The Nanny Arrangement (Country Blues)

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Find your Bliss with these great releases… The Doctor’s Redemption

  Wrong Brother, Right Match

  Wedding Date Rescue

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Rachel Harris. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Bliss is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC. For more information on our titles, visit http://www.entangledpublishing.com/category/bliss

  Edited by Stacy Abrams

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill

  Cover art from DepositPhotos and Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-112-0

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition May 2017

  For my mom, who taught me how to find joy in the everyday, particularly in the ministry of motherhood. It’s because of you that I make up silly songs about muffins and keep my girls smiling and laughing all day. Every hug I earn is because I had you as my example. Thank you for choosing joy!

  And for my dad, who taught me how to reach for my dreams…and to keep on reaching once the old dreams are conquered. Thank you, too, for teaching me how to balance the serious with the silly, the laughter with the hard work. You are a force to be reckoned with, and I’m proud to be your daughter.

  Prologue

  The new kid was outside again.

  Shifting her weight, Hannah scratched an itch behind her knee. Despite the stifling August heat, the boy had been at it for more than an hour, shooting hoops in his driveway and now sitting on the front porch, dribbling a faded blue basketball between his open feet. It was the same thing, different day. Hannah had been watching him…okay, more like spying on him…for the last nine days, ever since he moved in, and today, just like every other day, she wanted to join him. Get to know him. Possibly, hopefully, even befriend him.

  This afternoon, the pull was extra strong.

  The boy hadn’t looked her way once, or done anything all that different, but Hannah had the profound feeling that he was sad. She was dying to know why. In Willow Creek, NC, newcomers were a rare breed, and while she was every bit as curious (read: nosy) as her gossiping neighbors, she also wanted to help.

  Somehow, she sensed he could be a kindred spirit.

  As she watched, the basketball hit the tip of the boy’s sneaker. It bounce-rolled down the porch steps, as it had done a couple times before, but this time he didn’t chase after it. Instead, he ducked his head and gripped the brim of his Tar Heels ball cap with both hands. With the way his shoulders heaved beneath the fabric of his tee, she imagined he was yelling, but her closed window blocked the sound. Then the boy plucked the cap off his head, threw it into the dirt, and dropped his head into his hands.

  Hannah was out her bedroom door before her next breath.

  Growing up in a small town wasn’t easy. Being a teenage outcast in a small town was even harder, and for Hannah Fisher, the cards had been stacked against her since birth. Bright orange-red hair that had only recently turned a semi-decent shade of strawberry-blonde was one strike. A wardrobe consisting of thrift store finds and homemade, overly modest items was another. But the debilitating stutter that had tripped her up for years was what ultimately pushed Hannah over the edge, making her a favorite target for bullying.

  Her parents, God bless them, tried to help. They loved her, they got her speech therapy, and they always made time to talk…but they didn’t understand what it was like to be different. Older than her classmates’ parents, they couldn’t fathom what it was like to live in a generation where your mistakes and verbal ticks didn’t just haunt you in the moment but were also immediately mocked on social media. Texts, tweets, and embarrassing videos lasted forever. Almost as long as southern opinions.

  In Willow Creek, people didn’t get to reinvent themselves. Judgments, once made, stuck like glue. No one seemed to care that Hannah’s stutter had improved over freshman year or that she’d found a surprising glimmer of spotlight in theater. Nope, her status as “school freak” was forever fixed.

  But not so with the new boy.

  Her newest neighbor hadn’t spent the last nine years listening to her struggle with simple words in class. He hadn’t witnessed her humiliation at the hands of girls like Lisa Michaels who found it hilarious to tease someone already on the bottom of the pile. This boy was her one shot at a fresh start. Even better, in all her days of spying, she’d yet to see him have a friend come over, either. It was possible that he was lonely, too.

  Maybe…maybe they could save each other.

  Hannah’s footsteps slowed as she neared the curb. The bright sunlight bouncing off the steaming pavement stung her eyes, and she squinted. The boy hadn’t lifted his head or given any obvious sign that he knew she was there, but she’d become a bit of an expert on him the last few days. Her gaze trailed over the rigid line of his shoulders, the hands fisted in his lap, and the sudden stillness of his feet.

  Just walk up and say hi, she ordered herself, closing her eyes as she attempted to inhale courage. Unfortunately, all she got was regular old oxygen, and it was muggy at that.

  Hi. Two small letters. Surely you can handle that, right?

  Only, experience had taught Hannah otherwise. Stressful situations tended to make her stutter worsen and reappear—and just standing in front of this boy had her sweating through the thin fabric of her shirt.

  In hindsight, she should’ve brought a glass of Mama’s sweet tea.

  No one ever said no to tea.

  Sighing, Hannah opened her eyes. It was too late to turn back now. She’d just have to dazzle him with her incredible wit and sparkling personality. Or, um, her impressive ability to chew her thumbnail and stare.

  Yeah, that ought to do it.

