to figure out how you managed to do that.”

      “What?”

      “Have a longer conversation with my daughter than I’ve had in more than a year.”

      Clare shrugged. “I came without baggage. She obviously resents you, but she doesn’t have any feelings for me one way or the other. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to strangers.”

      He dropped his voice. “So what do you think now that you’ve met her?”

      Clare frowned. “She needs friends. And she needs her father.”

      “The friends part I agree with. The father part… I’m not so sure. She pushes me away every time I try to get close to her.”

      “She’s still grieving for her mother. And dealing with a lot of anger…about a lot of things. She’s probably mad at her mother for dying. Maybe she’s mad at God. She might be mad at life in general because it seems unfair. You’re convenient, so you get the brunt of her anger. And you’re an easy target, because you’re the authority figure. I’m sure she fights you every step of the way. But you know, even if kids don’t like rules, they need them.”

      Adam sighed. “I guess it helps to have a teaching background. You’re probably used to dealing with kids. I never had much…”

      “I told you it was for you.”

      They glanced toward Nicole, who was back in the archway.

      “Did you take a message?”

      She walked toward Adam and thrust a slip of paper at him. Then she turned to Clare. “So will you be here for a while?”

      “At least for a few days.”

      “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

      “That would be nice.”

      “Yeah.” She shoved her hands in her