Irresistible: A Small Town Single Dad Romance (Cloverleigh Farms Series Book 1)
Irresistible: Chapter 3

My alarm went off at six-fifteen as usual, and I jumped into the shower. By six-thirty I was dressed for work and heading upstairs to wake the girls.

It had taken me a while, but I finally had the school morning routine down pat, and today went off with downright military precision.

Millie and Felicity showered at night and laid their clothing out before going to bed, so all I had to do was make sure they were fully awake before rousing Winifred. She could be slow to wake up, so I always helped her get out of her pajamas and into her school outfit. Like her sisters, she set her clothes out the night before, so it was usually a pretty quick thing, especially since she’d stopped wetting the bed.

By six-forty-five, I was downstairs putting breakfast on the table and guzzling coffee. By seven, the girls were eating while I packed snacks, water bottles, and cut the crusts off sandwiches, one peanut butter and jelly on wheat, one almond butter and honey on gluten-free white. (Why Millie still insisted on eating gluten-free these days was beyond me—it had been her mother’s thing. Did it make her feel closer to her mom somehow?) Winnie would eat at home with the sitter after preschool.

By seven-fifteen, backpacks and boots were lined up by the door and the kids were upstairs brushing their teeth. By seven-thirty, we were bundled up at the bus stop. By seven-forty, I’d kissed them all good-bye, told them I loved them, and to have a good day. I could tell by the look on Millie’s face today that she wasn’t going to stand for such public displays of affection much longer, but I planned to torture her as long as I could. They had no mother around, no grandparents (since my folks had retired to Arizona years ago and Carla’s lived in Georgia), and my sister Jodie’s family lived two hours away in Petoskey. So it was up to me to make sure those girls knew how loved they were, and if I fucked up every other part of being a single parent, I was not going to fail at that. It wasn’t their fault their mother and I couldn’t make things work.

By eight, I was on my way to Cloverleigh, feeling pretty damn smug. No one had cried, fought, or spilled their juice this morning. No one had reminded me at the last minute about a permission slip I’d forgotten to sign or money I’d forgotten to send in or asked me to please chaperone a field trip I didn’t want to go on, and I was like ninety-nine percent sure all of them had brushed their teeth. I hadn’t managed to get Felicity new boots yet, but I had found Winifred’s missing mitten.

“Fuck yeah, I’m awesome,” I said to myself, sipping from a travel mug Felicity had gotten me for Christmas with a picture of a Petoskey stone on it that said Dad, You Rock.

Taking another sip from the mug, I remembered how surprised I’d been when each of the girls had handed me a gift perfectly wrapped with holiday paper I didn’t recognize. How had they gone shopping for presents without me?

Later, Felicity let it spill that Frannie Sawyer had helped them pick out a couple little gifts for me online one afternoon while she was watching them. She’d had them shipped to her, then brought them over to be wrapped and placed under the tree. Frannie was like that, quick to step in when someone needed something, and always with a smile on her face. It was Frannie who’d offered to cut back her hours at the inn last summer in order to help me out with childcare after Carla took off. I’d nearly fallen to my knees with gratitude. She’d been a godsend.

At Christmas, I’d had them pick out a box of chocolates for her, which they gave to her at the staff holiday party. That was the night she’d given me the small sewing kit, and I’d felt guilty I hadn’t put my name on the card with the chocolates.

She’d looked even prettier than usual that night, and she’d smelled good too. I remembered impulsively hugging her (after a couple beers, no doubt) and thinking how long it had been since I’d had my arms around a woman, or held one close enough to catch the scent of her neck as she hugged me back. I didn’t have any female friends outside work, and I certainly didn’t date. Being that close to Frannie had been a shock to my senses, and I’d let her go quickly before my body betrayed my thoughts, which were something along the lines of Hey, I know you’re the boss’s daughter and the nanny (also my kids are right over there), but you smell amazing and your body looks perfect in that dress and I haven’t gotten laid in a reallllly long time, so what do you say we sneak into my office and fuck? I promise it will be quick, probably shamefully so, and not at all awkward to see you at work on Monday. Thanks.

