Calamity Mom Page 4

  He smiled gently. “Don’t I?” he asked. “Hold tight, little one. I wouldn’t want to drop you.”

  He pulled her very close and eased her hot face into the curve of his neck, enveloping her in his warm strength and the seductive scent of his cologne. She felt like heaven in his arms. He had to stifle a groan.

  Shelly was barely aware of his reaction, but she was feeling something similar. Smiling, she sighed and drifted into a warm, wonderful sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SHELLY WOKE THE NEXT MORNING with a frightful headache and vague memories of being carried to bed in a man’s hard arms.

  Nan held out a bottle of aspirin and a cup of black coffee the minute Shelly walked into the living room. “Here,” she said curtly. “And next time you pull a silly stunt like that, you’ll be sharing a single room at this motel, all alone, by yourself.”

  “Don’t yell,” Shelly groaned.

  “I’m whispering, can’t you tell?”

  “Oh!” Shelly put her hands over her ears. “You’re horrible!”

  “One of us is, that’s for sure.”

  “I dreamed that I was being carried,” she murmured, holding her aching head.

  “That wasn’t a dream.”

  She stared blankly at Nan. “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes. Your nemesis carried you in here and put you to bed. He was pretty nice, considering what you said to his fiancée.”

  Shelly groaned aloud. “I don’t want to know, but what did I say?”

  “You’re right. You don’t want to know. Sit down and drink your coffee.”

  Shelly sat down and held out her cup. “Have you got any hemlock?”

  Nan only shook her head.

  * * *

  BEN WAS LYING IN WAIT FOR Shelly when she came out onto the beach much later, wearing dark glasses and feeling vaguely sick. Nan had promised her that some sea air would cure her. So while Nan was having a shower, Shelly slipped into her yellow one-piece bathing suit and her terry cover-up and oozed down to the beach.

  “Marie’s really mad at you,” Ben said, and grinned. “I knew you’d make a great mother!” He scowled. “You look terrible. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Excess,” she said.

  “Excess what?”

  “Beer.” She found a single bare spot between tourists and sat down gently on the sand. She groaned at the blazing sunlight, which hurt her eyes even through the dark glasses. “It’s your father’s fault.”

  “My dad made you drink beer?” he asked hesitantly.

  “He drove me to it. He’s a terrible man!”

  “Well, he isn’t, really. I exaggerated a little because I was mad at him,” Ben said pleasantly. “But he’s rethinking sending me to that school. Thanks, Mom!” He grinned at her.

  “Think nothing of it. Is there a facility near here? I think I have to throw up.”

  “Why don’t you lie down?” Ben suggested. “It might help. Where did your friends go?”

  “They are going sailing.” She took off the robe and stretched out on a towel, grimacing as her head contacted the ground. “I feel awful.”

  “I can imagine. I’m glad I don’t drink,” he observed. “Neither does Dad, except for a glass of wine occasionally.”

  “Delighted to hear it. I’m sure your future stepmother doesn’t approve of wine.”

  “She only hates things that taste good,” he agreed. “I hate wine.”

  “Haven’t you got something to do?”

  “Sure. I have to look after you. Poor old Mom.”

  “I’m not your mother,” she croaked.

  “Yet.”

  “Ever!” She let out a pained sigh.

  “How about something cold to drink?”

  “Anything, as long as it isn’t beer!” She dug into her pocket for change and handed him some.

  “That’s too much.”

  “Get yourself something, too.”

  “Gee, thanks!”

  He darted off. She lay quietly on the sand, trying to breathe, and a dark shadow loomed over her.

  “Nan?” Shelly said.

  “Not Nan,” came a familiar deep voice. He dropped beside her on the sand. “How do you feel?”

  “Sick.”

  “Serves you right. If you can’t hold your liquor, don’t drink. You could have ended up in severe circumstances last night, except for Nan.”

  “Rub it in,” she muttered.

  “I intend to. Nan’s had a go at you already, I’m sure.”

  “Several. My head hurts.”

