Cathleen Galitz – Wyoming Cinderella (страница 3)

Hawk reached out a hand to stop her tumble in midair.

At his touch, Ella felt a whoosh of air leave her lungs. Her lips formed a perfect “O” that filled the room with an exclamation of astonishment. A zing of electricity passed from his hand to hers, locking them in a current of pure sexual energy. Ella’s pulse skittered. Her eyes widened in surprise. His, she noted, were the most remarkable shade of gray shot through with golden flecks, and they sparkled with male awareness. And if she wasn’t mistaken, he was no more immune to the electricity generated by their touch than she was.

Ella wasn’t sure what had gotten into her. Never in all her life had a man affected her so immediately. So entirely.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a knowing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Had her knees actually turned gelatinous? Ella wondered as she attempted to steady herself. She might not be the prettiest doll on the shelf, but she’d always prided herself on being graceful. And relatively quick-witted.

This klutz act was downright embarrassing.

She hastened to assure herself as much as him. “I’m fine. Really.”

Removing her hand from his was like tearing two magnets apart. It took an act of supreme willpower. Grateful that she had somehow managed to break contact with him physically, Ella deliberately stepped around the offending chair and placed it between them as a barrier.

Hawk suppressed a grin. Surely this sweet little thing didn’t think he was going to chase her around the furniture like some lecherous villain in a moldy, old situation comedy. As a successful international business entrepreneur and widowed father of two, he was way past playing those kinds of silly games. Burdened by responsibilities which he shouldered himself, he hadn’t entertained thoughts of a sexual nature for so long that it was actually comical. For goodness’ sakes, Ella McBride was just a child herself. A virgin, too, he’d bet by the way she’d reacted to his touch. Why, the poor thing was practically hyperventilating.

“There’s no need to look so frightened,” he said, hoping to avoid having to instruct her on how to breathe deeply into a paper bag. “I have no intention of forcing myself on you. I just want to offer you a job.”

Ella’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What kind of job?”

“None that requires you dressing up in a sexy French maid’s outfit if that’s what you’re worried about,” he assured her with an irresistible smile that had her reaching for that chair all over again.

Digging her nails into its velvet upholstery, Ella did her best to look aloof and sophisticated. It was obvious that this man found her a funny, naive little fool. Which, of course, she was. What would anyone as obviously rich and handsome as this man want with an ugly duckling like her? Certainly not the sexual dalliance that she had imagined for the split second that had sent her pulse racing full speed down that long, well-traveled road of her imagination.

“Not only do I feel terrible about causing you to miss your interview,” Hawk assured her. “I really could use your services. Clearly my children are taken with you.”

Considering that it might well take a crowbar to pry them from her side, it was a gross understatement.

“And I really do need your help.”

“Are you asking me to be your nanny?” Ella asked in dismay.

What was it about her that gave off such strong maternal vibes? She felt far too young to be pigeonholed so early as a full-time caregiver. Having just discovered how full life could be on her own, she wasn’t overly eager to give up her freedom just yet.

Misunderstanding, Billy began jumping up and down in excitement. “Yeah, you can be our new mommy!”

Even though she didn’t know exactly what was going on, Sarah, too, began dancing in place and chanting, “Mommy, mommy, mommy!”

“Nanny!” Ella and Hawk corrected in chorus.

Seeing the becoming blush coloring her cheeks pink as apple blossoms, Hawk tried smoothing over the awkwardness of the moment. “That word has such a menial connotation. Couldn’t you just think of it as helping out a desperate father and children?”

Desperate was too mild a word for how Hawk was feeling. Over the past year he had developed a new appreciation of what such “menial” work entailed. Backbreaking, exasperating, and unappreciated, it nonetheless had intrinsic rewards that could never be found in a boardroom. After Lauren’s death, Hawk came to realize just how much distance his job had put between him and his family. For a time he’d felt more like a stranger than a father. The children were only just now beginning to open up to him. Being included in their nighttime prayers, reading them their favorite stories and feeling their little arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug was all the incentive he needed to work out whatever problems might arise. Working at home would give him the opportunity to forge that precious connection with his children. Having someone to help him oversee them while he attempted to run a business was the perfect solution to provide for their safety and his sanity.

Price was no object in procuring this young woman’s services, and “no” was not an answer Hawk was accustomed to accepting.

Ella fended off the suggestion with a wave of her hand. “It’s kind of you to offer, but I really don’t think so.”

“Please,” little Sarah implored, her huge blue eyes filling with hope.

Ella groaned.

She recognizing the throbbing behind her right eyeball for what it was.

Obligation overload.

That all too familiar sense of having to put others’ needs before her own was so deeply ingrained from years of service that it had left worry lines permanently etched upon her forehead. Passed over for adoption herself time and time again, Ella was frequently farmed out to foster homes in need of a strong back and free baby-sitting services. Her friends had called her Sister Mac in jest, making fun of her devotion to other people’s children—and reminding her of the heartbreak she inevitably suffered every time those ties were severed.

Years of being used by the system had taught her the folly of putting herself second to others more fortunate.

“Pleeeeeease,” echoed Billy, dragging the word and her heart into several pieces.

“Do you mind my asking what you planned on making if you got that job in town you mentioned?” Hawk asked before the final decibel of his son’s pleading had died away.

The offended look on Ella’s face indicated that she did indeed mind. Nonetheless she rattled off a figure that included a fair margin for gratuities. She may not be the prettiest girl George Abrams would ever hire on at the Watering Hole, but she had a way with customers that unruffled feathers and transformed frowns into smiles. People found Ella’s genuine interest in them so refreshing that even the crustiest curmudgeons usually left a generous tip behind.

Hawk didn’t so much as blink at the sum she quoted. “I’ll double it. And include room and board as well as a generous up-front signing fee. How soon can you move in?”

“Move in?” Ella squeaked. “Why, I don’t even know your name!”

“William Fawson Hawk III,” he supplied in a formal tone, extending her a smile and his hand once again. “But you can just call me Hawk.”

Ella backed away from it as she would from a snake curled up in the grass. She wasn’t about to risk physical contact again with anyone who held such phenomenal power over her sensibilities.

“If you’re a decent cook, I’ll triple the amount. The kids can testify to the fact that I can even manage to screw up a basic peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and even their unnatural fondness for microwave macaroni and cheese has worn thin.”

“I can cook, and I can provide you with references, too,” Ella admitted grudgingly, feeling herself slipping into the vortex of the tornado which was gathering speed around her. Her head was spinning. Was this guy for real?

Looking around at the sophisticated decor, Ella knew she wasn’t dealing with just any crackpot. It appeared this man was an excellent businessman, just as smooth as the expensive bourbon she’d spied behind the wet bar. Did he realize that he was offering her an opportunity to make enough money over the course of a year to pay for the college education that had been eluding her since high school graduation? If she continued taking classes one at a time as she could afford them, Ella figured she’d be old enough to collect Social Security by the time she actually earned a degree.

Why she wasn’t jumping all over this man’s extraordinary offer was beyond her.

It certainly wasn’t because she minded doing an honest day’s work. She had been doing that for as long as she could remember. Nor did it have anything to do with not liking the two little imps who had wolfed down an entire sack of cookies at her rough-hewn table. They were utterly adorable. Not to mention that they could well prove to be the most valid audience to whom she could safely subject her stories. Even though a heartbreaking stint of trying to make it as a full-time writer/illustrator hadn’t yielded the slightest opportunity of being published, Ella wasn’t ready to part with her dream until she absolutely had to.