Maid for the Single Dad. SUSAN MEIER

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      He tossed his suit coat over the back of a chair. “I’m hoping. If she hasn’t yet, one call to anybody in Cain’s office will get her the info. That should be the carrot on the stick that keeps her here long enough for me to find someone.” He leaned in over Lacy. “Hey, baby. What are you doing?”

      She gave him a patient look. “Coloring.”

      “Why don’t you put on your swimsuit and we’ll take a dip while Mrs. Pomeroy is still here for Henry.”

      Her heart-shaped face wreathed in smiles. Her blue eyes danced with delight. “Okay!”

      She raced from the room and Mac pulled Henry from his highchair. “And how are you today?”

      Blond-haired, blue-eyed Henry slapped a chubby fist on his father’s cheek.

      “Feisty, I see.”

      “You better believe he’s been feisty.” Mrs. Pomeroy took his bottle from the warmer and tested the temperature. “I’m not sure if he tired himself out enough that he’ll fall asleep immediately after he drinks this or if he’s too wound up to sleep at all.”

      “If you have any problems, come and get me from the pool.”

      Mrs. Pomeroy’s wrinkled face fell in sympathetic lines. “No. You take the time with Lacy. You both could use a few minutes of fun.”

      “I’m fine. I don’t want to shirk my responsibility to the kids.”

      “You’re a good dad.”

      He pulled in a breath and turned away, trying to make light of her compliment. “I only do what any father should do.”

      That was why it never would have even crossed his mind to desert his children the way their mother had. He couldn’t believe any person would be so narcissistic that she’d abandon her kids just because a second child had been inconvenient to her career. Pamela had been so angry to be pregnant again when she’d read the results of her early pregnancy test that she’d packed a bag, left him and filed for divorce within days. She returned to Hollywood, California, where she immediately resurrected her movie career.

      Nine months later, she handed Henry over to Mac. She visited once a month, saying it was difficult to fly across the country anymore than that. But on her last visit she told Mac she might not be able to visit in July. The movie she had made while pregnant with Henry was being released and she would be making the rounds of talk shows promoting it. Mac tried not to panic, but he couldn’t help it. If anybody asked Pamela about her divorce or her kids, he had absolutely no idea what she’d say. But he did know that if she mentioned their names, he and the kids would become fodder for the paparazzi.

      He’d lived his entire life with bodyguards, alarm systems and armor-plated limos. He’d thought he knew how it felt to live under lock and key, but that was nothing compared to living in a fishbowl. As the ex-husband of a movie star with custody of that movie star’s kids, protection and visibility had risen to a whole new level. Not only were his kids targets for kidnappers and extortionists because of his money, but their mother’s career could put their faces on the front page of every tabloid in the world. He’d had to go to extreme measures to protect them, and even with those measures in place he wasn’t quite sure they were safe.

      “You’re thinking about that crappy wife of yours again aren’t you?”

      “No.”

      Mrs. P. laughed. “Right. You always scowl before a morning of fun with your daughter in the pool.” Satisfied with the temperature of the milk in Henry’s bottle, she took Henry from Mac’s arms. “You know what you need? A good woman to replace the crappy one.”

      Mac laughed. “It will be a cold frosty day in hell before I trust another woman.”

      Mrs. P. harrumphed as she headed for the door. “Don’t let one bad apple spoil the whole bunch.”

      Lacy skipped into the room dressed in a bright blue one-piece swimsuit. Mac lifted her into his arms. It was very easy for Mrs. P. to spout quaint sayings, quite another for Mac to heed their advice. Pamela had broken Lacy’s heart when she left. Henry would know a mother who only popped in when the spirit moved her. Mac couldn’t risk the hearts of his children a second time.

      Ellie debated sliding into one of her Happy Maids uniforms. Nothing said hired help better than a bright yellow ruffled apron and a hairnet. But Mac had suggested she wear jeans and she wasn’t taking any chances. If she had to endure being a full-time maid, then she intended for Cain to get the recommendation into Carmichael Incorporated. The best way to do that would be to follow Mac’s instructions to the letter.

      She slowed her car as she wound through the streets of Coral Gables, looking for the address scrawled on the back of the business card. Finally finding the property, she turned onto the driveway only to come face-to-face with an iron gate. She rolled down her car window, pressed a button marked “visitors” on a small stand just within reach of her car and watched as a camera zoomed in on her. She expected a voice to come through the little box, asking for identification. Instead, within seconds, the gate opened.

      Good grief. How rich was this guy?

      Slowly maneuvering up the wide stone driveway that was a beautiful yellow, not brick-red or brown or even gray, but beautiful butterscotch-yellow, Ellie swiveled her head from side-to-side, taking in the landscaping. Trees stood behind the black iron fence that surrounded the huge front yard, increasing the privacy. Flower gardens filled with red, yellow and orange hibiscus sprang up in no particular order, brightening the green grass with splashes of color. But it was the house that caused her mouth to fall open. Butterscotch-yellow stucco, with rich cocoa-brown trim and columns that rose to the flat roof overhang, and a sparkling glass front door, the house was unlike anything she’d seen before.

      She followed the stone driveway around to the side where she found cocoa-brown garage doors and a less auspicious entryway than the front door. She parked her car and got out.

      Oppressive heat and humidity buffeted her, making her tank top and jeans feel like a snowmobile suit. The sounds of someone splashing in a pool caught her attention and she walked around back and stopped. Her mouth gaped.

      Rows of wide, flat steps made of the same butterscotch-colored stone as in the driveway led from a wall of French doors in the back of the house to an in-ground pool. Shiny butterscotch-colored tiles intermingled with blue and beige tiles, rimming the pool and also creating a walkway that led to a patio of the same stone as the stairs. Behind the patio was a huge gazebo—big enough for a party, not merely a yard decoration—and beyond the grassy backyard was the canal where a bright white yacht was docked.

      “Ellie?”

      She glanced at the pool again. Mac Carmichael was swimming with a little girl of around six, probably his daughter.

      She edged toward them. Trying to sound confident, she said, “Hi.”

      The little blonde wearing water wings waved shyly.

      Mac wiped both hands down his face and headed for the ladder in the shallow water on the far side of the pool. “I’ll be right with you.”

      She wanted to say, “Take your time,” or “Don’t get out on my account. I’ll find my way to the kitchen,” but the sight of СКАЧАТЬ