Читать онлайн книгу "Operation Mommy"
Operation Mommy
Caroline Cross
The Single DadThough Alex Morrison's three little sons had terrific taste in picking out a dream mom, he had no intention of marrying the woman they chose. The boys wanted a mother, but Alex wasn't getting hitched - ever. The Matchmaking Kids The minute the Morrison boys met Shay Spencer, they put "Operation Mom" into place. She could handle anything - missing gerbils, exploding ant farms… even their dad. And the plan was working - sort of. The Perfect MomAll "Operation Mom" did was make Shay fall madly in love with the most confirmed bachelor father in the West. Perhaps it was time for "Operation Husband"… .
Operation Mommy
Caroline Cross
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Jim, Jessica and Katy who gave up their summer plans so I could spend mine with Alex, Shay and Brady. And to Sandi and Melinda, who answered the phone—even when they knew it was me. I wouldn’t have made it without you.
Contents
Prologue (#u3d965c31-72df-589b-909f-65935450361a)
One (#ua10075f3-d36a-5c5f-a075-4bd5c9d2fcf6)
Two (#u4a0d14c2-224b-5abd-81a0-046df167924f)
Three (#u7930bb78-1490-5d9f-bf59-e1e125007911)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
Dateline: July 1
To: Beau Morrison Correspondent, World News International
Magazine c/o Istanbul News Desk Micromini cassette tape No. 1
Hey, Uncle Beau! It’s me, your favorite nephew, Brady. And I bet you can’t guess, not in a million, kazillion years, how come I’m sending this tape to you.
The reason is—I found her! I finally found the most perfect, awesome mom in the world for me and Nick and Mikey! And I bet you’re gonna be real happy, �cuz it’s your friend, Shay, who you sent to stay at your cottage!
She’s so cool, Uncle Beau.
You won’t believe what happened the first time I met her. The Prune Face—that’s our new nanny—invited Shay to come swimming at the pool. And when Shay did, Leonardo, my lizard, crawled into her beach bag to take a little nap.
I’m telling you, Uncle Beau, me and Nick and Mikey waited a trillion years for her to stick her hand in there. And when she finally did, we waited another bazillion for her to scream and stuff.
Only she didn’t. She just took out her suntan lotion and leaned back in her chair and said, “Did I tell you boys about the time your uncle and I did a story on the Amazon? The natives there made the best lizard stew. Maybe you’d like to come by the cottage tonight and try some?”
Of course, Mikey started to cry. So then the Prune wanted to know what was going on. Only Shay didn’t tell. She just smiled and gave Mikey a hug and told him not to worry. And she told the Prune it was all a mistake and then waited until the Prune wasn’t looking to give Leo back.
That’s when I knew Shay was the one, Uncle Beau. But just to make sure—picking a new mom is a really important job, you know—I’ve been checking her out.
Guess what? She’s better than perfect.
She doesn’t faint at the sight of blood or get mad if her hair gets wet or her clothes get dirty. She likes dogs, cats, rats and gerbils, and she isn’t afraid of snakes or spiders. And she knows lots of mom stuff. Like how come your fingers get wrinkled in the bathtub, the difference between a T. rex and a pterodactyl, that chocolate chip cookies make owies feel better and even how to do the Heimlich maneuver! But best of all, she doesn’t talk to me or Nick or Mikey like we’re dumb little kids, even if sometimes Mikey is one.
I thought about what you said—about how Daddy might not want to get married again. But the thing is, Uncle Beau, he’s never home, so why should he care, anyway? Right now, he’s in dumb old Florida buying another resort, and even though we talk on the phone, it’s not the same as having him here. Sometimes I don’t think he remembers Nick and Mikey are still little kids. I mean, I’m almost nine so I can take care of myself, but they need somebody to watch out for them.
That’s why I made a plan. I call it Operation Mommy, and I just know it’s gonna work. As soon as Mrs. Rosencrantz, our housekeeper, leaves for her vacation, I’m gonna get rid of the Prune so me and Nick and Mikey will be all alone. Shay will have to take care of us then, and Daddy will be so worried he’ll come right home. When he gets here I’m gonna have candles and flowers and music, and Shay will have on a real pretty dress. Daddy will think she’s beautiful, and be so-o-o glad she took such good care of us, he’ll ask her to marry him. And of course she’ll say yes!
It’s gonna be perfect, only I hope they don’t kiss all the time and—
Oops, the Prune is yelling again. She says I need to come Right this minute. Maybe she found the green food coloring we put in her face lotion....
I love you, Uncle Beau, only don’t tell anybody I said so, �kay? I promise I’ll send another tape soon to tell you how everything goes.
This is me, Brady P. Morrison, signing off.
P.S. I think my birthday—it’s August 2, just in case you forgot—would be perfect for the wedding. How about you?
One
Port Sandy, Washington
July 5
“Hey, Shay!” Brady yelled into the clothes hamper. “Guess what?”
Shay Spenser, wedged tightly in the laundry chute several feet below floor level, winced as the boy’s cheerful voice echoed around her. “I don’t know,” she called back. “What?”
“Nick says he can see an ambulance and a ladder truck!”
Sure enough, now that Shay listened for it, she could hear the rise of two different approaching sirens.
“We never had a ladder truck before!” Brady declared in excitement, as unconcerned about the broader ramifications of her plight as only an eight-year-old could be. “Isn’t it cool?”
Unfortunately, Shay had twenty-two years on the boy and, at the moment, was feeling every one. “Oh, yeah. Cool.” Even as she uttered the words, a horrific vision of hoards of firemen descending on the deluxe, fully remodeled, turn-of-the-century house where she was stuck filled her head. The way her luck was running, her rescuers would probably rappel up the pristine white siding, break out a few leaded-glass windows and use fire axes to chop her free.
Shay stifled a groan. If Alex Morrison, the owner of the house and the boys’ father, ever decided to come home from his marathon Florida business trip, he’d probably have her arrested.
But then, it wasn’t solely her fault that the simple humanitarian act of trying to retrieve the boys’ runaway gerbil from the laundry hamper had landed her in this mess. After all, how could she possibly have known the hamper had a hinged bottom? Or that it opened onto a laundry chute big enough to swallow a person?
She couldn’t. Nor, for that matter, would she be in this fix if Alex Morrison were any sort of responsible father. Not only had he been gone on business for six weeks—an eternity in the lives of his three young sons—but two days ago, when the boys’ nanny had abruptly quit, he’d been too busy to return his own son’s phone call informing him of the fact!
While it was true the agency that supplied the nanny had called to apologize for the woman’s abrupt departure and to arrange for a temporary replacement until Mr. Morrison could be contacted, Shay was far from appeased. What sort of sorry excuse for a father treated his own kids so indifferently?
“Shay? Is it okay if I go look at the trucks?” Brady asked. “I’ll only go as far as the window. I promise.”
“Sure. Go for it.”
“All right!” The hamper door swished shut above her.
Shay shook her head. During her ten years as a journalist, first as an independent, and more recently for WNI magazine, she’d been pinned down by sniper fire in Beirut, had her Land Rover attacked by a bad-tempered rhino in Kitgum, and been held hostage briefly by guerrilla forces in El Salvador. This ought to rate as minor in comparison.
Yet right now it didn’t feel like it. Her shins smarted from where she’d scraped them when she’d slipped, her shoulders ached from being wedged against the metal shaft, and she was starting to get a headache from being upside down for too long.
Adding to her misery was the growing evidence that Brutus, the creature responsible for her predicament, seemed to be getting more agitated as time passed. Although she had a firm grip on the little creature, his pointy toenails were dug into her palm, and any second now she expected to feel the sting of his sharp little teeth, as well. After her years in the news business, Shay could just imagine the headline: “Award-winning journalist savaged by rodent in bizarre accident. Details page 5.”