  “No wonder.” He smoothed back her windblown hair. His hand was big and warm and surprisingly gentle. She opened her eyes and looked up. She wished she hadn’t. He was wearing white swimming trunks and nothing else, and he looked better than the sexiest suntan commercial she’d ever seen. He was beautiful, just beautiful, and she was glad she had on dark glasses so that he couldn’t see her appreciation.

  “Where’s your shadow?” she muttered, closing her eyes again. “Or does she sunbathe? It must be disconcerting to have men screaming ‘put your clothes back on!’”

  “Not nice,” he said firmly. “Being thin is fashionable in our circles.”

  “It is not,” she said, forgetting that he didn’t know she frequented the same circles he did. “Thin is fashionable only with models and—” she sat up, taking off her sunglasses to glare at him “—your ladylove.”

  He shrugged, powerful muscles rippling in his chest and arms. “Some men like well-endowed women, I suppose. I never have.”

  She was too aware of her full hips and generous bosom. She glared at him. “Then don’t waste your time sitting here talking to me.”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “I have a vested interest in you, and kindly don’t take this as a sign of sexual intent. Even if you appealed to me, which you do not physically,” he added pointedly, “the fact is, you’re still in school.”

  She started once again to correct his assumption about her age, and stopped. Plenty of time for confidences later, if he stuck around. Otherwise, pretending a lesser age than she owned might not be a bad form of protection. He was obviously pretty experienced, if the look he was giving her body was any indication. He wasn’t blatant, but he had seductive eyes and a voice that was more than a little persuasive. His words denied any interest or intent, but his eyes belied that. She wondered if he even realized it.

  “I’m back…!” Ben hesitated before he sat down beside his father and Shelly. “Oh. Hi, Dad. Where’s Marie?”

  “Sleeping late, I suppose.” He watched as Ben handed Shelly a soft drink.

  “Delicious,” she whispered, holding the icy can to her temples.

  “Are you assimilating it through osmosis?” Ben asked. “We studied that in biology.”

  “You don’t know what biology is until you’ve had to study DNA, enzymes, proteins and genetics in college.”

  Ben blinked. “What happened to animals?”

  “You study them in zoology.”

  “You study enzymes in biology?” Ben muttered.

  “That’s right. And if you really want to understand biology, taking chemistry helps. I haven’t yet.” She grinned. “I’m a sociology major. I only have to take biology. Since I passed it, I don’t have to take chemistry.”

  “How far along are you?” Faulkner asked.

  “Oh, I’m still a freshman.”

  He didn’t reply. His face grew thoughtful, and he turned his attention seaward.

  “Where are you from?” Ben asked her suddenly.

  “Washington.”

  “State?” he persisted.

  “D.C.”

  “So are we!” Ben said excitedly, and Shelly was aware of his father’s interested gaze. “Where do you go to school?”

  “Thorn College,” she replied. “It’s very small, but nice.”

  Faulkner knew the college and the area in which it was located. A nice, middle-class community. Nothing fancy. Older homes on small lots near the int
erchange.

  “Oh,” Ben said. “We live several miles away from there. Some of our neighbors are senators.”

  “Are you on vacation?” she asked hesitantly.

  “No,” Faulkner replied. “There’s a convention here this week—bankers.”

  “Dad’s the keynote speaker,” Ben said proudly. “Shelly, didn’t you say your dad was good at numbers and accounting?”

  He certainly was. He was on the board of directors of two banks. She hoped Faulkner’s wasn’t one of them. “Sort of,” she said.

  “What does he do?” Ben persisted.

  “Actually very little,” she said, feeling her way.

  “I see,” Faulkner said quietly, and his tone indicated that he was developing an impression of Shelly’s father that classed Mr. Astor as a street person. Shelly had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the picture that came to mind. Her father contributed to several charities that helped street people, but he was far from being homeless.

  “What are you going to do with your degree when you get it?” Faulkner asked with genuine curiosity.

