All Through The House (25 page)

Ten minutes later his flight reservation had been changed
and the Bronco's coach had agreed to make their dinner tomorrow night instead.
John could snag the Seattle coach sometime before the game for some profound
words to quote during the broadcast. For that matter, he could make them up
himself. Lord knew he'd heard it all often enough.

He was reaching into the refrigerator for a can of beer when
the clatter of footsteps on the front porch distracted him. Glancing through
the window, he saw the yellow school bus just lumbering into motion again out
on the road. Then the door slammed and a five-year-old bundle of energy
catapulted across the kitchen into his arms.

"Daddy, is she here? Can I help her unpack? You're not
going right now, are you? I don't want you to go."

He smiled down into his daughter's dark eyes. "Whoa!
No, she isn't here, and unfortunately she's not going to be. Her father is
sick, and she can't come. I'm going to have to find somebody else, so I'm not
leaving until tomorrow. Okay?"

Emma nodded, but looked troubled. "Didn't she like me?
I was quiet when she came. Wasn't I? You said I was good."

John hugged her thin shoulders again. "You were
terrific! She said she was especially sorry because she'd liked you so much.
But her father has to come first. Do you understand?"

Emma nodded again, her brown ponytail bobbing, her face
solemn. "Daddy, can't Helen come back? Just for this time? If we asked, I
bet she would. I really miss her. Couldn't we ask her? Please?"

John crouched down to his daughter's level. Hands on her
arms, he looked directly into her eyes. "Sweetie, Helen got married.
Remember? She can't come back. Her new husband needs her, too. Besides,"
he added practically, "she's still in Hawaii. Hey, she's probably scuba
diving this very instant!"

Normally Emma could be distracted by a discussion of what
their former baby-sitter and housekeeper might conceivably be doing at any
given time, but for once his tactic didn't work. She stared at him, her eyes
looking even bigger and darker than usual. He was reminded painfully of how
young and vulnerable she was.

"Daddy, I didn't want Helen to go away." She bit
her lip and tears suddenly shimmered in her eyes. "I miss Helen."

He pulled her against him and laid his cheek against her
hair. "Sweetie, I'm sorry. I know you miss her. But she'll visit. She
promised. And you have me. You'll always have me."

Her voice was very small. "If you don't die and go away
like Mommy."

John rocked back on his heels so he could meet her eyes.
"I won't die," he said. "God would have to drag me kicking and
screaming. And I never was easy to bring down."

A watery chuckle rewarded him. "That's not what Isaiah
says. He says you would have been knocked down all the time if it weren't for
him. He says if you hadn't been so slow throwing the ball he wouldn't have
knees that hurt so much."

John grinned at his daughter. "Don't believe a word he
says. Your dad was All-Pro. I unloaded the ball damn quick on occasion. Isaiah
is just teasing you."

She looked thoughtful. "Oh."

"Now." He stood up. "We need to go see if
today's newspaper has come yet. Because, you know what? We have to find a
baby-sitter for you, kiddo, or this time I am gonna get pounded for sure."

He tried to picture what his boss at the network would say
if he called and pleaded baby-sitting problems as an excuse for not showing up
in Denver to cover Sunday's game between the Broncos and the Seahawks. He
failed, since he was pretty sure that'd be a new one on Frank. He also had a
feeling Frank wouldn't be very forgiving. As it was, the network had a hell of
a time shuffling play-by-play people and color commentators to make sure all
the games were covered.

On the other hand, he wasn't going to leave Emma with just
anyone. He'd taken weeks to select a new housekeeper, interviewing what had
seemed like dozens of women. What he'd really been hiring was a mother for
Emma, and she needed someone special. After losing her real mother when she was
three, and now Helen, Emma was fragile.

He never had found anyone who really satisfied him, but in
the end he'd decided he was being unrealistic. Hell, if he'd found the perfect
woman, he'd have married her! But perfect women didn't answer newspaper ads.

Twenty minutes later, he and Emma sat at the kitchen table
together, poring over the classifieds. No one was interested in baby-sitting in
the child's home. And nary a one mentioned overnight stays. But that didn't
mean he couldn't ask.