Her friend Beau would probably laugh himself silly and say this was what happened to misguided journalists who thought they wanted out of the business. Furthermore, he’d probably claim that this was why he’d lent her his cottage on his brother’s Puget Sound estate in the first place—so she could discover for herself how ill-suited she was for “normal” life.
Well, maybe he was right, Shay thought wryly, as a noisy rush of footsteps sounded overhead. A second later Brady, Nick and Mikey began to shout, “Up here! We’re up here!”
She heard a distant cry of acknowledgement, followed by the din of booted feet thundering up the stairs and coming down the hall. She flinched as she pictured the black marks the firemen’s rubber-soled boots would leave on the pale wood floors and thick carpets...a half second before she reminded herself to be grateful for small favors.
At least they weren’t hacking their way through the walls.
Above her, the tromping stopped and a barrage of questions started.
“Did one of you kids call 911?”
“Where’s the injured party?”
“Is your mom or dad home?”
“This better not be a prank!”
“Are you boys here all alone?”
“What’s the problem?”
As Shay could’ve predicted, all three Morrisons tried to answer at once.
“We don’t got a mom,” Mikey volunteered.
“Brady called. He’s the oldest!” Nick declared.
“It’s Shay,” Brady said urgently. “She’s stuck in the laundry chute!”
“Hold on, son. She who?”
“Not she, Shay!” Brady corrected, sounding exasperated.
Shay sighed. “Hang in there, Brutus. From the sound of things, it’s going to be a while before we’re liberated.”
* * *
“Just make sure they’ve initialed those lease-reversion clauses when the contracts show up, Helen,” Alex Morrison said into the car phone, guiding his sleek silver Mercedes into the divided highway’s passing lane to get around a slow-moving tractor-trailer rig. “It’s taken six weeks to get them included—I don’t want any more delays or screw ups. Have the attorneys go over them, and if everything looks all right, messenger them to me at the house.”
“Yes, sir.” Helen O’Connell, Alex’s longtime secretary, sounded crisp and efficient as usual. “Anything else?”
Alex gave a tired sigh. “I hope not. After the past few weeks, I’m ready for some quiet time at home.”
Helen made a commiserating sound. “I trust everything is all right with the boys, then?”
Alex frowned. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Oh, it’s only that when Brady called—”
“Hold on. Brady called? When?”
“Why, day before yesterday.” The line crackled briefly as the road dipped. “Don’t tell me Whitset didn’t give you my message?”
“Whitset? Whitset’s wife went into labor two days ago. He fainted in the delivery room and knocked himself silly. When he came to, he barely remembered his name, much less to pass on any messages.”
“Oh, dear,” Helen said.
“Right,” Alex said grimly. “Did Brady mention why he was calling?”
There was a pause before Helen said apologetically, “Well, yes and no. He said there was something about Mrs. Kiltz he needed to tell you.”
For an instant Alex’s mind was blank and then he swore under his breath. Mrs. Kiltz was the nanny he’d hired right before he left. “Great. Did he say what?”
“No, sir. He just asked that you call.”
“You didn’t hear sirens or anyone screaming, did you?”
He was only half joking, and Helen knew it. “Not this time,” she quickly reassured him. “Actually, now that I think about it, he seemed extremely cheerful, so I’m sure it couldn’t have been anything too major. I asked if Mrs. Rosencrantz had left for her vacation on schedule, and he said yes. I asked if things were all right with the temp the agency sent to fill in for her, and he said yes. And when I asked how everything else was, why, he laughed and said it was perfect.”
“Terrific.” Alex’s apprehension shot up a notch. The last time Brady had claimed everything was “perfect” had been right before a Lawrence of Arabia play set, complete with a genuine Bedouin tent and a pair of very cranky camels, had been delivered to the house.
Purchased at great expense through one of the home shopping channels on Alex’s credit card, the play set had been touted as the ultimate educational experience. Heaven knew Alex had certainly learned a lot. He’d learned the true meaning of the phrase “all purchases final.” He’d learned that in Port Sandy County, camels were considered exotic pets and that you were hit with a whopping fine if you didn’t have the proper permit to keep them. He’d learned that when annoyed, the homely creatures spit. But most of all, he’d learned to be on guard when his eldest son started bandying about the word perfect.
“Is that all, sir?”
“Yes. Unless the house has burned down—” he tried to inject a light note into his voice and failed “—I should be in the office sometime next week before I leave for New Mexico. You know the drill—if anything comes up, call.”
“Yes, sir. And don’t worry. I’m sure everything is fine with the boys.”
“Right. See you next week.” Alex disconnected, waited for a dial tone, then punched his home number on the speed dial at the same time he slowed the Mercedes for his exit.
He turned west at the bottom of the ramp and headed into the late-afternoon sun, grateful for the car’s air conditioning. He listened impatiently as the phone began to ring. He was too tired for this right now, he thought. When he had gone to Aristo Cay Resort at the end of May, he’d never expected to be there six weeks. After negotiating its purchase from the Carlyle family for months prior to his arrival, he’d been confident the deal was set and all that was left to do was fine-tune the agreement.
A major miscalculation on his part. But then, there was no way he could have known that Hiram Carlyle’s only daughter, Miranda, had recently divorced. Or that she would take one look at him and get it into her head that a temporary merger should be a condition of the sale.
Alex grimaced. Although he hadn’t lived like a monk in the four years he’d been widowed, he had made it a firm rule not to mix sex with either his business or family life.
Where his family was concerned, his reasoning was simple. His sons had already lost their mother. No matter what it took, he was determined to protect them from such heartbreak in the future. Since he knew he’d never remarry, there was no reason to involve the boys with women he knew would never be more than casual companions.
Professionally, it was simply a sound business practice. He was thirty-five, unmarried, and CEO of Morrison Retreats, which owned and operated five small, exclusive resorts spread across the United States. The business had been his salvation after his wife died, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize it for anything as fleeting as physical pleasure.
Convincing Miranda Carlyle of that, however, had taken a while.
On the other end of the line, the phone continued to ring. Where the heck was everyone? Even if the nanny was tied up with the boys—or the boys had tied her up, which had actually happened a few sitters ago, the housekeeper, temp or not, ought to answer.
Unless something had happened. Unless—
Alex took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. Knock it off. Just because no one’s answering the phone doesn’t mean something has happened. More likely the housekeeper was vacuuming and didn’t hear the phone, and Mrs. Kiltz and the boys were taking a nature walk or something.
Except that Brady had told Helen there was a problem.
Alex ground his teeth against an urge to curse. He jerked the phone away from his ear, thought for a moment, hit the disconnect button and again pressed the speed dial. Once more the phone began to ring, although a quick glance at the dashboard clock, which read half past five, made it unlikely this call would be answered, either.
Two rings later there was a click on the line, and a recorded voice said cheerfully, “You have reached Aunt Frannie’s Nannys, quality domestic caregivers for young and old. We are not in at the moment, but if you’d like to leave a message, we’ll be happy to return your call.”
Scowling, Alex left his name and number. He turned south onto the dead-end road that led to his house above the coast, switched on the radio and tried to forget about everything but getting home as fast as possible. Pressing on the accelerator, he felt a grim satisfaction as the sleek sedan surged forward, only to have his stomach plummet some ten minutes later when he approached his driveway and found the electronically operated gate wide open.
Gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, he stomped on the gas petal and shot through the opening, oblivious to the bright splashes of magenta, rose and crimson from the late-blooming rhododendrons that lined the long circular drive.
It took what felt like hours before he rounded the final curve. The house rose up in front of him, three stories tall, a glorious sight with its dark green trim and its rows of windows sparkling in the bright summer light.
Alex didn’t notice. He was too busy trying to swallow the fear that choked him as he saw the pair of emergency vehicles parked ahead. His gaze swung wide, taking in the carved double doors that led into the house. They were standing wide open.
