Читать книгу Operation Mommy - Caroline Cross - Страница 7

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?