Calamity Mum

A fan-favorite contemporary romance from New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer.

A mum for all calamities…that was what Faulkner Scott’s young son wanted. The motherless twelve-year-old was determined to appoint Shelly Astor his new mum after she saved his life. Then she met his dad! Who was going to save Shelly’s heart from a new accident waiting to happen—like falling in love with the boy’s gorgeous father?

Originally published in 1993.

Dear Reader,

She’s your one-person cheering section. Your tireless advocate. Your voice of reason. Your shopping partner. She always knows how to make you feel better when it just isn’t your day. She’s your mum. And one day of thanks just doesn’t seem enough. This Mother’s Day, don’t forget to let Mum know how truly one-of-a-kind she is—make her queen for the day. And if you’re a mother yourself, you know firsthand that motherhood is the toughest—and most important—job you’ll ever love. So don’t forget to treat yourself to your favorite indulgence!

In celebration of mums everywhere, we’ve put together this collection of classic stories featuring reader favorites Diana Palmer, Candace Camp and Elizabeth Bevarly. This charming anthology features some very special mums as they meet and fall in love with some very special heroes.

A “Calamity Mum” is all Faulkner Scott’s young son wants. The boy is determined to appoint Shelly Astor his new mum after she saves his life. Looks as if there’s another accident in the works—Faulkner and Shelly may fall head over heels!

Beth Sutton’s “Tabloid Baby” might not be famous producer Jackson Prescott’s love child, but there may indeed be some cupid wings hidden beneath the newborn’s receiving blanket. Who better than a baby to bring two soul mates together?

“A Daddy for Her Daughters” is what Naomi Carmichael gets when she finds herself doing parent duty with über-hunk Sloan Sullivan. Now, if Naomi could just figure out how to get the sexy bachelor to say “I do,” she’d be one happy mama!

We hope you enjoy this must-have springtime collection by three of the best-loved authors in romance!

The Editors,

HQN Books

Rave reviews for Diana Palmer

“Nobody does it better.”

—Award-winning author Linda Howard

“Palmer knows how to make the sparks fly…heartwarming.”

—Publishers Weekly on Renegade

“Nobody tops Diana Palmer when it comes to delivering pure, undiluted romance. I love her stories.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz

Praise for the novels of Candace Camp

“This one has it all: smooth writing, an intelligent story, engaging characters, and sexual tension that positively sizzles.”—All About Romance on Swept Away

“I loved this wonderful story! Camp is so-o-o-o good.”

—Romance Reviews on Impulse

“Readers who are fond of Amanda Quick… will like this one.”

—Mrs. Giggles on Mesmerized

Romance fans love Elizabeth Bevarly

“[Readers] will be rewarded by Lucy’s convincing transformation from ditzy daughter into capable wife.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Ring on Her Finger

“Elizabeth Bevarly knows how to show readers a good time.”

—Oakland Press

“Elizabeth Bevarly writes with irresistible style and wit.”

—New York Times bestselling author Teresa Medeiros

Calamity Mum

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

Cover

Back Cover Text

Dear Reader

Rave reviews for Diana Palmer

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE BEACH WAS CROWDED. A group of college students on spring break were gathered around a ghetto blaster, happily unaware of the vicious looks they were getting from older sunbathers.

“Turn it down,” Shelly Astor suggested, grinning as she nodded toward two glowering faces behind them on the beach. “You’re creating enemies for us.”

“Don’t be a wet blanket,” the boy chided. “We’re young, it’s spring break, no more biology and English and algebra for a solid, sweet week!”

“Yeah, right,” another student muttered. “I might as well drown myself. I flunked my first exam in prealgebra!”

“Less fun, more pencil-to-paper contact,” another suggested.

“Right, Mr. Egghead,” came the reply and a glare. “Edwin here blew the curve in biology 101,” he added, jerking his thumb at the tall, thin, redheaded boy. “He made 100.”

“Dr. Flannery says I’m the best student he’s ever had. Can I help it if I’m brilliant?” Edwin sighed.

“You’re not brilliant in trig,” Pete murmured to him, then said to the others, “I had to tutor him or he’d never have passed Bragg’s exam.”