He slammed the car to a stop, threw open the door and leapt out. Racing across the manicured lawn, he ducked around a Japanese maple, pelted up the shallow brick steps and slid to a halt in the marble-floored foyer. After the glittering warmth of the sunshine, the vast hall felt cool, dusky—
And quiet. Unnaturally, ominously quiet. “Brady! Nicholas! Michael! Hello—is anybody here?”
Silence. For the space of a heartbeat he didn’t hear a sound but his own labored breathing. Then he detected a faint tapping noise and a murmur of voices coming from overhead.
He bolted up the wide, curved stairway and along the railed balcony that overlooked the foyer, heading toward the children’s wing of the house. Whipping around a corner, he faltered as he approached the boys’ oversize bathroom and spied several uniformed men standing inside.
Oh, no. Had Nick been playing sock hockey, slipped and hit his head? Or maybe it was Mikey. Perhaps his youngest son had tried to wash and blow dry the hamster again, only this time had been electrocuted for his troubles instead of merely nipped. Or what if it was Brady? What if, despite all the warnings, Brady had attempted to put another smoke bomb together and—
He drew a deep breath. Get a grip, Morrison. You aren’t going to be worth zip if you keep this up. Reaching down deep inside, he tapped into the well of icy calm he had discovered when Allison died and shoved aside his panic.
By the time he strode into the bathroom, he had himself frigidly under control. “I’m Alex Morrison. Who’s in charge here? What’s going on?”
For an instant the room fell silent. The three firemen who were clustered around the wall on Alex’s left stopped talking, while a pair of paramedics standing a dozen feet straight ahead turned to stare.
And then the quiet was shattered by a trio of high, young voices. “Daddy!” four-year-old Mikey cried, his face lighting up as he raced around the half wall that separated the bathtub from the rest of the room and launched himself at his father.
“Daddy!” Six-year-old Nick’s voice rang with excitement as he pelted after his little brother.
“Daddy?” Brady popped around the corner to stare at his father in undisguised horror. “What are you doing here!”
Like Alex himself, all three boys had brown eyes and brown-blond hair. Mikey, slight and angular, had his mother’s sweet smile and sensitive nature. Nick was sturdy and round-cheeked, with a sprinkle of freckles across his nose and an easy-to-read expression. But it was Brady who drew the eye. Slim and reedy, with intent brown eyes and an engaging grin, he had more curiosity than a convention of rocket scientists, more energy than a fleet of nuclear submarines and more enthusiasm than a gymnasium of cheerleaders—a combination that attracted trouble the way flowers drew bees.
At the moment, he was staring at his father as if he were an escaped felon caught in a spotlight.
Alex gave the two younger boys a brief awkward hug, then peeled them off his pant legs as he focused on his firstborn son. “We wrapped up the negotiations,” he said slowly. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“But I’m not ready!”
“Ready?” Alex raised one eyebrow. “For what?”
Brady became instantly fascinated with the toe of his sneaker. “Well, you know...” he mumbled. “Stuff.”
Alex’s apprehension grew. He shifted his gaze to his middle son. “Nicholas? You want to tell me what’s going on?”
After a quick sideways glance at his big brother, Nick also developed a sudden infatuation with his feet.
There was a moment’s tense silence. And then Mikey tugged on his father’s sleeve and said clearly, “Shay’s stuck.”
Alex’s gaze softened as he stared down at his youngest child. “She who’s stuck?”
Brady sighed. “Not she, Shay,” he murmured.
“It was a mersion of missy, Daddy,” Mikey said earnestly. “She saved Bwutus.”
Brady sighed again. “Mission of mercy, Mikey.”
“Yeah!” Nick chimed. “Everybody knows that. Besides, it was your fault!”
Mikey’s lower lip trembled. “Was not.”
“Was too! If you’d just holded on to Brutus like you were supposed to, none of this would’ve happened!”
“Who is Brutus?” Alex asked.
Mikey’s eyes flooded with tears. “He’s my g-gerbil. Uncle J-James sended him for my end-of-school pwesent. Brady gots a lizard and Nick got Ike and Spike. I got Bwutus. He’s my bestest fwiend.”
Alex’s mouth tightened. He made a mental note to call his younger brother James and ask him—again—to refrain from sending the boys any more pets.
Which he’d be sure to do after he got to the bottom of the current situation. “So what’s Brutus got to do with—”
“Pardon me, fellows,” a faint, disembodied voice interrupted. “But do you think you could save the discussion for later and get me out of here? Soon?”
Alex jerked around, telling himself the voice couldn’t possibly have come from the floor vent the way he thought it had. “What the—” He stopped in shock as the tallest of the fireman stepped forward, making it possible for Alex to see that the other two men were in the process of lifting the built-in clothes hamper out of the wall. “Is there someone down there?” he exclaimed in disbelief.
“Don’t worry, sir.” The tall fireman stuck out his hand. “Lieutenant Malloy, Port Sandy Fire Department. The lady—your child-care provider, we gathered from the boys?—says she’s fine. As far as we can tell, she only dropped about five feet before the bend in the chute stopped her.”
“I...see,” Alex said, his gaze riveted on the hole on the wall. Truthfully, he didn’t see at all. Try as he might, he not only couldn’t imagine tall, stately Mrs. Kiltz doing something so undignified, but he also found it hard to believe she’d actually been able to fit in such a narrow space....
“Like I said, don’t worry,” the lieutenant repeated, nodding at his men to proceed. “We should have her out in no time.”
Frozen in disbelief, Alex watched as the firemen fed a line with a noose at the end down the now-gaping hole in his wall. They fished for a moment and then Mrs. Kiltz, sounding very unKiltzlike, called out, “Bingo! Nice toss, guys!”
The firemen grinned and began to reel in the line. Moments later a pair of small, sneaker-shod feet appeared. While one fireman leaned back, keeping the line taut, the other reached forward, grabbed the bare, slender ankles attached to the feet, and pulled.
Like a genie emerging from a bottle, a woman popped out of the depths of the wall. Dressed in khaki shorts and a loose navy T-shirt, her back to the room, she was small and slim, with dark glossy hair and a nice, firm fanny.
Alex had never seen her before in his life.
Shock stole his voice. Before he could recover it, the room erupted in a flurry of activity. First, the paramedics rushed past, blocking the stranger from view as she sank to the ground and they moved in to check her out. Next, all three boys darted over, practically trampling Alex in their haste to get close to the stranger. Everyone began to talk.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” Lieutenant Malloy asked.
“I’m fine,” she murmured in a husky alto. “I really appreciate you getting me out.”
“Those are pretty nasty scrapes on your legs,” one of the paramedics stated. “If you’ll just sit still for a minute we can—”
“I’m fine, really,” she insisted.
“She’s tough,” Brady said, a disturbing note of pride in his voice.
“Was it dark?” Nick asked.
“Were you ascared?” Mikey inquired.
“Yes, it was, and no, I wasn’t. I had Brutus to keep me company, remember?”
“Hand me a sterile 9-O pack, would you, Bill? I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is going to sting a little.”
“Well, Mr. Morrison—” Malloy stepped over to Alex, pulled out a small notepad and began to write in it as he talked “—it looks as if everything turned out all right here. I’ll send you a copy of my report, of course, but I might as well tell you right now, I am going to recommend that you close up that chute. In addition to the obvious danger to your children, the thing’s a fire hazard.” He tore the piece of paper from the pad and handed it to Alex.
It was a citation for violating the county fire code. “Now just one minute—” Alex protested.
Malloy held up a hand for silence as the two-way radio hooked to his belt began to squawk. He listened intently as the dispatcher requested assistance at a house fire with possible injuries and rattled off an address. He unclipped the radio and spoke rapidly into it, before saying to the other men, “Gentlemen, that’s only a few miles from here. Let’s move it!”
