Shotgun Nanny by Nancy Warren Page A

would begin the laying down of a routine, and she wanted it to be the right one. Something that put lots of space between her and Mark Saunders. A man like him could trap a woman like her into the kind of life she never, ever wanted.

    “Well,” he said. “I usually read to Emily at night and then it’s lights out at eightthirty. I’m getting behind on my paperwork, so I’ll probably spend some time in my office.” He gestured down the hall in case she’d forgotten where it was.

    She nodded. “Maybe I’ll just go up and say good-night to Emily first, then.”

    “Sure. You know where the family room is if you want to watch TV or some old movies or something.” He grinned, and she knew he was remembering their insane conversation at Granville Island that first day. “And help yourself to the gym downstairs if you want to work out.”

    Yeah, that’d top her fun-things-to-do list. “Thanks. I’ll probably unpack and get to bed early.” She gave a theatrical groan. “I’ve got an early start in the morning.”

    “The early clown catches the frog.”

    “Was that a joke?” Her eyes bugged wide open. She had a feeling her mouth had done the same.

    “A pretty lame one,” he said sheepishly.

    “It’s a good start. Shows you have a sense of humor. You’ll need it if you’re going to be living with me,” she assured him. Then, seeing the startled expression in his eyes—which could go from arctic to meltdown in about three seconds—she hastily revised her statement. “I mean staying in the same house. Temporarily.”

    5

    “WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE between a clown and a wizard?” Emily asked when Annie entered her room.

    The child was in bed with a book about a child wizard propped on her chest. Annie had read the series, and as she recalled, the boy was an orphan, too.

    Cuddled in Emily’s left arm was a very ratty, clearly much-loved stuffed lion with an advanced case of mange.

    “Well, a wizard has magical powers. A clown’s job is to make you laugh.”

    The child stroked the lion’s patchy tail while she considered this. “But you do magic, too. Do you have a racing broom? Magic potions and spells that turn people into animals?”

    “No. My magic is just pretend. When I make things disappear, I really hide them when the audience isn’t looking. I’ll show you sometime if you’re interested.”

    “Really? Would you show me how to do a magic trick?”

    “Sure. Maybe we can work on some tricks you could show your friends.” She glanced surreptitiously at her watch and discovered it was eight-fifteen.

    After a hasty good-night and a peck on the cheek, she made her way to the safety of the guest room, where she spent seven or eight minutes unpacking her backpack into the empty drawers of the pine dresser.

    It took another good minute to unpack her toiletry bag in the bathroom. That done, she glanced at her watch.
    Eight
    twenty-five.

    What on earth was she going to do with herself? Normally she didn’t go to bed until well after midnight and rarely woke before eight in the morning.

    Luckily, the guest room came equipped with a clock that looked like it required an advanced degree from MIT to operate. Fiddling with that until she thought she had the alarm set for six forty-five a.m. helped use up another few minutes. Then she heard Mark’s low voice saying good-night and Emily’s soft reply. His tread descended to the main floor.

    By eight thirty-five she had all the bed’s pillows piled behind her back and her feet up while she tried to read her guidebook to Asia.

    Usually butterflies of excitement flitted in her stomach when she read about all the exotic and exciting places she’d be visiting soon. But somehow, tonight, it couldn’t grab her attention.

    Her mind kept drifting to one brave little girl and one very sexy ex-Mountie. The little girl brought a rush of feeling that was both unfamiliar and unmistakably maternal. The ex-Mountie brought on feelings that were