  Wincing slightly, Hannah crossed the street. With each step closer to the boy, she noticed something new. From her window stalking, she’d known that he was dressed in his usual uniform of jeans and a plain tee, but she hadn’t been able to make out anything more than that. Now, she saw the frayed, torn hem, the holes in his knees, and the dirty, threadbare cotton of his shirt.

  Hannah glanced at his house. The windows were dark. No car sat in the driveway or out on the street. Come to think of it, she’d never seen anyone else at the house, not even parents, other than his mom on moving day. She’d always assumed they worked late…and left early…and parked in the garage.

  Biting her lip, she turned back to him. Hmm. Maybe h
e was even lonelier than she’d thought.

  Padding to the bottom step of his porch, Hannah willed the boy to lift his head. Up close, his shaggy brown hair had streaks of gold running through it. The length, now that it wasn’t covered by his ball cap, was longer than she’d have guessed and in desperate need of a trim. But it looked soft. Silky. For some inexplicable reason, her heart started beating like crazy in her chest. A small gasp escaped her lips, and the boy raised his head.

  Wary green eyes so light they almost appeared gray stared back at her. His face, which Hannah had thought was cute from across the street, now caused her already racing heart to take off in a gallop.

  Holy cow. He was beautiful.

  Hannah’s mouth tumbled open. The strangest sensation swept over her skin, pebbling it despite the sticky heat. Her belly flip-flopped, and as she tried to make sense of her runaway emotions, the boy tilted his head, his guarded green-gray eyes narrowing as he studied her. Her lungs stopped working as he held her gaze, and she stood frozen for what felt like an eternity before she realized he was waiting for her to speak. That she’d just walked up and stood there on the sidewalk staring at him like some sort of mute weirdo. Or, you know, the school freak. The exact opposite of the first impression she’d been aiming for.

  Licking her dry lips, she forced her mouth into a shaky smile. “H-h-h-hello.”

  And time stopped.

  Mortification burned blazing hot across Hannah’s skin. The very earth shifted beneath her hand-me-down sneakers.

  Hi…never, ever hello. She knew that. Regardless of her new bag of linguistic tricks, one sound continued to trip her up time and time again—the “eh” sound. In defense, she’d learned to avoid it at all costs. Why, oh why, on today of all days, did her mind decide to slip? It was such a rookie mistake.

  Hot tears scalded Hannah’s eyes as hope wilted like a cotton dress in July. There went a year’s worth of hard work down the drain. One word…one small, stupid word, and she couldn’t even get that right. So much for her fresh start.

  Disgusted with herself, Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t handle seeing judgment pinch the beautiful boy’s face. Better she just walked away now, kept her mouth closed, and minimized the impact. Waving a weak hand over her shoulder, she spun around and headed for home.

  “Hey.”

  Hannah’s footsteps faltered. The broken whisper had been so soft she was almost sure she’d imagined it—but something made her glance back anyway. Their gazes locked for three long beats, long enough for her belly to dance and twitch again with energy, and as the hard lines around the boy’s mouth softened in slow degrees, an emotion that looked like longing sparked in his eyes.

  “I’m Hannah,” she whispered back.

  Internally, she performed a fist pump for how clear the words had come out. She smiled cautiously, and the boy’s lips twitched in reply. Not really into a smile—it was still too cautious and guarded to be called that—but she sensed the expression was genuine. That was even better than a smile.

  “Deacon,” he replied. The sound of his husky voice created goose bumps on her skin. Her body was reacting so strangely today. Then Deacon glanced down at the split-wood stoop, cleared his throat, and said two words that would forever change Hannah’s life. “Wanna sit?”

  Chapter One

  Packing made Hannah’s head hurt. She’d never been very good at making decisions—well, other than ones involving triangular crayons, chicken nuggets, or fun-filled bubble wands—so when it came to choosing outfits for several days and an undecided variety of events, her anxiety level shot through the roof. What if it rained? What if the humidity level rose out of control? What if she woke up incredibly bloated and irritated and decided everything looked utterly horrid?

  There were simply too many unknowns to consider.

  However, as Hannah stared at not one but three empty suitcases splayed across her childhood bed and contemplated the surreal notion of traveling the continent with country music’s hottest band for months on end, she decided she actually wasn’t anxious. Nope. That emotion had sailed, and now, she was in a full-blown tizzy. The itinerary Blue’s manager, Arabella Stone, had sent her included television appearances, stadium concerts, outdoor festivals, and even a ritzy bash at the Grand Ole Opry. How did she even begin to prepare for such a trip? Everything about it was so far out of her league, she couldn’t even see the ballpark. Would people care what the band’s nanny wore? More importantly, would Deacon?

  That, of course, was the real dilemma…hell, it was always the dilemma…and the all too familiar chuckle of a certain fiddle player floating through her bedroom window did squat to ease the nerves hopping like trapped crickets in her stomach. Unfortunately, when it came to the undisputed, unrequited love of Hannah’s life, very little ever did.

