minute, one-way, cross-country plane ticket to rescue Matty from foster care. The few dollars she'd possessed over and above the fare had gone to restoring Cleo's utilities, buying groceries, and dressing Matty in something besides rags. She'd never earned enough in her few years as a teacher to build a cushion of savings.
Tears filled her eyes, and she hastily wiped them away as Axell opened the passenger door and held out his hand to her. Matty and Constance were already scurrying out of the back seat.
She curled her fingers into her palms and stalled with the practice of a lifetime of rebelling against hand-outs. "I'll wait here while you take Constance in."
"Don't be ridiculous. I've got room, and you're exhausted. You can have a room near Constance. In the morning, things will look better."
"I've had a lot of experience with mornings. Generally, they only look worse." She refused his hand. She'd earned her degree so she would never have to take charity or depend on anyone else again.
He withdrew his hand impatiently. "Look, you can sleep in the car if you like. I've got to get back to the restaurant after I see Constance settled, but I can take the Rover."
The Rover looked to be a looming utility vehicle of horrendous size on the far side of the garage. Two vehicles and one driver. Conspicuous consumption. She didn't have the energy to sniff her disapproval. Terror had replaced her brain.
As Axell turned away, Maya halted him. "What good is it showing Matty what he cannot have?" she demanded. "It would be much kinder if you'd take us to the school."
He didn't turn as he contemplated her words, leaving Maya a view of his wide shoulders. He'd removed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, but the carelessness didn't conceal that he was accustomed to dealing from a position of strength: physical and emotional as well as financial. He had absolutely no concept of what it was like to worry that the roof over his head and the food in his mouth could be stripped away if he said the wrong thing, opened the wrong door, wore the wrong clothes.
The automatic garage lights blinked out and Axell hit the switch restoring them. The action apparently bolstered his decision. He turned and faced her with no expression.
"Children adapt," he snapped. "You're the one with the problem. If you want that school of yours to survive, you'd better learn to start working with others."
This time, he didn't offer a helping hand. He strode into the house, leaving her sitting in the enormously expensive car, staring at a wall of gleaming, unused garden tools. He didn't even tend his own yard.
Well, he'd given her a choice, of sorts. She could sit there until he got tired of looking at her and took her back to the school. She could borrow the money from Selene and go back to California with Matty. It would mean living off friends until the baby was born since she'd never find a job in this condition.
Or she could get up and follow Axell Holm into the world of the wealthy, a world she'd never known, frequently despised, often envied, and always feared.
Maya pinched her eyes closed. Either way, she lost her independence. Why not wait until after she was well rested to decide between a rock and a hard place?
* * *
Removing cash from his pocket to pay off the baby-sitter, Axell curbed his impatience as Maya occupied the woman with chatter, drew Constance into the conversation, and appeared in no particular hurry to accept the shelter and comfort of the room he offered. As far as he could see, Matty had settled quite comfortably into a fascinated trance in front of the television.
No matter what Maya thought, he wasn't offering charity. He'd simply grabbed the most expedient method of installing a mother figure in the house for Constance and stalling Sandra a while longer.
Somewhere on the ride here, his good intention of offering a night's shelter had developed into the insane idea that he'd been handed the golden opportunity to solve all his problems. With the schoolteacher in residence, Constance wouldn't need Sandra.
He was a quick study. Maybe he could learn how Maya drew words out of his noncommunicative daughter. He would give anything, do anything, to have the same rapport with his daughter that Maya had.
He was a desperate man.
So, watch and learn, he told himself as Maya stroked his daughter's hair, talked about the