“Are you okay?” she asked him. “Can you speak?”
His dark lashes fluttered then he opened his eyes and lit up in a smile. “Who are you?”
“I’m Meredith, your new nanny. But you can call me Meri.” She gently felt the back of his head to find a slight lump. “But are you okay? That was quite a fall you took.” She turned to the girl. “You were pretty rough on him.”
“George deserved it. Besides his head is hard as stone.” The girl folded her arms in front of her, glaring hostilely at Meredith. “Don’t baby him.”
“I think we should get an icepack for your head,” Meredith told the boy. She carefully stood, helping him to his feet. “Can you walk?”
“Uh-huh.” His eyes remained fixed on her. “You’re pretty, Meri.”
She smiled at the little flirt. “Thank you. Where can we find ice?”
He pointed toward the door then directed her through a large dining room and finally into a kitchen where Mrs. Warner was stirring a pot. “What happened?” she asked with only mild interest.
“This young man hit his head,” Meredith explained. “I think he could use an icepack.”
“Kat pushed me,” the boy said as Meredith helped him into a kitchen chair.
“There.” Mrs. Warner pointed at the oversized fridge and freezer. “I keep an icepack on hand.”
Meredith poked around in the freezer, finally spotting a blue bag of ice. “Does this happen a lot?”
“The children, as you may have just seen, are prone to fighting. Poor Mishka usually gets the brunt of it.”
“Mishka?” Meredith was confused. “I thought his name was George.”
“Mishka is a nickname,” Mrs. Warner explained.
Meredith turned her attention back to the boy. “Let’s put this on your head. You may need to lie down.”
“I’m okay.” He beamed up at her. “I have a hard head. But it’s not made of stone like Kat said.”
“No, of course not, uh, George.”
“You can call me Mishka,” he said brightly.
“Mishka. That’s an interesting name.”
“It means bear in Russian,” he proclaimed, standing a bit taller.
“I like it.”
“That’s what Mama called me.” His smile faded a bit, and Meredith wondered why he used the past tense. She glanced at Mrs. Warner, but the woman was occupied with the stove.
“I’m okay, Meri.” He slid out of the chair to his feet then took her hand.
“Are you sure?” This time her inquiring glance was answered with a shrug.
“Looks all right to me,” Mrs. Warner told Meredith, smiling at the boy. “Mishka, why don’t you show Miss Meredith around. She just got here, you know. Help her to feel at home.”
“Okay.” Still holding her hand, he led her out of the kitchen. “This is the dining room,” he explained. “But you probably know that.”
“I sort of figured that one out.” She smiled at him.
“Want to see my favorite room?”
“Sure. Is it the playroom?”