He was on his sixth call before he heard anything but
"No, I'm sorry, children in my care have to be picked up by six
p.m
. I don't do evening babysitting."

Emma sat and listened to his end of the conversations, her
small face anxious. For her benefit, John hid his growing frustration and
worry. If only Emma had a close friend, whose parents he could ask. But they
hadn't lived here in the Northwest long enough for either to have made friends
yet, and school had only started three weeks ago.

If Helen had just stuck it out for a few months longer...
But he had known she was in love. Deciding to move and taking her with them,
separating her from her boyfriend, wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done,
even if this ranch about an hour north of Seattle was the perfect set-up. Rural,
the area was still within easy reach of a major airport.

John shook his head impatiently. Who was he justifying his
decision to, anyway? What was done was done. Helen wasn't here. They didn't
have friends yet in this small Washington town.

Could he leave her with Isaiah? He just couldn't picture it.
The huge, former offensive lineman was brilliant with the elegant Arabian
horses out in the pasture, his big hands gentle and his rough voice a soft
growl. Unfortunately, with people he rated closer to a zero. He talked to Emma,
barely, but making dinner, washing her hair, holding her at night if she
awakened crying...not Isaiah.

John's voice had become brusque by that sixth phone call.
"I'd better ask right off the bat whether you'd consider taking my
daughter overnight. I have to go out of town and our new housekeeper failed
us."

"Well..." The woman on the other end hesitated
and his hopes rose a notch. "I suppose I could consider it." Her
voice suddenly became muffled. "Jesse, stay out of the bathroom! Toilet
paper isn't to play with!" She came back on the line. "I'm sorry. How
old did you say your daughter is?"

"I didn't say. She's five."

"And does she have any particular needs or
problems?"

"No. Emma is always cooperative."

"Really." She sounded faintly disbelieving.
"Well, normally, if I'll be taking a child on long- term, I like to
schedule an interview alone with the parents first. But if this is just a
temporary situation...?"

"It is," he assured her.

"Then why don't you bring Emma over this evening so we
can get acquainted?" She mentioned her charges, which John thought were
reasonable. Too reasonable, maybe. But he was desperate, and anyway, he had
faith in his ability to judge people.

"About seven o'clock?" he asked, and she agreed.
Only after hanging up did John realize that he had forgotten to ask her name.

At seven that evening he pulled up to the ramshackle white
cottage that matched the address the woman had given him. Dusk had deepened the
blue sky, and the air was crisp with early autumn. Apples ripened on a huge old
gnarled tree that overhung the cottage, and a white-painted fence enclosed at
least an acre. One of the smallest, plumpest ponies he'd ever seen gazed at
them over the board fence. Emma gave a crow of delight and tugged at his hand.

"Can we pet the pony?"

"After we're done inside," he said firmly.
"We'll ask if it's okay then."

The pony forgotten as they neared the front door, Emma clung
to John's hand and hung slightly back. The spiky blue-and-yellow blooms of
asters and chrysanthemums spilled over the low picket fence that edged a flower
bed along the house. John looked down at his daughter's dark head and felt a
pang of bittersweet love. He wanted to give her everything, and was reduced to
this: abandoning her for days with a virtual stranger.

His knock produced an unexpected cacophony of noise. The
deep bark of a large dog mixed with the higher yap of a smaller one and the
squeals of more than one child. A zoo. John's hand tightened protectively on
Emma's shoulder as the door swung open.

He was only peripherally aware of the toddlers peeking
around the woman's legs, of the walking dust mop that sprang out onto the
porch, of the deep woofs still coming from the background. For just an instant,
the world narrowed so that all he saw was her.

She might have stepped out of an old picture of Russian
nobility. Thick dark hair slid out of the loose bun at the nape of her long,
slender neck, and eyes as dark as midnight stared back at him. Her cheekbones
were stark, her forehead high, her nose slender and patrician, and her mouth
soft and sensuous. She was pale, with the creamy complexion Victorian women had
been known to kill themselves trying to achieve. Perhaps the contrast of hair
and eyes and skin was what had made him think of her in black and white, like
an old daguerrotype, but the faded jeans and loose cotton sweater were
thoroughly modern.