The men went into high gear. The paramedics quickly finished while the three fireman hurriedly repacked equipment, and then all five began an orderly stampede for the door. Not more than fifteen seconds later a pair of sirens began to shrill as the Port Sandy Fire and Rescue Team departed.
Alex tried to staunch a growing sense of disorientation. It’s just jet lag, he told himself impatiently. Except that he felt as if he’d entered an entire other dimension rather than merely a different time zone—a feeling that intensified tenfold as he got his first frontal view of the stranger.
Under a short, severely cut mop of inky hair, she had dark, intelligent eyes fringed by sooty lashes, a straight little nose and a surprisingly lush mouth that quirked up at the corners, hinting at a dimple in one cheek. Although she wasn’t exactly pretty, her face sparkled with such energy and good humor that it made her extremely compelling. She also had one of the most flawless complexions he’d ever seen.
Like a match being struck, awareness burned a path down his spine and set off a sharp burst of heat inside him.
Would her skin be smooth and creamy...everywhere? Would the generous curve of her mouth feel as good trailing over him as he imagined it would? And what about her eyes? Would they get bigger and darker if he stroked his thumbs across her—
“Hey, Daddy? Aren’t you gonna say something?”
Brady’s cheerful voice poured over Alex like a bucket of cold water.
What the hell was the matter with him? What did he think he was doing, having carnal thoughts about a woman he didn’t even know? In front of his children, for God’s sake?
All the fear and frustration of the day seemed to coalesce. He felt a sudden surge of anger, at himself, at the situation, at her for undermining his control.
“I don’t know who you are,” he said abruptly, blanking the emotion from his face and voice with an effort. “But I’m Alex Morrison. This is my house and those—” he nodded at the boys, who were clustered around her as if she belonged and he was the interloper “—are my sons. And you have exactly ten seconds to tell me who you are, how you came to be in my house and what the heck you were doing in my laundry chute.”
She shoved a strand of dark silky hair off her cheek, her gaze never leaving his face. Her mouth quirked up. “Or?”
He couldn’t believe her nerve. He glowered at her. “Or else I’ll call the police.”
Two
Lord love a duck. Beau’s big brother was a hunk.
A rude, bad-tempered hunk, but still... Shay stared up at him, feeling as if she’d been poleaxed.
Decked out in spotless white bucks, nubby vanilla-colored linen slacks, a smooth white shirt and a loosely woven, gold-tone tie that matched his eyes, Alex Morrison was not merely gorgeous.
He was perfect.
There wasn’t a single strand of his thick, straight, gold-on-bronze hair out of place. Nor was there so much as one, solitary unshaven whisker to mar the splendor of his square chin or lean cheeks. Even his shirtsleeves, rolled back to reveal tan, well-toned forearms, looked as if the folds had been precisely measured exactly to match each other.
He was the epitome of manly elegance. And for some strange reason, the longer she looked at him the more she wanted to wrestle him to the ground and muss him up a little.
For starters, anyway.
Her reaction stunned her. She’d worked with a variety of men over the years and had never before felt an urge to attack one. Frozen with dismay, all she could do was stare when Alex crossed his arms and said brusquely, “Well?” His striking golden eyes bored into her.
Well, what? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the question. “I—I—” Great. I’m babbling like an idiot.
Brady, bless his heart, came to her rescue. “Da-a-ad!” the boy wailed, making a strangled sound midway between acute exasperation and utter mortification. “You can’t call the police! C-can you?”
The child’s distress made Shay forget her own and brought her composure flooding back. “It’s all right, sweetie,” she murmured, finding her tongue. “I’ll handle this.” Carefully transferring Brutus to Mikey, she told herself she should actually be glad of this proof that Alex Morrison wasn’t as indifferent to his sons’ welfare as she’d previously believed.
Even if his behavior was a little heavy-handed.
She took a deep breath, climbed to her feet, squared her shoulders and stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Shay Spenser.”
Alex’s shuttered gaze flicked from her face to her bandaged shins and back again before his fingers closed briefly over hers. He inclined his head a curt inch. “Ms. Spenser.” The warmth of his palm was in marked contrast to his icy tone.
He waited. With growing impatience. Until suddenly Shay realized that, despite Mikey’s earlier mention of her mission of mercy—and the fact that she’d just handed the child his gerbil—Alex expected her to explain herself.
The last of her preoccupation with his looks evaporated.
Well, for heaven’s sakes! What did he think? That she’d crawled down the laundry chute to steal his socks and taken Brutus along as an alibi?
She drew herself up to her full height. “Mikey’s gerbil got into the hamper. I leaned in to grab him, overbalanced when one of the boys bumped into me, and the latch on the bottom gave way when I fell against it.” A trace of asperity crept into her voice. “I believe you know the rest.”
“Yes.” He made no attempt to disguise his less-than-flattering opinion of it, either. It was apparent in the stiff way he stood, feet apart, hands resting loosely on his hips, his dark gold eyes narrowed at her. “That answers one question. Now, how about the other?”
Piqued by his attitude, she stared right back. “What other?”
“What are you doing in my house? Where’s Mrs. Kiltz?”
He was definitely too uptight. Give her a laid-back, just-stepped-out-of-a-wind-tunnel kind of guy any day. “That’s two questions.”
“Oh, for—”
Brady gallantly took a half step forward and entered the fray. “Mrs. Kiltz quit, Dad.”
“What?” Alex’s golden gaze jerked toward his oldest son.
“She quit,” Brady repeated.
“When?”
The boy shrugged, clearly unconcerned with such trifling details. “I dunno.... Day before yesterday, maybe?”
“Actually, it was the day before that,” Shay supplied.
“Day before—? Why the he—” catching himself mid-curse, Alex made an admirable attempt to change course “—ck didn’t somebody call me?”
Brady frowned sternly at his father. “I did. You were supposed to call me back.”
Much to Shay’s surprise, Alex actually looked sheepish. “You’re right. I didn’t get the message. But that doesn’t explain why—”
“Mrs. Kiltz was nasty,” Nick spoke up. “She yelled. A lot.”
Mikey nodded solemnly. “Uh-huh. She said we were deviled prawns, Daddy.”
At his father’s blank look, Brady rolled his eyes. “Devil’s spawns, Dad.”
At that, Alex went very still and then his mouth tightened ominously.
Aunt Frannie better have her act together, Shay found herself thinking. Because unless she was badly mistaken, come the morning, heads were going to roll in Nannyland.
A little swell of approval washed through her. Maybe Alex wasn’t so bad, after all. Maybe he had a headache. Or maybe he was tired. Or maybe his briefs were too tight and that was the cause of his ill humor....
“All right.” He laced his hands together and ruined her attempt to give him the benefit of the doubt by turning a speculative, suspicious look on her and the boys that didn’t bode well for the future. “So who wants to explain why Mrs. Kiltz said that. And why she quit?” He knit his straight dark eyebrows together—the color startling in contrast to the gilt strands of his hair—and waited.
“Who knows?” Brady said quickly, in a tone that seemed to ask, Who knew why grown-ups did anything?
Unfortunately, Mikey took him literally. “I do,” the four-year-old said proudly. “It was Ike and Spike, Daddy. Mrs. Kiltz was ascared of them.” He turned to his older brothers. “Doncha remember? She screamed really loud when she—ow!” Mikey howled. “Daddy, Brady pinched me!”
Brady rounded his eyes innocently. “I did not!”
Alex’s voice rose as he tried to make himself heard over the sudden din. “Who are Ike and Spike?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Brady said hastily. “What matters is that there was somebody here to take care of us, to make sure nothing bad happened to us. Right?” He stared expectantly at his father.
“Yes, of course, but—”
“Then you should be happy �cuz Shay was here and she took really good care of us.” Brady’s mouth pursed for a second as he thought hard, and then his expression cleared. “She made us wash both our hands. And eat our vegetables before dessert. And—and she even helped us fix up our fort in the woods.”