  “I’d like to be a social worker,” she said. “There are plenty of people in the world who could use a helping hand.”

  “No doubt about that,” he replied.

  “Well, I want to be a wildlife illustrator,” Ben said firmly.

  “He wants to do his duck shooting with a camera,” Faulkner said with a sigh.

  “Good for him. I think it’s atrocious the way people treat our living natural resources.”

  Ben grinned from ear to ear. “You tell him, Mom!”

  “I am not your mother,” she said shortly, and then groaned and held her head.

  “She’s much too young to be anyone’s mother,” Faulkner agreed, and there was, just briefly, a wistful look about him. He quickly erased it and got to his feet. “I’ve got to go and collect Marie. We have a luncheon engagement. Ben…”

  “I can stay with Mom. Can’t I?”

  “I’m not—!”

  “—your mother! I know, I know!” Ben said chuckling. “Can I stay with you?”

  “She’s not able to look after you,” Faulkner said.

  “I want to look after her,” Ben replied solemnly. “She certainly needs looking after, and her friends are going sailing. I don’t think she can go sailing, do you?”

  Shelly swallowed and made a moaning sound.

  “Good point. Is it all right?” Faulkner asked Shelly.

  “Just as long as he doesn’t talk too loud,” she agreed.

  “Don’t give her any trouble,” Faulkner cautioned the boy.

  “Isn’t Marie going back home today?” Ben asked with glee.

  “She’s leaving with her father. If he goes today, so will she, I imagine.”

  So they weren’t sharing a room, Shelly thought. She was surprised that a woman of Marie’s age would travel with her father, especially when she was apparently all but engaged to Faulkner.

  “Marie’s father is one of the bankers at the convention,” Ben explained. “We flew down together.”

  “None of that is of any interest to Ms. Astor, I’m sure,” Faulkner said. “Stay out of trouble. We should be back around three o’clock.”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  Faulkner wandered off, absently thinking that he’d much rather be on the beach with Ben and Shelly than sitting around talking business. But that was part of his job.

  * * *

  SHELLY AND BEN LEFT the beach half an hour later and after two pain tablets and another icy drink, Shelly felt well enough to go fishing off the pier with Ben.

  “Isn’t this fun?” she asked on a sigh, lying back on the boards with her eyes closed and the fishing pole held loosely in her hand. “I’ll bet that fishing concession makes a fortune without selling a single worm.”

  “Your hook isn’t baited,” Ben muttered. “That’s not fair.”

  “I don’t want to catch a fish, for heaven’s sake! I just want to lie here and drink in the smell of sea air.”

  “Well, I want to catch something. Not that I expect to,” he said miserably when he pulled up his hook and it was bare, again. The minnows under the pier kept taking the bait in tiny nibbles and missing the hook.

  “Don’t fall in,” she said firmly.

  “Okay.”

  The sound of footsteps didn’t bother her, because there were plenty of other tourists dropping lines off the pier. But these came close. She looked up and there was Ben’s father, in jeans, a gray knit designer shirt and sneakers. He didn’t even look like the same man.

  “Catch anything?” he asked.

  “Some sleep,” Shelly remarked.

  “I’m catching cold,” Ben grumbled as he baited his hook for the fourth time.

  Faulkner’s narrow silver eyes slid over Shelly’s trim figure in tight white jeans and a pink sleeveless blouse tied at the midriff. Her glorious hair was tamed into a French braid and even without makeup, her face was lovely. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

  She flushed a little and sat up. That level stare was making her self-conscious. “Since you’re back, I’ll leave Ben with you. I have to try to find Nan and the others.”

  “I thought they went sailing.”

  “They did,” she agreed. “But Nan’s a much worse sailor than I am. I expect she’s lost breakfast and lunch by now, and is praying for land.”

  He reached down a big, strong hand and helped her up. Oddly his fingers were callused; her fingers lingered against the tough pads on his and she looked up at him with kindled interest.

  “Your hands are callused,” she remarked.