  Biting her thumbnail, she glanced at the window. Now really wasn’t the time for a break. She’d yet to make a dent in her lengthy to-do list, and those suitcases weren’t going to fill themselves. Blue’s itinerary had them meeting in Charlotte at five thirty in the morning, which meant battling with early commuter traffic coming in from Lake Norman. She had a million things to do and zero time to do it in. But in the end, heart won over logic. Hannah never claimed to be reasonable.

  Quietly, as if they’d hear her below, she padded across the hardwood floor. With each soft footfall, she recalled a similar afternoon ten years ago—an afternoon that ended up changing her life.

  Unlike that long-ago day, this window faced Hannah’s backyard as opposed to the street, but after she pulled back the billowing gingham curtain, the view below made her heart beat every bit as wild as it had back then.

  “Base!” A little boy with chocolate-brown spikes slapped a pudgy hand on the double swing. The same swing his daddy had helped Hannah’s father build in high school. “Me the winner! Me the winner!”

  Even from a floor above, Hannah could see amusement shining in Deacon’s eyes. “Wow, I see that!” Swiping a hand across his mouth, he covered a smirk and shook his head. “How did you get to be so fast?”

  Her favorite two-year-old giggled in pure toddler delight, and the smile that stretched his sweet face beamed with pride. “I not know!”

  Max climbed up on the gently rocking swing, all soft elbows and rounded knees, and Deacon’s broad shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Buddy, that was sure impressive…but I’m not sure you understand how chase works. See, you were supposed to chase me.”

  Max huffed in exasperation. “I know dat.”

  The “no duh” was all but implied.

  Hannah bit back a laugh as Max plopped his bottom onto the seat of the swing and wiggled until he found a comfortable spot. Then, from beneath enviable lashes, he gazed up at his father with hero-like affection. “Push, pwease?”

  Tenderness flooded her best friend’s face, and Hannah’s belly bottomed out.

  Her lovesick sigh? Completely involuntary.

  The truth of the matter was Deacon Latrell did things to her. All he had to do was breathe and he affected her, but the unmistakable love that shined in his eyes whenever he looked at Max, or his sweet, happy smile whenever he was with her…they were both her kryptonite.

  Deacon sauntered behind the swing, covering the distance with his long-limbed grace. It really wasn’t fair. Half the time Hannah tripped over her own two feet, yet Deacon made walking look like some sort of dance. His gait was loose and his steps fluid, disguising the weight he’d always carried on his shoulders. Then again, so much had changed in the last couple of years.

  Some days it felt like they were picking back up exactly where they’d left off before she’d left for Paris, and others, it almost felt like they were strangers. While she’d been away, her best friend had formed this entirely new life without her. Joining Blue had changed him in many ways, and fatherhood had settled over him like a well-worn coat. Deacon now had a sense of confidence and purpose, and being a daddy to Max filled a hole that basketball, Hannah’s c
onstant encouragement, and even music never could.

  For that, she supposed, she should thank Max’s mother.

  A shiver ran through her. Nope, she wasn’t going there. Krista had taken far too much from Hannah as it was. She wasn’t about to let old memories steal today’s joy, too.

  Refocusing on her boys, Hannah watched Deacon nudge the swing higher, and a new memory took over—an afternoon when she’d been the one swinging, her best friend in the world standing behind her as he replaced their classmates’ cruel taunts with inside jokes and silly banter. Stitching her back together with each strong push.

  Back in those days, Deacon’s golden-brown hair had been shaggier, more wild and rebellious like the boy. As the wind tousled it now, Hannah had to admit his current style was just as sexy. Long on top, cropped short on the sides, Deacon’s hair shimmered in the late afternoon sun. Hannah’s fingers itched to slide through the soft strands.

  Trailing her gaze down farther, she felt a pull low in her stomach. A barely there beard showcased his sinful mouth, just enough scruff to tease her whenever he kissed her cheek. Well-worn denim hugged his long legs and narrow hips, and a plain white tee stretched across his muscular chest. Around his neck swung a lone dog tag, a graduation present Hannah had scrimped and saved to buy for him. There was so much to love about Deacon, but seeing that engraved Superman pendant, knowing that it symbolized how much their relationship meant to him, too, made Hannah fall for him even more.

  A soft grunt came from behind her, and Hannah turned her back to the window.

  “Returning from one trip,” Mama remarked, toting a piled-high laundry basket, “packing for another. Guess I should be grateful to see you at all.” She grinned as she plopped it onto the dresser. “Well, you and your frilly unmentionables. Can’t say I’ve ever seen underwear that fancy before. Certainly brightened up my laundry room, I’ll tell you that.”

  Almost afraid to look, Hannah peeked at the wicker basket. Sure enough, her more scandalous Parisian purchases sat on top of the heap, and an instant flush scorched her fair cheeks. She’d known she should’ve done her own laundry.