“Yeah!” Nick joined in enthusiastically. “You should see it now, Daddy! Shay helped us make a trap door. And we cut a hole in the side, so now there’s a porthole. Shay knows how to do all kinds of neat stuff.”
His pique forgotten, Mikey quickly jumped on his brothers’ bandwagon. “She helped us make a flag to fly. It’s got skulls and daggers and—”
“Wait.” Alex raised his fingers and pinched the bridge of his nose as if to stave off a headache. A second passed before he dropped his hand and regarded the quartet facing him. “I want to be sure I’ve got this straight. Mrs. Kiltz quit because she was afraid of Ike and Spike, and Aunt Frannie’s sent you—” his amber eyes locked on Shay “—to replace her?”
“No—” Shay began.
“No way!” Brady interrupted again. “Shay’s cool!”
Alex was starting to look frazzled. “What does being cool have to do with anything?”
“Uncle Beau sent her.”
“Beau?”
“I’m staying at his cottage,” Shay interjected. “Didn’t you get his note?”
Alex shook his head, and she swallowed a groan, which was all the invitation Brady needed to plunge back into the conversation.
“See, Dad, Shay doesn’t have a house or a family and stuff. She’s all alone. No husband. No little boys of her own.” He sent a sharp-eyed look at his father to make sure Alex was paying attention, then gave a heartfelt sigh as if to underscore the sorry state of Shay’s life. “And she used to work, but now she doesn’t. So Uncle Beau said she could come here for a while and stay at his cottage.”
Shay stared at Brady, speechless. Good grief! With just a few well-chosen words, her young friend was making it sound as if she were not only homeless and unemployed, but close to destitute, as well. “Now just a minute—”
“She tells stories,” Nick said loudly, getting in his two cents’ worth. “About Amazons eating lizards.”
Oh. That was better. Now it sounded as if she were merely deranged.
“I’m afraid the boys are giving you the wrong impression,” she cut in. “I do tell �stories’ but that’s because I’m—”
Alex’s voice overrode hers. “You’re not from the employment agency?”
“No. I—”
“You’re only here because you know my brother?”
She was getting awfully tired of being interrupted. “Not in the Biblical sense,” she said firmly. For some obscure reason, it was important she make that clear. “But, yes. We’re friends. Colleagues. We work together, you see, and—”
“I’m sorry.” He reached up and raked his hand through his hair, and despite her growing frustration, she couldn’t help but stare as it fell flawlessly back in place.
How did he do that?
“I misunderstood.” His formal, stilted tone wrenched her gaze back to his face. “I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I owe you my thanks. If you hadn’t been here—” He stopped, reached into his pocket, pulled out a money clip, peeled off some bills and then thrust them at her. “Here. For your time and trouble.”
Shay looked from him to the money and back again and told herself not to feel insulted. “That’s very kind, but no.” She stuck her hands in the back pockets of her shorts to underscore her conviction. “Hanging out with your sons has been my pleasure.” She glanced fondly at the boys. “They’re terrific. I had a great time.”
Alex’s gaze skimmed over her. His mouth tightened as he made note of her stubborn posture. “I insist. You earned it.” Obviously irritated, he glanced away and did a slow, unhurried inventory of the room...throw rugs wadded in a heap in the corner, towels scattered across the counter and the sad remains of the laundry hamper strewn in bits and pieces across the floor. He brought his eyes back to meet Shay’s. “I will, of course, take over from here.”
“But, Dad!” all three boys protested in unison.
Nick’s voice rose above the others. “Shay promised to show us later how to make dinner in a fire pit!”
A small muscle in Alex’s jaw twitched. “Not tonight,” he said firmly. “I’m sure Ms. Spenser is anxious to get back to the cottage and resume her vacation.” His hooded golden gaze swung from his sons’ imploring faces to Shay. “You are, of course, welcome to stay there as long as you like.”
It was a very generous offer—given that the cottage belonged to his brother. Still, the underlying message was clear. She was not wanted or needed here.
“But, Dad!” Brady repeated. “We want Shay to stay. We like to do stuff with her. We—”
“Hey, Brady, don’t worry about it,” she said, trying to ease the child’s distress. After all, it wasn’t his fault his father had all the social grace of a wounded barracuda. “We’ll do it another time.”
“But—”
“Shh. It’s been a long time since your dad’s been home—” two could play the double message game “—and I’ll bet he’s anxious to have you all to himself and hear about everything you’ve been doing.” She smiled blandly at Alex; it was clear from the tight set of his jaw that he got her point. “I’ll just get my things and be on my way.” She took a step toward the door.
“Wait.” Alex’s command stopped her in her tracks. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He held out the money.
Why, why, was he determined to reduce her friendship with the boys to nothing more than a business transaction? She opened her mouth to once more reject his offer, then hesitated as an idea came to her.
After all, there were several excellent local charities that could use a little financial boost. And if she managed to teach Alex Morrison a little lesson about the pitfalls of misdirected noblesse oblige, why, so much the better.
“How much?” she asked slowly.
He blinked. “How much what?”
“How much are you offering?”
Surprise flashed in his eyes at the unexpected turn in the conversation. “Three-fifty.”
“Oh.” Shay reached out and plucked the bills from his hand. “I’m worth much more than that. Make it five hundred and we’ll call it even.” She’d match it, she told herself firmly, determined not to give in to a pang of conscience when he did a double take.
To his credit he didn’t utter so much as a single word of protest, however. He simply retrieved his money clip, peeled off another crisp hundred and fifty and handed it to her. Yet the flinty look in his eye told Shay she’d made her point.
“Thanks.” She pocketed the money.
“Yeah, Daddy,” Brady said importantly. “Shay’s worth extra �cuz she won a Howitzer.”
She started for the door. “That’s Pulitzer, Brady.”
“Hey, wait up,” the boy cried, moving to her side. “I’ll help you pack.”
“And I could carry your bag if you want.” Nick picked up the theme. “I’m real strong.”
“Wait for me, wait for me!” Mikey cried, determined not to be left behind. “I wanna help, too!”
A surge of fondness painted a smile on her face. They were really great kids. “Thanks, guys.”
She felt Alex’s eyes burning a hole in her back all the way to the door.
* * *
Incredible. Alex had met some brazen, impudent, nervy women in his day, but Shay Spenser was in a category all by herself.
He recognized her name now, of course. Beau had mentioned her on more than one occasion, usually with a pithy comment when she’d scooped some story he’d been working on.
Alex wondered how she’d talked his brother into letting her come here. But then, beneath his macho exterior, Beau had a notoriously soft heart and a well-known weakness for pretty women. He’d probably taken one look at those big, dark eyes and that exotic mouth and been like putty in her hands.
Still, that was no excuse for allowing her access to Alex’s sons. Just as soon as he got the chance, he was going to have to have a talk with his middle brother.
In the meantime Ms. Spenser had better watch her step. Unlike Beau, Alex was neither soft-hearted nor governed by his hormones, despite that odd moment earlier, which he now recognized as nothing more than a temporary side effect of stress.
It wouldn’t happen again, and a certain petite brunette would find herself on the receiving end of trouble if she tried to manipulate him. She’d gotten away with it once with the money, but he wouldn’t be caught out that way again.
Feeling marginally better with that realization, Alex decided he might as well take advantage of the boys’ preoccupation with her leave-taking. He headed down the hall to his own suite of rooms, made another quick call to Aunt Frannie’s answering machine, stripped out of the clothes he’d had on for too many hours and took a quick shower.
When he opened the bathroom door twenty minutes later, his sons were sprawled on the king-size bed, waiting for him.
He took a long look at their mournful expressions, hitched the towel tighter around his waist and hiked across the pale gray carpet to his dressing area. “You boys get your friend on her way?”