Later that evening, she’d had the idea to take the kids for a ride in Cloverleigh’s old-fashioned horse-drawn sleigh. It was a refurbished antique Portland, with a curved dash and one single, red velvet-lined seat onto which the five of us squeezed, our laps covered with thick wool blankets. Somehow she’d ended up wedged in right next to me, and the scent of her perfume as well as the feel of her leg alongside mine kept me warm even as our noses and fingers and toes grew numb from cold.

Long after I’d taken the kids home and said goodnight, I lay in my bed thinking about her. I could still hear her laughing right along with the girls, see the roses in her cheeks and the snowflakes clinging to her long, wavy hair. It had made me wish she was still there next to me. How long had it been since I’d had someone warm and soft and sexy to mess around with in the dark?

Before I could help it, I was frantically getting myself off to the thought of her naked body beneath mine. Her breath on my lips. Her gray-green eyes closing. Her hands clutching the sheets. Her moan in my ear. I felt so guilty about it, I could barely look her in the eye the next time I saw her.

Didn’t stop me from doing it again, of course. In fact, she’d sort of become my go-to fantasy. I shook my head and finished what was left in my mug. What a pathetic fucking cliché I was: Divorced Dad Lusting after the Babysitter. As if a girl like her wanted anything to do with a guy like me—one with three kids and a bitter ex-wife.

But this morning, I was doing all right.

I pulled into the drive at Cloverleigh, parked in my assigned spot and headed into the inn through the front door, passing Frannie at reception on the way back to my office.

I may have done that on purpose. There was a back door closer to the administrative offices, but her smile had a way of making a bad morning good and a good one great.

She gave me one, her whole face lighting up. She’d been fidgeting with the ends of her sandy-colored hair, but she dropped her hands when she saw me. “Morning, Mack.”

“Morning, Frannie. How was your weekend?”

“Pretty good. We had that wedding party here the whole time.”

I paused with my hand on the door to the back hall. “Oh, that’s right. How did everything go?”

“Good.” She nodded enthusiastically. “Except the bride broke a strap on her dress and I had to use that little sewing kit I got you to fix it.” Her expression turned nervous. “I hope that’s okay.”

I smiled to reassure her. “No problem. It’s there when you need it.”

“Thanks.”

“Have a good one.” I pushed the door open and disappeared down the hall just as my cell phone vibrated in my pocket.

“Hello?”

“Hello Mack, it’s Mrs. Ingersoll.”

Miriam Ingersoll, a widowed friend of my mother’s, was my other babysitter. Monday through Wednesday she picked up Winifred from pre-school at eleven-thirty, met the older two at my house after they walked from the bus stop, then watched them all until I got home around five or six. On Thursdays and Fridays, Frannie was on duty.

“Hi, Mrs. Ingersoll. Everything okay?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not. I fell on the icy sidewalk this morning and broke my leg.”

“Oh, no.” I felt like an asshole, but immediately I thought about what this would mean for me and the kids. Then I remembered my manners. “Are you all right?”

“Not really. I’m at the hospital now, and my daughter is with me. I may need surgery.”

Closing my eyes, I set my messenger bag with my laptop in it on my desk. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s me who’s sorry, Mack. What about the kids?”

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll figure something out.”

“Are you sure? I could send my daughter to get them. She’s here with me now.”

I pressed my lips into a grim line. “No, that’s okay. You just focus on recovering. Have your daughter call me and let me know how you’re doing, okay?”

“Okay. Please tell the kids I’m sorry, too.”

“That’s all right. Get better soon.” We hung up and I sank into my chair. “Shit.”

“Everything okay?”

I looked up and saw Henry DeSantis, the winemaker at Cloverleigh in my office doorway. “Yes. No.” I set my phone down and ran a hand over my jaw. “My sitter broke her leg and can’t drive. I need to figure out what I’m going to do with my kids this afternoon.”

“Sorry. That sucks.”

“I’ll figure it out. What’s up?”

“Wanted to run some numbers by you before we meet with Sawyer regarding the repair of the bottling lines versus the purchase of new ones.”

