His Potential Wife. Grace Green

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      “All right,” she said. “Since you insist on knowing, I’ll give you my opinion. I believe that ever since your wife’s death you’ve been wallowing around in an absolute emotional mess and you’re pretty sure your children are, too, especially Lizzie, so you’ve been cutting them all a lot of slack—way too much slack—and they’ve taken advantage of it. Are still taking advantage of it. And of you. In a nutshell, they’re totally out of control—which is something a man like you finds intolerable but under the circumstances you’re suffering it and this is putting even more stress on you. Oh, you’re in quite a pickle, Dr. Galbraith. Quite a pickle.”

      Her words scraped still-tender scars off painful wounds, exposing raw nerves that screamed in protest. He felt blood pound against his eardrums, but even as he struggled to curb his emotions, a surge of anger sent reason flying out the window.

      The girl was outspoken and way out of line.

      He would fire her.

      His decision was swiftly made…the way he made most decisions. He was not, nor had he ever been, a ditherer.

      But before he could tell her she was “out,” he heard the thunder of approaching feet accompanied by Amy’s screams and Lizzie’s gratingly familiar “Pest! Pest! Pest!”

      And as the noise reverberated in his head, he acknowledged—reluctantly, frustratedly, wearily—that firing Ms. Tyler was not an option. She was right. He was in a pickle, one helluva pickle. And though she was far too blunt for her own good, he had to admit he’d asked for it.

      Furthermore, the reason she’d managed to upset him was that she’d hit the nail on the head…and the truth hurt.

      Willow Tyler was as perspicacious as she was plain.

      And she had survived a day that would have sent any of his previous five nannies running for the hills.

      So after all, though Ms. Tyler had certainly got off to a bad start this morning, there was still a hope—however small that hope might be—that she would turn out to be the one person who could make his small family functional again.

      “You certainly don’t pull your punches,” he said. “But I did ask for your opinion so I can’t complain. I hope you’ll always be as forthright with me. If there’s one quality I appreciate in a person, it’s honesty…and the flip side, of course, is that I can’t tolerate deceit!”

      He saw an odd expression flicker over her eyes—he thought for a moment it was fear, but he quickly dismissed the idea. She had told him the truth, so what did she have to be afraid of? Puzzled, he tried to figure out what it could have been…but before he could come up with an answer, he heard his storming troops thunder ever closer. With a wince, he forgot all about Ms. Tyler’s odd expression and shoved himself up from the table.

      “If you’ll excuse me,” he said hurriedly, “I have to go out. I’ll be back in the early afternoon.”

      Feeling like a commander deserting on the eve of battle, he swiveled around and strode to the back door. Wrenching it open, he stepped outside and slammed the door shut just as his children erupted into the kitchen.

      He stood on the stoop, leaning back against the door and sending up a prayer of gratitude for his timely escape.

      Then inhaling a deep breath of the morning-scented air, he was about to leave when through the open window he heard the nanny say, in a clear and decidedly no-nonsense voice, “Before we make any plans for the day, I want you to know how upset I was last night when I discovered that one or more of you had snuck into my room and destroyed some of my treasures.”

      He froze where he stood. They’d sneaked into her room? They’d not only gone through her private things, but they had destroyed some of them?

      Anger swelled up inside him. This was intolerable. He’d march inside right now and sort the little devils out. But good!

      Wheeling around, he reached for the door handle. No way should she have to put up with—

      He stopped himself just as he touched the knob.

      And told himself to calm down.

      Think it through.

      And when he did, he realized it would be a major mistake to insert himself into the situation. He couldn’t run interference every time the children misbehaved. It would ruin any hope Ms. Tyler had of gaining their respect.

      In the long run, it would do more harm than good.

      So he stood there a little while longer, listening, then he turned away from the door and made his way to the three-car detached garage that sat on the grounds at the westerly side of the house.

      “So…is that understood?” Willow stood over the children, who were clustered in a hostile group by the kitchen table. “We all have our own areas of privacy, and those areas are sacrosanct.”

      “What’s sacrosanct?” muttered Amy.

      “It’s what she said.” Lizzie sounded sullen. “We don’t go there. It’s private. We don’t touch stuff that belongs to other people. Just like you should never have touched my book and ripped out the page!”

      “I didn’t!” Amy cried. “I told you last night, it just fell out and I put it in Mikey’s crib so you—”

      “Children.” Willow gritted her teeth. “Let’s move on, shall we? Let’s start over. It’s a new day.”

      Lizzie avoided looking at her. “Where’s Dad?”

      “He went out.”

      Lizzie frowned. “Where did he go?”

      “He didn’t say,” Willow responded lightly. “But since it’s such a lovely day, we’ll all go out, too.”

      “Don’t wanna go out!” Amy fisted her hands on her hips. “Wanna watch TV!”

      “Me, too!” Mikey dumped himself solidly down on his bottom, his attitude screaming I’m on strike!

      “We’ll go for a swim.” Willow opened the fridge and took out a jar of peanut butter. Scooping a bag of buns from the bread bin, she said, “We’ll pack a lunch and have a picnic after.”

      Lizzie finally raised her eyes and fixed her with a scornful gaze. “We can’t go for a swim. Dad says it’s too late in the season to bother opening up the Summerhill pool!”

      Willow slit the buns and began spreading them with peanut butter. “We’re not going to be using your pool.” She rummaged in the cupboard, found a jar of honey and screwed off the lid. “Now would you run upstairs, Lizzie, and fetch all the swimsuits?”

      “How do you know we’ve got any!” Amy screwed up her freckled little nose. “We might not!”

      “Not!” bawled Mikey.

      “If you don’t have any swimsuits,” Willow said in an airy tone, “then you’ll all have to skinny-dip!”

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