His voice sounded strange to his own ears when he managed to
summon his powers of speech. "Uh... I'm John McRae. I called
earlier?"

And then she smiled, not at him but at Emma, and his heart
lurched painfully in his chest. Perhaps the perfect woman didn't answer
advertisements in the newspaper, but it appeared that she did place them.

"Hi. You're Emma? I'm Marian. And this," she
glanced around, then lightly touched the head of a brown-haired boy who looked
about two, "is Jesse and"—her hand moved on to the girl, obviously a
twin—"his sister Anna. And I see you've already met Aja."

Emma nodded shyly, reaching down to pat the ball of fur that
bounded around their feet.

"Come in." Marian stepped back. "For heaven's
sake, hush!" She gave John an apologetic look. "Rhodo sounds much
more ferocious than he is. You don't mind Emma being around dogs, do you?"

"Not at all." John held out one hand to be sniffed
by the huge black German shepherd that wagged his tail. As he followed Marian
and the toddlers that clung to her into the living room, John somehow wasn't
surprised to notice two cats as well, one lounging on the back of the couch,
the other draped over an end table.

Marian was suddenly conscious of the cats, too, not to
mention the Duplo spread over ten square feet, and the puzzle pieces that had
been cheerfully scattered, and the coloring books and markers, the picture
books, boxes of juice, and a plate of cookie crumbles. Why hadn't she picked up
before he came? But the house was clean, she told herself defensively. Just
cluttered. With six children here all day, what would he expect?

She stole a glance, and found his expression inscrutable,
although his gaze was taking it all in. She had the feeling he could see even
the Cheerios that Jamie had been poking under the couch that morning. Marian
wasn't usually so self-conscious. What was it about him?

He wasn't exactly handsome; his lean face was too rugged for
that. It was also faintly familiar, and yet she didn't remember ever meeting
him. It would have been hard to forget a man built like him, tall and
broad-shouldered with narrow hips and long legs. And while his straight brown
hair matched his daughter's, the level gray eyes that held Marian's sparked no
recognition.

Her awareness of him made her stomach knot. The feeling
wasn't wholly pleasant. For heaven's sake, the man was probably married.
Anyway, it was the child she should be paying attention to, not the father. The
little girl's gaze was still downcast, her teeth worrying at her lower lip.

"Would you like to color while your dad and I are
talking?" Marian asked gently. She stopped herself from reaching out to
brush the child's bangs back from her forehead. It was too soon.

After a pause, Emma whispered, "No."

"Okay. Why don't you sit down?" Marian wrinkled
her nose. "If you can find a place. Sorry. I always pick up, but I haven't
found the energy yet tonight. Six kids are like a tornado."

John looked at her quizzically. "Six is quite a few.
Are you sure you can handle another?"

"I'm licensed for seven." Marian met his gaze,
hating the nervous flutter in her chest. "Which I think is too many. But
if I understood you, it's this weekend you want to leave Emma?" He agreed,
and she continued. "The other children in my care come Monday through
Friday, even the drop-ins. On weekends I have only my own."

He nodded, his expression noncommittal. There was something
in his gray eyes, though, an answering awareness, that reminded her of that
first odd moment when she had opened the door. She tried to tell herself that
she had imagined the way he had looked at her, but failed.

Feeling the need to fuss, Marian collected a pile of books
from the couch and carried them over to the bookcase, talking over her
shoulder. "Jesse and Anna are two and a half, so they're a little young to
be friends for you, Emma, but they'd be thrilled if you played with them! Did
you notice that we have a pony?"

Still standing stiffly beside her father, Emma nodded
again. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the two dark-haired, dark-eyed
toddlers who stared silently at her.

"We have a goat, too, which saves me from having to
mow. Goats are funny creatures. Esmerelda likes to nibble on noses and ears, so
you have to watch her, but she's really a lot of fun. I save her hair when she
sheds, and we dye it for crafts. For Mother's Day some of the kids took home
cups decorated with purple goat hair."