Brady stared up at the skylight in the ceiling and sighed gustily. “Yeah. She looked so sad. Now she’s back at the cottage, all alone.”
That wasn’t entirely true, Alex thought. She had his five hundred dollars for company.
Nick plucked at the down-filled satin comforter. “She said we could come over tomorrow and see her if it was okay with you. Is it okay?”
“We’ll see,” Alex said, using the universal parent phrase for no way. Reaching into a drawer for clean underwear, he watched warily out of the corner of his eye as Mikey slid off the bed, walked over and slipped his sneakered feet into Alex’s size-ten dress shoes. The child began to shuffle around, reeling dangerously.
Nick flopped over on his stomach and began to kick his feet up and down. “You know what, Daddy?”
“What?”
“I’m hungry.”
Alex gladly welcomed the change of subject. He thought for a second and realized he was, too. Furthermore, it appeared he and the boys were on their own for the evening. “Tell you what. Why don’t you go wash your hands and faces while I finish dressing, and I’ll take you out to dinner.”
Nick scrambled off the bed. “Really?”
For an instant something nagged at him, something he knew he ought to remember, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. “Really.”
Brady popped upright. “Can Shay come?”
“No. This is a family meal.”
“Can we go to Letsa Eatsa Pizza?” Nick asked.
Alex sighed. Nick always wanted to go to the pizza joint. Still, it was his first night home. “Sure.”
“All right! Come on, Brady.” Clearly afraid his father would change his mind, Nick dragged his elder brother off the bed, yanked Mikey out of Alex’s shoes and hustled the pair out the door.
Ten minutes later the four of them trooped down the front steps to get in the car. It was then, when Alex saw the open driver’s side door and recalled his earlier panicked flight, that his nagging sense of something undone made sense. With a groan, he slid onto the seat and tried the ignition. Sure enough, the battery was dead, drained by the combination of courtesy lights and warning buzzers activated by the open door. Well, hell.
Brady shifted restlessly on the seat beside him. “Come on, Daddy. Let’s go.”
The other two boys bounced up and down on the back seat like a hyperactive chorus line. “Let’s go, let’s go,” they chanted.
With a heartfelt sigh, Alex twisted on the seat to take in all three. “Sorry, boys. The battery’s dead. We’ll have to do it another time.”
First disbelieving, then reproachful, his sons stared at him.
“But you promised,” Nick said forcefully.
“That was before I found out the car was dead.”
“I’m hungry,” Mikey said plaintively.
“I’m not,” Nick wailed. “I’m starved. What’re we gonna do?”
“I know!” Brady said happily. “We can go to Shay’s! She can drive us in her car and we can all have dinner together!”
“Yeah!” sang the chorus.
“No,” Alex said firmly. He couldn’t afford her help. He climbed out of the car. “I’ll fix dinner.”
The boys climbed out after him, their expressions dubious.
“You can cook?” Brady asked. “Really?”
“Yes. How about toasted cheese sandwiches?”
“Okay,” Mikey said.
“Okay,” Nick said.
“Yech.” Brady made a choking sound and clutched theatrically at his throat. “I hate toasted cheese.” He scowled. “I bet we wouldn’t have to eat dumb old toasted cheese if Shay was here. She knows how to cook really good food.”
Alex ground his teeth as they trudged back inside. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
It was, too. At first. Even though he wasn’t very familiar with the kitchen, since the housekeeper normally did the cooking, Alex easily located the cheese, bread and margarine and some potato chips.
He had the cheese sliced and was buttering the bread when the phone rang. Brady answered, spoke for a moment, then looked unhappily over at his father. “It’s Ms. Layman from the nanny place.”
Alex laid down the knife. “Good.” Given his frame of mind, he thought this was one conversation the boys would be better off not hearing. “I’ll take it in the study.”
“What do you want to talk to her about?” Brady demanded.
“A new nanny,” Alex said firmly. “Hang up after I pick up in the other room.”
“But, Dad—”
“I’ll be right back.” He strode down the hall and into the elegant room he considered his sanctuary. Although the walls and carpeting where done in a restful eggshell color, liberal splashes of navy, gold and maroon made the room unmistakably masculine. He picked up the phone. “Hello? Ms. Layman?”
Francine Layman, an energetic, gregarious woman of sixty, seized the initiative. “Mr. Morrison! I’m so glad you’re back! I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve convinced Mrs. Kiltz not to sue.”
Alex, who’d started to sink down in the big, burgundy leather chair behind the massive, teak desk, shot to his feet. “Excuse me?”
“As long as you’ll agree to make a settlement toward her therapy, she’s agreed to sign a release absolving you of responsibility.”
“Responsibility? For what?”
Frannie uttered a slightly put-upon sigh. “Her breakdown, dear. She still refuses to discuss specifics, simply shudders and whispers about giant, man-eating spiders, but I’m sure that’s only temporary. A few sessions with a first-rate therapist, the correct dose of tranquilizers, and she should be right as rain.” She paused, then added thoughtfully, “You might consider calling an exterminator, though. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Exterminator?” Alex ground out. “The Terminator is more like it! The woman walked off and left my children alone and unsupervised! And you didn’t even bother to contact me!”
“Oh, no, dear. That’s not true. I talked to your son, Bradley—”
“Brady.”
“Yes, that’s right. Such a delightful boy. He assured me he’d spoken to your secretary. He said he was waiting for you to call back and that when you did, he’d have you call me. Oh, dear. Wasn’t that true?”
“Yes, but—” Alex began to pace, marching back and forth between the grass-papered walls, which were liberally dappled with evening shadow.
“According to Brady, your fiancée was there and was perfectly happy to take over—”
“My fiancée?” Alex slammed to a stop. “I don’t have a fiancée.”
There was a tiny moment of silence. “But I called this very phone number, Mr. Morrison. And I spoke with a delightful young woman, a Miss—” there came the faint sound of rustling paper “— Spenser, who assured me she’d be glad to stay with the children until your return. Such a pleasant, charming young woman. After what your son said, I just assumed... Oh, my. Did you two break up, dear?”
Alex clenched his jaw so hard pain shot into his ears. “Ms. Spenser happens to be a friend of my brother’s,” he said stiffly.
“Oh, my.” Frannie sounded unmistakably scandalized. “I’ve heard of such things, of course, but...how awkward for you.”
Puzzled, he did a quick review of the conversation. His spine snapped straight. “Wait a minute! I didn’t mean—”
“Please, Mr. Morrison,” Frannie interrupted anxiously. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I really do think it would be best if we refrain from discussing your personal problems and get back to business.”
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose and grimly concluded she was right. Besides, the effort of correcting her mistaken conclusion was probably not worth the added aggravation of prolonging the conversation. “Fine.”
“Good.” She injected a bright note into her voice. “Is it safe to assume, then, that you’ll be wanting a new nanny since you’re not getting married?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes.”
“Good, good. How does next week look for you?”
“For what?”
“Why, for conducting interviews.”
His hand tightened in a stranglehold around the phone. “How about tomorrow.” It was not a question.
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Good. Go with that.” With an effort, he kept his tone polite. “I’ve got work to do. I’m due in New Mexico the end of next week and I need—”
“Daddy?” Mikey stood uncertainly in the doorway.
“Hold on.” He covered the mouthpiece and addressed his son. “I’m on the phone, Michael. What do you want?”
“Brady says to ask you if cheese is supposed to turn black.”
“It depends. What cheese are we talking about?”
“For the sandwiches.”
Alex frowned. “It’s turning black? Why?”
“I dunno.”
Of course not. “Where is it?”
“With the bread.”
He prayed for patience. “Where is the bread?”
“In the toaster.”
“Ms. Layman? I have to go. I’ll expect to hear from you first thing in the morning. You can tell me then about the candidates you’ve lined up.”
