Operation Mommy. Caroline Cross

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