Project: Daddy. Patricia Knoll

by this brooding, disturbing man, Paris walked briskly through the house until she found him before the huge plate glass of the living room windows, staring out into the night. She stopped and hung back so that her reflection wouldn’t catch his attention.

      Mac stood with his head thrust forward, causing his midnight-black hair to fall over his forehead. His hands were thrust into the back pockets of his jeans. Though he was physically fit and his arms were roped with muscles, he was too skinny. His clothes hung on a frame that seemed to carry twenty pounds less than it should. She doubted that he had thinned down on purpose. He had told her he was a carpenter and she knew he needed strength and stamina for such a job. Another quick examination of the living room had her wondering if he was more than a carpenter. He may have built this place himself, and she had a hunch he’d also had a hand in designing it. Something about the design of the house, the high ceilings and view of the ocean made her picture him bending over a draftsman’s table, carefully laying out the plans.

      His face was thin and gaunt, as well, his dark eyes shadowed, hiding secrets. He stood with one shoulder turned slightly toward the window in a way that made her think of someone shouldering a burden, taking on yet another heavy load. She had never considered herself to be particularly astute at reading people. If she had, she certainly would have tried to keep Keith from giving their money to fast-talking charlatans. She could read Mac Weston, though, and what she saw told her he had been through rough times and they still weren’t behind him.

      Against her will, she felt herself drawn to him as she was to his niece and nephew. She had no idea what his story was, but it struck a chord in her and made her more curious about him. Paris reminded herself that she needed to remember that this was just a job, one she would hold until she got back on her feet and decided what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

      She must have moved or made a sound, because Mac’s head came up and the brooding look in his eyes gave way to caution as if he feared he’d revealed something of himself. He had, but she pretended as if she hadn’t seen it. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “The kids…”

      “Are asleep,” she said, forcing briskness into her voice and striding into the room. Strangely, she felt her exhaustion fall away and vitality take its place as she joined him. “I left their door open so I could hear them. Will they sleep all night?”

      “They’ve only been here two nights, and they haven’t slept much either night.” Mac ran his hand over his face. Paris knew he hadn’t either.

      “I came to find out when you want breakfast.” She hadn’t been a housekeeper for very long, but she knew that was the kind of question she was supposed to ask. After all, her housekeeper used to ask her that question.

      “Feed them whenever they get hungry,” he answered, his dark eyes regarding her in some confusion.

      “No, I mean you, what time do you want your breakfast?”

      “I can take care of myself,” he said gruffly, as if it didn’t matter. “That’s not why I hired you. You’re here to take care of Elly and Simon.”

      Paris took exception to his dismissive tone. “And this house and everything connected with it, right? Including meals.”

      “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll get my own food.”

      Even though she hadn’t intended to, Paris glanced at the way his jeans hung on his frame. Against her will, her lips tilted into a smile as if to say he hadn’t been doing such a good job of feeding himself. “You hired me to cook and that’s what I intend to—”

      “No,” he said, scowling at her. “I don’t need you fussing over me.”

      Her eyes widened. “Fussing? I’m trying to do my job.”

      “Which is to take care of Elly and Simon, not me.”

      Paris could only stare. What kind of man was this who couldn’t accept anything from someone he’d hired to help him? A stubborn and proud one, she concluded.

      “Wait a minute, Mr. Weston…”

      Wincing, he held up his hand. “Mac, please,” he said.

      “Mac, then.” She took a breath. “Although I admit I don’t have much experience as a housekeeper…”

      “Much?” he asked, his black brows rising skeptically.

      “All right. Very little actual hands-on experience as a housekeeper,” she said, exasperated. “But I’ve been around many of them and their job is to cook and care for the whole family, not just the children.”

      “Think of yourself as a pioneer in the housekeeping field, then Mrs. Barbour,” he suggested.

      “Paris.” This time she was the one to do the correcting and was surprised to discover it felt good.

      “You don’t have to worry about me. Just take care of the kids so I can get to work and hang onto the job that provides for all of us.”

      Paris didn’t much like the way he said that, as if what she did with the kids wasn’t important as long as they were cared for. Maybe she had given him too much credit when considering how generous he was to take in Elly and Simon. It didn’t sound as though he had any intention of being involved with them at all.

      To test the waters, she asked, “And what time will you be coming home in the evenings? I’m sure you’ll want to spend some quality time with the children when you do.”

      His head drew back. Was that panic she saw flash in his eyes? Puzzled, she blinked at him.

      “I’ll be home when I get home. This is the busy season in the construction industry and we work as many hours as we can before the winter rains hit. In fact, I often work weekends.”

      Dismayed, Paris couldn’t think of a thing to say. She understood he had to work, but he sounded as if he wanted to do all he could to avoid coming home to Elly and Simon. At this point, she was tempted to back away, to accept what he said and meekly agree to it. She’d done that so often with Keith who’d had so many good-natured stories and excuses for his actions that she’d become mired in his logic. This was different, though. In her discussions with Keith, she’d had only herself to consider. Now she had to think about two children and what was best for them. Being stuck all day with the housekeeper/nanny, no matter how devoted, wasn’t best for them. For their sake, she went on instead of backing off as she might have done before.

      “So you’re saying that we should just expect you when we see you?”

      “That about covers it. I’m trusting you to take care of everything they need.” His eyes narrowed. “I thought I’d made that clear this morning.”

      “I understand what my duties are, I just don’t understand what you think yours are if not to be a caring, loving presence for them.”

      Annoyance swept over his face. She didn’t need any kind of interpreter to tell her that she’d gone too far, but she couldn’t back down even if she got fired as the culmination of her first day of work.

      He stepped forward and leaned in to look into her eyes. Toughness and irritation seemed to vibrate from him like light waves. “If I get fired, I’ll be a constant presence for them since I’ll be hanging around the house all day, but I’d rather not get fired, if it’s all the same to you.”

      Paris’s lips thinned as she met his gaze. Because she couldn’t trust herself to speak, she nodded once, quickly and he answered with a nod of his own as if they’d sealed a bargain.

      Mac started to step away, then checked himself as if he had more to say. Her eyes holding his, Paris waited for what else would come. He opened his mouth, then paused. His gaze drifted from hers, then dropped lower, touching on her cheek, then her lips. She felt a tingling there which seemed to sweep down her throat and chest to strike with a thud in the center of her stomach. Jerking in a huge breath, she stepped back.

      He blinked as if a fingersnap had