“But—”
He slammed down the phone, scooped Mikey up and rushed down the hall. Between Ms. Spenser, Aunt Frannie, being dog tired and having his wits scared out of him twice in two hours, he’d had about all he could handle. He threw open the kitchen door and plunged inside at the same instant the smoke alarm went crazy.
His gaze shot to the counter. Not only was smoke pouring in an oily stream from the toaster, but the appliance was crackling ominously, as well.
Swearing a silent blue streak, he set Mikey down and leapt across the room, jerked the cord from the outlet and swept the device into the empty sink. Then he stalked over and threw open the outside door to let some fresh air into the smoke-filled room.
He whirled to face the boys. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted at Brady and Nick, furious as he realized how badly they might have been hurt.
“Uh-oh,” Nick said. “You said a bad word.”
Brady’s jaw rose pugnaciously. “Mikey and Nick were hungry. And you were on the phone forever!”
“I don’t care how long I was on the phone! You’re lucky you didn’t burn the damn house down! Don’t you know better than to put cheese in the toaster?”
Nick’s lip trembled. “We were only trying to help.”
Brady slung a protective arm around his younger brother. “Yeah! How’re we supposed to know? It’s not like we’ve got a—a mom to show us, you know!”
The boy’s logic—plus the wrenching reminder of their lack of a mother—punched a giant hole in Alex’s temper.
As swiftly as it had come, the anger drained out of him, replaced by guilt as he registered the mixture of anxiety, misery and defiance on all three young faces. Way to go, Morrison. You go weeks without seeing your kids, then come home and yell at them.
Before he could think of what to say, Mikey took a look around at the tableau of angry faces and burst into tears.
Like dominoes falling, the two older boys promptly covered their eyes and also began to sob.
Well, hell. What was he going to do now?
Three
More than slightly out of breath, Shay jogged along one of the wooded paths that crisscrossed the estate. After dropping her things at the cottage, she’d decided to go for a run, hoping the exercise would dispel the jumble of emotions her meeting with Alex Morrison had inspired.
Fat chance. No matter how hard she tried, how fast she ran, or how often she told herself the man was walking proof of the old adage that beauty was only skin-deep, she couldn’t get him out of her mind.
Of course, it really had nothing to do with him, she told herself firmly, as she darted around a protruding branch. Her concern was solely for the boys. They were bright, sweet, and funny. In the space of a few weeks they’d managed not just to get under her skin, but also to worm their way into her heart. Mostly because they were three of the most engaging little kids she’d ever met. But also because they were desperate for some adult attention. If there was one thing Shay could identify with, it was that.
Parental indifference had been a fixture of her own childhood, a by-product of being raised by two busy professionals so caught up in their own careers they had no time for their own child. In Shay’s case, the experience had ultimately made her independent, self-sufficient and motivated. But it had still been a lonely way to grow up, and it was not the kind of bond she wanted to share with Brady, Mikey and Nick.
They deserved better.
Which brought her back to the problem—all six blond-and-glorious feet of him—and also helped to explain why, she supposed, she couldn’t put Alex from her mind.
The situation would sure be easier, she thought crossly, if the man were a tad more approachable. Then she could simply talk to him—diplomatically, of course. Unfortunately it appeared the boys had inherited all of their charm, not to mention their senses of humor, from their mother.
Still, she promised, as she emerged into the clearing in front of the cottage, if the opportunity presented itself, she would try to do something to improve the boys’ situation. It was the least she could do, after the way they’d opened their home and their hearts to her these past few weeks.
Slowing to a walk, she wiped her damp face on the tail of her T-shirt, crossed the small patch of lawn and stepped onto the stoop. At first glance the cottage appeared nondescript, a simple, shingled structure with a small stoop and modest carport. Yet its initial appearance was deceiving, since the roof sloped up to meet a back wall made almost entirely of glass that commanded a breathtaking view of Puget Sound.
Inside, the floor plan was open and airy. The kitchen, living and bedroom areas flowed into each other and were filled with creature comforts. The appliances were ultra-modern. The plushly padded chairs and sofas, grouped around the massive stone fireplace, were covered in velvety corduroys and buttery leathers in restful shades of white, turquoise and navy. There was a state-of-the-art stereo CD system and a big-screen TV and VCR. The platform bed that dominated one corner was big but cozy and boasted a feather tick.
However, it was the view that always gave Shay the greatest pleasure. Tonight, evening sunshine glittered like gold dust on the vast expanse of slate blue water that filled the horizon. A large catamaran tacked in the wind, its spanking white sails billowing in a playful breeze. Farther away, purple-gray islands rose out of the haze, their shapes indistinct in the soft golden light.
Sighing with pleasure, she kicked off her shoes and began to strip off her clothes as she made her way toward the bathroom, leaving socks, shorts, shirt and underwear in her wake. She was naked by the time she stepped around the curving glass-block wall onto the tile floor of the oversize shower.
She washed her hair, then turned the shower head to pulse and gave herself up to the sheer bliss of the pounding hot water, the rhythm in perfect sync with the surf outside on the beach.
Except this stretch of Puget Sound didn’t have pounding surf, for heaven’s sake.
Her head shot up as she realized the steady thumping she heard was actually someone hammering on the front door. She twisted the spigots and scrambled out of the shower. Grabbing a towel, she mopped at her hair, her sense of urgency increasing as the knocking continued. “Hold your horses! I’m coming!” She tossed the towel to the floor, yanked on a clean tank top and a pair of sweat shorts, raked a hand through her hair and dashed for the door.
“What!” she demanded, throwing it open.
“Hey, Shay!” Faces freshly washed and their shirts miraculously tucked into their pants, Brady, Nick and Mikey beamed at her as they stood crowded onto the tiny front porch.
“I bet you’re surprised to see us!” Brady cried.
Given the way she and Alex had parted, surprise didn’t begin to cover it. “What are you guys doing here?”
“We came to see if you want to drive us to town for some pizza.”
“Well, I—”
“Daddy was gonna, but he left his car open and it died,” Mikey explained sadly.
“Yeah. And then he said he’d make dinner, but the lady called from the nanny place and the cheese burned and he yelled and we cried and he said a bad word,” Nick reported. “He said, �oh, sh—’”
“That’s enough, Nicholas.” Alex’s cool voice snapped Shay’s head around. “You wouldn’t happen to have some jumper cables, would you?”
She shook her head, her eyes widening as he stepped out of the deep shadows to her right, where the stoop met the angled support post of the carport. He’d taken a shower, too, she saw. Freshly shaved, he looked like dynamite in a loose black shirt and casually pleated off-black pants. She shivered in reaction, then flushed as she felt goose bumps rise in several strategic locations.
Darn. He was doing it again. Making her mind feel dazed, her heart race and her skin feel shivery by simply standing there.
It wasn’t until a few seconds later that she realized part of the problem was the breeze. She glanced down, appalled to discover it was molding the soft cotton of her shorts and top to her damp skin—and to those darned goose bumps.
Alex followed her gaze, only to find he’d made a serious mistake at the undeniable evidence that her complexion wasn’t her only outstanding attribute. The rest of her was pretty damn...outstanding, also. Lord knew he was getting a firsthand view, because, unless he was badly mistaken, she wasn’t wearing a stitch of underclothing.
His whole body went tight at the realization, and a persistent little drumbeat of need kicked to life deep inside him.
Its advent irritated the hell out of him. He didn’t need this, not after everything else he’d had to put up with today. What was her problem? Didn’t she have sense enough not to come to the door practically naked? Didn’t she realize it could be anyone standing there gawking at her?
Yeah. But it’s not anyone. It’s you, Morrison.
He jerked his gaze away from the ripe swell of her breasts. Locking his gaze on the boys, he tried to remember how the trio had managed to talk him into this in the first place. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea. Obviously, we’re interrupting. We’ll go out to dinner tomorrow night. After the car is fixed.” Without Ms. Spenser. He stepped off the stoop, expecting them to follow.
