Passionate Protectors?. Maggie Cox

artist worth her salt would surely not try and dupe a man like him.

      Sara wished now that she hadn’t made the offer. She didn’t know anything about him either, and just because he had been kind to her that was no reason to trust him. Besides, she wasn’t a nanny. She wasn’t a nursemaid. Her experience with children had been confined to the classroom, but he’d never believe that she’d once been a primary school teacher. That had been at another time; sometimes now it seemed like another life. When she’d been young—and so naïve.

      ‘You’re offering to become Rosie’s nanny?’ Matt Seton asked at last, and she could tell he was suspicious of her offer. ‘You didn’t say you were looking for work.’

      I’m not. I’m looking for sanctuary, thought Sara wildly, but she couldn’t tell him that. And when she’d left London the previous evening she’d had no plans beyond the need to get away. To put as many miles between her and Max as possible.

      But she couldn’t think about that now. She needed time to come to terms with what she’d done. ‘I might be,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee to avoid his penetrating gaze. ‘Are you interested?’

      ‘“I might be”,’ he mocked, echoing her words. ‘Are you used to working with children.’

      ‘I was.’ Sara chose her words with care. She didn’t like lying but she really didn’t have a choice. And, the more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed to her. A job like this might be exactly what she needed. Somewhere to stay; a means of earning money; a chance to disappear without leaving a trail. She hesitated, and then stated bravely, ‘I used to be a primary school teacher.’

      ‘Used to be?’ Dark brows arched interrogatively.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘But not any more?’

      ‘Not recently, no.’

      ‘Why?’ The question was innocent enough but she had the feeling he was baiting her.

      ‘Because I gave up teaching some time ago,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s not something you forget.’

      ‘So what have you been doing?’

       Fighting for my life!

      Somehow she managed to keep her voice steady as she replied, ‘I—got married. My hus—my ex-husband, that is, didn’t like me having a job.’

      And that must be the understatement of the year!

      ‘I see.’ Matt Seton was regarding her so intently she was almost sure he could see into her mind. And if he could he’d know that she wasn’t being completely honest, that she was only telling him as much of the truth as she needed to sound sincere. ‘Do you come from around here?’

      He asked a lot of questions. Sara swallowed and considered the option of saying yes. But he’d know she didn’t sound like a local. So, after a moment, she said, ‘I used to live in the south of England until quite recently.’

      ‘Until you decided to hire a car and drive three hundred miles up the motorway?’ suggested Matt laconically. ‘What happened, Sara? Did your husband ditch you for someone else, so you decided to disappear and make the bastard sweat?’

      ‘No!’ She was horrified. If Max had turned his attentions elsewhere she wouldn’t be in this state now. ‘I—I told you, we’re—we’re divorced. I just fancied a change of scene, that’s all. I didn’t know where I wanted to stay until I got here.’

      ‘And decided that because I needed a nanny, you’d be it,’ he commented cynically. ‘Forgive me if I sound sceptical, but I’ve never heard such a load of garbage in my life.’

      ‘It’s not garbage.’ Sara suspected she was beginning to sound desperate but she couldn’t help it. She really wanted this job. ‘Do you want a nanny or don’t you? You sounded fairly sure about it when you were on the phone.’

      Matt tipped his stool onto its back legs, balancing himself with one hand on the counter. ‘So you were listening?’

      ‘How could I not?’ Sara knew there was no point in denying it. ‘All I’m asking is that you consider me for the position.’

      ‘Really?’ He didn’t look convinced. ‘So what qualifications do you have?’

      Sara hesitated. ‘Well, two years of working at a primary school in—in London.’ She’d almost mentioned the school’s name and that would have been foolish. ‘Like I say, I left when I got married.’

      ‘And you can prove this? You’ve got certification, references?’

      Sara bent her head. ‘Not with me.’

      ‘But you could get them?’

      Her shoulders slumped. ‘Not easily, no.’

      ‘Surprise, surprise.’ He was sardonic. ‘Hey, I may live in the sticks, but I haven’t got straw in my ears, Mrs Victor.’

      ‘It’s Miss Victor,’ she muttered unnecessarily. If he wasn’t going to employ her, what did it matter what he thought her name was? It wasn’t her real one. She lifted her head, deciding to make one last plea for his understanding. ‘Look, I’m not going to pretend that working for you wouldn’t suit my purposes. It would. And, although I can’t prove it, I was a primary school teacher. A damn good one, as it happens.’ She gazed at him. ‘You could give me a week’s trial, at least. What have you got to lose?’

      ‘Plenty.’ The feet of the stool thudded down onto the tiled floor as he leaned almost threateningly towards her. ‘I don’t just leave my daughter with anyone, Miss Victor. She’s far too important to me. I’m sorry.’

      He didn’t look sorry. On the contrary, he looked as if he’d be glad to see the back of her, and she pushed the remains of her coffee aside and got to her feet.

      ‘So am I,’ she said, barely audibly, bending to pick up her bag. ‘If—if I could just use your phone…’

      ‘Wait.’ To her dismay he stood also, successfully putting himself between her and the door. ‘Tell me something: did you really spend the night in Morpeth, or was that a lie, too?’

      ‘Does it matter?’

      She was trying to remain calm, but she was suddenly conscious of how vulnerable she was here. So long as they’d been discussing the job she’d felt a certain amount of control over the situation. But he’d made it plain that he didn’t believe her and now she was uneasily aware that he held her fate in his hands. What did he intend to do with that knowledge? What if he decided to report her to the authorities? How long would she remain free if he gave her description to the police?

      ‘Humour me,’ he said, pushing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Jeans that fit him so closely that they were worn almost white in places, she noticed inconsequentially, running her tongue over her dry lips.

      ‘I—all right, no,’ she conceded unwillingly. ‘May I use the phone now?’

      ‘So—you’ve been driving since late last night or early this morning?’

      Sara sighed. ‘Something like that.’

      ‘You must be exhausted.’

      She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘What’s it to you?’

      He was silent for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. Then he said flatly, ‘I’m not completely heartless. I know a runaway when I see one. Why don’t you sit down again and I’ll make you some breakfast? You might even like to rest for a while before contacting the garage about your car.’

      Sara stared at him. ‘I didn’t come down with the last shower either,’ she exclaimed scornfully. ‘And where do you get off, calling me a runaway? I told you, I decided I needed a change of scene—’

      ‘I know what you