Professor And The Nanny. Phyllis Halldorson

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      Nate crossed his arms over his chest and bent at the waist in an attempt to cover himself.

      “She isn’t company, Dad, this is the woman I hired for you—”

      “You got me a woman!” he sputtered in disbelieving amazement. “Look, son, I may be gettin’ older but I can still find my own girlfriends.”

      Brittany couldn’t help it, she put her head back and laughed gleefully. Not that the fact Nate didn’t remember her was funny, but the looks on both his and Ethan’s faces were hilarious.

      “No!” Ethan said, frustration mixed with compassion in his tone. “This is Brittany. She’s going to be your nurse-companion?”

      She saw the confusion in Nate’s expression, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to give in to it.

      “Well, my memory’s not so good,” he admitted, “but you got to admit my taste is impeccable.” He winked at her and put out his hand. “Welcome, young lady. Please pardon my get-up, but it’s not often I find a beautiful woman at my breakfast table.”

      She put her hand in his and chuckled. “That’s hard to believe and, please, call me Brittany.”

      He squeezed her hand and released it. “That’s a pretty name. Almost as pretty as the girl who bears it.”

      Brittany tampered down the ire she always felt when called a ‘girl.’ After all, this man could be forgiven. He was of another generation when that title was both common and acceptable. “Thank you, Mr. Thorpe, but I’m no longer a ‘girl.’ I’m twenty-one years old. Old enough to drink hard liquor and vote.”

      She caught the impish glee in his eyes even before he spoke. “Not at the same time, I hope.”

      They both chuckled, and Ethan joined in as he pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “Now that we all have our identities straightened out, I’ve got to leave.”

      Brittany stood up, too, and both she and Nate walked to the door with Ethan. When they got there he turned to Brittany. “The list of phone numbers I told you about is in the library on my desk. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”

      “I won’t,” she said as he let himself out.

      When he was gone she turned to Nate. “Do you want me to give you your blood test and injection now or would you rather wait until you’ve dressed and shaved?”

      He grimaced. “I don’t need you to do that for me. I can do it myself.”

      She wasn’t surprised at his resistance. He’d probably be more amenable after she’d been taking care of him for a while.

      “Is that the way you prefer to do it?” she asked.

      “Yeah.”

      “All right,” she said agreeably, “but you’ll have to walk me through it the first time so I can make sure you’re doing it right. It’s just a precaution.”

      She knew it would be easier to get his cooperation if he thought he was doing her a favor.

      “Sure. We keep all the stuff in the first-floor bath.” He turned and they walked together to the large Victorian-style bathroom, complete with a free-standing claw-footed tub and a commode that flushed with a chain.

      Nate opened a wooden cabinet and took out the paraphernalia he needed, then stuck the end of his finger and pricked out a little blood with a sterilized needle to test on the glucose monitor. Everything there was okay so he filled the syringe and gave himself the injection in the stomach.

      He’d been right. He was very good at this. If only he could remember to do it as often as required.

      “Mr. Thorpe, can you—” she started to say, but he cut her off.

      “Hold on there, missy, you don’t like to be called a girl, and I’m not all that hot about bein’ called an old man—”

      Brittany gasped. “I never—”

      “Oh, I know you’re too polite to actually say it, but why do you have to keep calling me ‘Mr. Thorpe’? It’s so formal. My first name is Nate. Any reason why you can’t call me that?”

      She grinned. “None at all, Nate. Now, why don’t you go upstairs and get dressed while I fix breakfast. Remember, you have to eat within half an hour after taking the shot or you’re apt to get woozy. I don’t want you tumbling down that magnificent staircase.”

      He chuckled. “I’ll bet you’re used to having men fall for you,” he teased.

      Things went very well for the next two weeks. Nate didn’t forget who she was again and greeted her enthusiastically each morning when she arrived. They enjoyed each other’s company and got along just fine all day, but it was a different scenario with Ethan. He left as soon as she arrived at the house, and was coolly polite when he got home.

      It seemed obvious that he didn’t especially like her, but why? He never complained about her work. At times during the few minutes of their comings and goings he even complimented her on how well his father was doing under her care, so why wasn’t he more friendly?

      If he had a girlfriend there was no evidence of it. The only family photographs in the house were one of Ethan’s infant son, Danny, an adorable little tyke, which was displayed on the fireplace mantel in the family room, and one of Nate’s late wife, Sybil, Ethan’s mother, which Nate kept on his nightstand in his bedroom.

      She wished Ethan would ask her to stay and visit sometimes. Maybe even invite her to dinner. She knew they did quite a bit of barbecuing in the evenings, but in the two weeks she’d been there they’d never mentioned having dinner guests.

      Then, on the Thursday of the second week, a few minutes before Ethan was due home, the doorbell rang. Brittany, who had been rinsing dishes in the sink, grabbed a towel and headed for the foyer, but Nate beat her to the front door. He opened it and she saw his shoulders stiffen as he said, “Hannah? What are you doing here? Where’s the baby?”

      Brittany stopped in her tracks. Hannah? Baby? Could this be Ethan’s ex-wife and their son?

      Brittany stood there listening to a woman’s voice coming from outside. “He’s out in the car. Can you help me bring some things in?”

      “Sure,” Nate said, and walked out the door where Brittany could no longer see or hear them.

      Curiosity got the better of her, and she put down the towel and walked over to the open doorway. There she saw a white minivan with the side door open parked at the curb in front of the house. Inside was a child strapped into a car seat and a blond, statuesque woman wearing designer jeans and T-shirt and loading Nate down with various items of baby furniture.

      What was going on here? Nate shouldn’t be burdened with all those heavy and ungainly items. He might stumble and fall!

      Without hesitation she hurried out the door and across the lawn to the curb to confront him. “Nate, don’t try to carry all that stuff at once. Let me help you.”

      The sound of her voice apparently surprised the СКАЧАТЬ