Brady didn’t budge an inch. “But, Dad! You said you’d ask!”
“Yeah!” Nick agreed. “We already washed our faces again and everything! That’s two times in one day.”
Mikey stared at his father, his eyes wide and his expression earnest. “You pwomised.”
Alex stared back into those eyes so much like Allison’s, which were still slightly red-rimmed from crying. Damn.
With a resigned sigh he turned back to Shay, careful to keep his gaze on her face. “Look. I can see this isn’t a good time for you. But the boys—” he couldn’t help the slight stress he put on the word “—were wondering if you could see your way clear to give us a lift into town. I’d be happy to pay for your time and your gas, of course, and—”
“—we want you to have dinner with us!” Brady finished with a rush.
Alex nearly gave himself whiplash as he jerked sideways to stare at his son. “We do?”
“Uh-huh.” The boy’s expression was guileless. “�Cuz it’s the nice thing to do. Isn’t it, Daddy?”
Alex decided then and there to add the kid to his growing hit list: Whitset, his brothers, James and Beau, Mrs. Kiltz, Aunt Frannie, Shay and now Brady. Maybe he could get a volume discount. “Yeah. Sure.”
Shay made no attempt to disguise her opinion of his sincerity. “Really?” She raised one dark eyebrow skeptically.
All three boys stared expectantly at their father.
“I’d be...honored.”
Honored, my great-aunt Fanny. Shay had seen men about to face a firing squad look more enthusiastic. Not that he needed to worry. She had better things to do with her evening than spend it with a man who seemed to regard her with the same enthusiasm most people reserved for dental plaque.
Although she did have to admit, a perverse part of her was actually enjoying his discomfort. And there was the chance that an evening spent exposed to his less-than-charming personality might cure her of the fluttery, breathless feeling that overcame her every time she got too close to him. Sort of like aversion therapy.
Because he really was great looking. So tall, so broad-shouldered, so lean and lithe and golden....
Then again, maybe it was hopeless. “I’m sorry. I don’t think—” She broke off as she felt a tug on her shirt. She glanced down at Brady. “What?”
His big brown eyes were wide with entreaty. “Please? We really, really, really want you to come.”
“And I’m so-o-o hungry,” Nick said sadly.
Mikey stepped forward and clasped her hand in his smaller one. “Please?”
Aw, heck. She knew she was going to regret this. “Okay. I’d love to.”
“All ri-i-ight!” the trio whooped, nearly knocking her down as they swarmed forward to give her a hug.
Forgetting all about Alex, she laughed and hugged them back. “Just let me run a comb through my hair, put on some shoes and grab my keys, okay?” She opened the door wider, stepped back and gestured them in before she turned and headed toward the bathroom. “It’ll just take a minute.”
“Oh, boy!” Brady grinned happily at Alex, while Mikey and Nick jumped up and down. “Aren’t you excited, Daddy? Isn’t this great!”
“Oh, yeah,” Alex murmured, watching Shay’s retreating fanny flex enticingly beneath her clinging shorts. To his disgust, his little drumbeat of need turned into a full-fledged throb. “Great.”
He hoped to hell she was going to put on some underwear.
* * *
Port Sandy had been founded in 1889. Once an active fishing port, the picturesque little town nestled on Catchup Bay had long since come to depend on tourist dollars for its commerce. Antique and gift shops, bookstores, card shops and ice-cream parlors crowded the half mile of wharves and boardwalks along Main Street. Boats of all sizes and shapes dotted the bay, while graceful Victorian houses painted in a palette of soft pastels perched on the surrounding hills, keeping watch over the colorful scene.
Letsa Eatsa Pizza, tucked away on a side street, was a local, rather than a tourist, hangout. It was small and cavelike, with a dozen booths, half as many tables, a jukebox, a pair of pool tables and a video arcade.
Because of the nice weather, business was light for a Friday night. Alex headed for the largest booth, only to have Brady stop, grab his brothers and literally shove them onto the bench of a smaller one. “We want to sit here,” he said, scrambling in after them.
Alex opened his mouth to object, both at the booth’s small size and because he and Shay had been left to share a seat, when he caught her look of dismay. For some perverse reason, her reluctance rankled. “After you,” he heard himself say, even though he didn’t want to sit by her, either.
With a narrow look, she sidled past, giving him ample cause to regret his impulsive words when her breast brushed his arm. A jolt of heat coursed through him. Apparently she’d only managed to secure half the standard ration of undergarments.
She slid gingerly onto the unoccupied seat and moved as close to the far wall as she could.
Alex settled in beside her, careful not to touch her.
Brady beamed at the pair of them, his smile so huge it took up most of his face. “Gee. Isn’t this fun?”
“Oh, yeah. Fun,” Shay and Alex murmured.
“Can we play video games?” he inquired.
“No.” Alex was definitely not in the mood to be left alone with Shay Spenser. Although he wasn’t looking at her, he could feel her soft warmth just inches away. And even though he knew, intellectually, that his awareness was the result of being overtired and frustrated in general—by the whole damn day, not just her—it wasn’t making his body’s lusty response any easier to tolerate. Besides, the boys were the ones who’d wanted her here; they could darn well entertain her.
“But I want to play Space Invaders.” Nick said. “Please, Daddy?”
“No.”
“Aw, come on,” Brady wheedled. “Just a few games?”
“Please, please, please?” Nick begged.
“I don’t have any quarters.” The minute he said it, he knew it was a mistake. The boys’ faces lit up like butane torches.
“I bet Shay has some,” Brady said. “She always remembers to bring them, just for us. Doncha, Shay?”
Shay hesitated as four pairs of brown eyes locked on her. Three pairs were shining with total trust; one pair was narrowed warningly. Great. “I believe your dad said no.”
“But if he did say yes,” Brady pressed, practicing early for a career as a prosecuting attorney, “would you have some for us then?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“I knew it!” The eight-year-old whipped his gaze toward his father. “See, Daddy, she does have some! So can we play? Please?”
“Well, since Shay has quarters, by all means.” Alex sent her a swift look so frigid it could have given frostbite to a polar bear.
Shay’s mouth tightened, but she swallowed the retort that sprang to her lips. After all—this was therapy, right? Any moment now her hormones would wake up and realize Alex was more annoying than he was sexy, and the infernal internal hyperventilating that struck her every time he got too close would disappear. Right?
Clinging to that thought, she reached into her purse and pulled out two rolls of quarters, which she quickly divvied up, giving the boys each a few dollars’ worth.
“Oooh, thanks!” They slid willy-nilly off the bench and dashed away.
Except for Brady, who stayed long enough to say to his father, “See, Daddy, didn’t I tell you? Isn’t she wonderful?” He smiled happily and gave Alex a pat on the shoulder. “Now, you guys can have a nice talk. And you don’t have to worry about the little kids, because—” he drew himself up “—I’ll take care of them for you.”
He turned and scampered off. Perplexed by his unexpectedly generous offer—Brady’s primary concern was usually not his brothers’ welfare—Shay glanced sideways at Alex. “What do you suppose that’s all about?”
“Beats me.” He glanced away as the waitress arrived to take their order. The moment the woman finished, he slid out of the booth and moved to the opposite seat.
Shay heaved a sigh of relief, finally feeling as if she could breathe again. Even so, an awkward silence sprang up that didn’t end until after the waitress returned with a basket of bread sticks, a pitcher of root beer and five glasses.
Alex filled a glass and handed it to her. “So, you’re a friend of Beau’s.” It was more a statement than a question,
“Yes, but—”
“Not in the Biblical sense,” he finished for her. “So you said. Besides—” he gave her an assessing look “—you’re not his type.”
She wondered what that meant, then decided she didn’t want to know. “Thank goodness. He’s not mine, either.”
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