  He smiled slowly, closing his fingers around her own. “I have a sailboat,” he remarked. “I love sailing.”

  “Oh.”

  “And you don’t like the sea,” he murmured dryly.

  “My stomach doesn’t like the sea,” she corrected.

  He searched her soft eyes and she didn’t look away. Currents of electricity seemed to run into her body from the intensity of that stare, until her breathing changed and her heartbeat doubled. He still had her hand in his and unexpectedly, he brought the soft palm up to his lips and pressed them hard into its moist warmth.

  She felt the color run into her face. “I, uh, really have to go.” She laughed nervously and extracted her hand from his.

  He smiled at her, without rancor or mockery. “Thanks for taking care of Ben.”

  “He sort of took care of me,” she replied. Her eyes searched his, and there was a little fear in them.

  His smile was indulgent, faintly surprised. “It’s all right,” he said softly, his voice deeper than ever, his eyes narrowed and intent.

  She gnawed on her lower lip, understanding his response in her subconscious even if it sounded odd to her conscious mind. She turned away. “See you, Ben!”

  “Sure. Thanks!”

  She almost ran the length of the pier. She dated, and boys liked her. But she’d never liked them. Now, in the space of a few days, a man who thought she was much too young for him had blazed a path to her most secret self, and she didn’t know how to chase him out again. There were plenty of reasons she should keep her distance from him, and she wanted to. But Ben was making it impossible.

  She walked into the motel, almost colliding with a very irritated Marie Dumaris.

  “You again,” the older woman said curtly. “Stay away from Faulkner. I don’t know what you think he’d see in a ragamuffin like you, but I don’t like the way you’ve attached yourself to him and Ben.”

  The attack was staggering. Shelly stared at her blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

  “If you don’t leave Faulkner alone, I’ll make you sorry. My people are well-to-do and I have influence. I can have you kicked out of school if I feel like it.” She smiled haughtily at Shelly’s expression. “Faulkner told me that you go to Thorn College. So watch your step. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  Shelly looked her in the eye, and she didn’t
smile. “Neither do you,” she said with quiet dignity.

  Marie started to say something else, but Shelly turned and kept walking. She couldn’t imagine why Marie would warn her away from Faulkner, who wasn’t interested in her that way at all. Besides, she was only going to be here for four more days. That was hardly enough time to capture a man’s heart. She overlooked the fact that hers was slowly being chained already….

  * * *

  THAT EVENING, AFTER THEY’D eaten fish and chips, she and Nan were startled by a knock at the door.

  Shelly went to open the door and found Faulkner. He smiled gently at her surprise. She was still wearing her jeans and pink blouse, but he’d changed into white slacks and a patterned shirt.

  “Do you like Latin music?” he asked.

  She was flustered, and looked it. “Yes.”

  “Come on. There’s a live band down the way. Nan?” he added, looking past Shelly. “Want to come with us?”

  “I’d love to, but there’s a PBS special on about a dig in Egypt,” Nan said apologetically. “I love classical archaeology.”

  “Indulge yourself, you stick-in-the-mud,” Shelly grumbled.

  “I will. Have fun!”

  Faulkner waited while Shelly tied a pink knit sweater loosely around her neck in case it got cooler, and found her purse.

  She waited until they were in the elevator headed down to the ground floor before she spoke. “Isn’t this sudden?” she queried. “And where’s Ben?”

  “He’s staying with some friends of mine for a few hours.”

  She lifted both eyebrows.

  He chuckled. “You know how I feel about May-December relationships. I’ve already said so. I don’t have anything indiscreet in mind. I thought you might like the impromptu Latin concert on the beach, so I came to get you.”

  “Am I substituting?”

  He tilted her face up to his and shook his head, holding her eyes. “Oh, no,” he said quietly. “Not you.”

  She smiled gently. “That was nice.”

  “I am nice,” he replied, letting go of her chin. “It takes some people longer than others to notice it, of course.”

  She laughed. “Conceit, yet.”

  “I am not conceited. In fact, my modesty often shocks people.”