Caroline Cross - Operation Mommy

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.

Prologue

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Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Epilogue

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?

“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.”