Page 22 of Mr. Wolfe's Nanny

“Okay. But can I tell you a secret? I’m scared of hospitals. They’re one of my least favorite places even though they do wonderful things here to help people most of the time.” Ryder’s eyes grow wider. “I know Jill will feel safer at home, especially if her big brother is there, too. And if they won’t let your dad come home tomorrow, we’ll come back to visit, I promise.”

I get a begrudging nod and take his hand.

“You’re very good with them,” Mia says quietly beside me.

“Thanks.” I feel like I’m doing alright. At least, I’m not panicking.

Jonathan returns with news that the kids can come back for a few minutes with one adult.

“Quinn. I want Quinn,” Jill pleads, holding on tight.

“Oh sweetie, your uncle is family and-”

“It’s alright,” Jonathan tells me. “You can take them back if you’re okay with it.”

Am I? I see Isa with the same question on her face.

But then, I look at the children and realize I will be. For tonight, I am.

∞∞∞

Theo had still been a bit confused when we’d visited briefly but, luckily, the kids had thought their dad was joking around when he’d called me Lois Lane and said Lord Sebastian had sabotaged him.

Margaret had hugged me tightly and introduced me to Theo’s father but the man had been too busy grilling a doctor to do more than wave at me.“A week? Look, he can sit at a desk. Surely, he can do a bit from home while-”

“A week away from work to be safe after a concussion. That means any and all work. No arguments, Michael, or I’ll call Oliver to let you have it.”

Clearly, this wasn’t some random intern to be cowed by a man of Michael Wolfe’s standing. It turned out he was a neurologist who plays golf with the elder Mr. Wolfe.

“Oliver will have to get in line behind me if you don’t let our son recuperate,”Margaret had added with a deadly glare aimed at her husband. Mr. Wolfe had wisely decided to shut up at that point.

I take the kids home after that and, considering it’s late and with everything they’re feeling, offer to host a sleepover in my quarters. “Just this once though,”I say. It’s a good distraction from their worries though just seeing that their father was okay beyond a few minor cuts and bruises from the airbag had probably helped the most.

Ryder brings sleeping bags and pillows and we make a blanket fort. The lights are barely off, save for my fairy lights, when I feel my bed dip as Jill crawls up to nestle down beside me.

I say not a word, just give her a hug and hum a lullaby until I can tell she’s asleep. Within a half hour, Ryder silently joins us. He reaches for my hand in the dark and we stay like that. These kids. My heart.

I wonder if I might have nightmares thinking about Theo’s wreck or the other one or the trip to the hospital. I don’t. I sleep great… if one doesn’t mind a small knee jammed against one’s back half the night.

∞∞∞

Less than twenty-four hours later and after a very long Sunday of repeated questions from the kids, Theo returns home. The children are exuberant and a little too loud so I let Julieta and Maria fuss over Mr. Wolfe and keep them busy. I’m the children’s nanny, not his, and the ladies being older than either of us insist on acting as the resident mother hens until Margaret pays another call.

But, after the kids are asleep at last, in their own beds this time, I slip downstairs for some warm milk and find him awake and seated at his office desk. It’s hard to believe I had a panic attack here forty-eight hours ago.

“The doctor said no work,” I say softly, edging into the room.

Part grin, part grimace. “Do emails count?”

“Tonight, they do. I’m getting myself some warm milk. Want some?”

He chuckles and rubs his hands over tired eyes. “I’ve not had warm milk in twenty-five years or more.”

“Well, they say it does a body good. Those aren’t going anywhere and I know you’ve got a capable assistant who can handle them when the work week begins.” He starts to argue until I add, “I can call your mother.”

His glare only serves to make me laugh and I gesture for him to follow me away from his computer. He does.

In the kitchen, I urge him to sit at the counter while I fix our milk. My stomach is suddenly under assault by butterflies. Theo’s seems less preoccupied by butterflies and more interested in making amends. “I’m sorry about how I handled things the other night. I shouldn’t have…”

---