I frowned. Sometimes the promotion to CFO seemed like more trouble than it was worth. But I’d needed the salary bump, and I liked the challenge. Plus, it was good to actually put my business degree to work. “Oh, right. What time is that meeting?”

“Ten.” He paused. “Need to reschedule?”

“No, I just need to—”

“Morning, Henry! Hey, Mack.” Chloe Sawyer ducked around DeSantis and edged into my office. “Got a second?”

“Actually, I—”

“I wanted to talk to you about the distillery idea I mentioned to you last week. I keep trying to talk to my dad about it, but I swear to God he’s dodging me.”

“Yeah, we do that when we know our daughters are about to ask for things we can’t afford.” I reached for my mug and found it empty. “I need more coffee. Preferably with some whiskey in it.”

Chloe laughed. “If we had a distillery on site, I’d have some for you. Are you having a bad morning?”

“Kind of. My sitter is out of commission and I need to replace a replacement before Winifred gets out of preschool at eleven-thirty.”

“Just have Frannie pick her up.”

“Frannie’s working. I don’t want to do that to her.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “She’s at reception. On a Monday morning. In February. It’s not like she’ll be busy. I’m sure Mom can cover for her.”

“I’ll come back a little later, Mack,” DeSantis said, backing out of my office. “If you get time, great. If not, no worries.”

I gave him a grateful look. DeSantis was a good guy. “I’ll replace the time. Give me thirty minutes to make a few phone calls and get the kids squared away.”

“I’ll go get you some coffee,” Chloe said.

“Thanks.” I picked up my phone again. Who could I ask to bail me out? My mother had a few friends left around here, but I didn’t have contact info for any of them. Mrs. Gardner next door was an option, although I wasn’t sure I wanted her driving my kids around in the snow at her age. While I was still sitting there frowning at my phone, I heard a voice.

“Knock, knock.”

I looked up and saw Frannie coming into my office with a steaming mug of coffee in her hands. “Here you go,” she said, setting it on my desk.

“Thanks.”

“Chloe said you need someone to watch the kids this afternoon?”

“Yeah.” I frowned. “Mrs. Ingersoll broke her leg and can’t drive.”

Frannie shrugged, tucking her hands in her back pockets. “I can do it.”

“What about the reception desk?”

“I’m only scheduled until one, and my mom is working too. We’re not that busy today. I have some social media stuff to do, but it’s nothing urgent.” She shrugged. “I don’t mind, really.”

“Are you sure?” I asked slowly. “I was trying to think of someone else who could help, but not having much luck. I could even run and pick her up and bring her back here so you don’t have to leave the desk too early.”

“That’s perfect. I’ll get her some lunch here, and then we’ll head back to your house in time to be there when Millie and Felicity get home.”

Picking up the cup of hot coffee, I looked at Frannie, half expecting her to sprout wings and a halo and float away. “You’re the best. I owe you one.”

Her cheeks went a little pink. “It’s nothing.”

“Right now, it’s actually everything. Thanks, Frannie.”

Blushing deeper, she smiled at me once more before leaving my office.

I tried not to look at her butt as she left, but her black pants were kind of tight and her shirt was tucked in. She had a great little figure—petite but curvy.

Alone again, I got to work, but Frannie’s smile stayed on my mind throughout the morning. And her pink cheeks. And her cute little ass.

Jesus, what was wrong with me? She was practically a kid, for chrissake. No way could she even be thirty, and soon I’d be pushing forty. And she had an innocence about her that made me feel even worse … yet it also made her more appealing.

For fuck’s sake. Stop it, you perv. She’s doing you a huge favor and doesn’t need you drooling over her like a starving dog. It’s not her problem you haven’t had sex in over a year.

Truth—I couldn’t even remember the last time Carla and I had done it. The sex had been so blah for so long, so disconnected and rote, that neither of us had bothered to initiate it much toward the end.

But that didn’t make it okay for me to get all worked up over Frannie. Even if she did seem like she might be a hell of a lot of fun in bed. Playful. Energetic. Eager to please.

Christ, MacAllister. Enough.

If ever there was a girl off limits, it was Frannie Sawyer. Shifting in my chair, I adjusted the crotch of my pants and put her out of my head.