“Can’t you turn that damned thing down?” An exasperated bellow broke the silence.

“Have a heart, man!” Pete wailed, facing his attacker. “We just survived eight weeks of hell, not to mention trigonometry!”

“And one of us failed it!” Edwin yelled, pointing at Mark.

“We’re all on the cutting edge here,” Pete agreed, shaking his head. “If we don’t get a music fix, God only knows what we might do to the world at large!”

The irate man began to laugh and threw up his hands. He made a dismissive gesture and lay back, closing his eyes in defeat.

Shelly grinned at her friends. “Pete’s a sociology major,” she whispered to Nan, who was her best friend. “Minoring in psych. Isn’t he great?”

“A true credit to his alma mater,” Nan agreed. She got up and went to dive into the surf, with Shelly at her side.

“Isn’t it wonderful here?” Nan sighed. “And you weren’t going to come!”

“I had to fight to get to go to college, much less come to Florida with the group for spring break,” Shelly said quietly. She pushed back her windblown blond hair, and her soft blue eyes echoed the smile on her full lips. “My parents wanted me to go to finishing school and then join the young women’s social club back home in Washington, D.C. Can you imagine?”

“You haven’t told them that you want to become a caseworker for family and children’s services, I guess?” Nan fished.

“My father would have a nervous breakdown,” she mused. “They’re sweet people, my parents, but they want to give me a life of luxury and serenity. I want to change the world.” She glanced at dark-eyed Nan with a mischievous smile. “They think I’m demented. They have a nice husband picked out for me: Ivy League school, old family name, plenty of money.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “That’s not what I want at all, but they won’t take no for an answer. I had to threaten to get a job and go on the work/study program to get my father to pay my tuition.”

“I wonder if all parents want to live through their children?” Nan asked. “Honestly my mother has pushed me toward nursing school since I was in grammar school, just because she got married and couldn’t finish nurses’ training. I get sick at the sight of blood, for Pete’s sake!”

“Did someone mention my name?” Pete asked, surfacing beside them with a grin.

Nan sent a spray of water at him with a sweep of her palm, and all the serious discussions were drenched in horseplay.

* * *

BUT LATER, WHEN they went to the motel to change before supper, Shelly couldn’t help wondering if she was ungrateful. Her father, a wealthy investment counselor, had given her every advantage during her youth. Her mother was a socialite and her brother was an eminent scientist. She had an impeccable background. But she had no desire to drift from luncheon to cocktail party, or even to do superficial charity work. She wanted to help people in trouble. She wanted to see the world as it was, out of her protected environment. Her parents couldn’t, or wouldn’t, understand that she had to feel useful, to know that her life had a purpose of some sort beyond learning the correct social graces.

She enjoyed school. She attended Thorn College, a small community college in Washington, D.C., where she was just one of the student body and accepted without hassle, despite her background. It was the kind of atmosphere that was friendly and warm without being invasive. She loved it.

Living off campus did limit some of her participation in social activities, but she didn’t mind that. She’d always thought in her own mind that she was rather a cold woman—at least where men were concerned. She dated, and boys kissed her from time to time, but she felt nothing beyond surface pleasure at the contact of warm lips on her own. She had no desire to risk her life for the sake of curiosity, experimentation or for fear of ridicule. She was strong enough not to flinch at the condescending remarks from one of the more permissive girls. Someday, she thought, she would be glad that she hadn’t followed the crowd. She stared at her reflection and smiled. “You-stick-in-the-mud,” she told herself.

There was a quick knock on the door followed by Nan’s entrance. “Aren’t you ready yet?” she grumbled. She glared at Shelly’s very conservative voile dress, yellow on black, with sandals and her long hair in a French braid. “You’re not going like that?” she added, groaning. “Don’t you have any idea what the current style is?”

“Sure. Spandex skirts or tights and funny smock blouses. But they’re not me. This is.”

“Wouldn’t catch me dead in that.” Nan sighed. Her curly hair sported a yellow-and-white bow, and her white tights were topped off by a multicolored short dress.

“You look super,” Shelly said approvingly.

Nan struck a pose. “Call Ebony magazine and tell them I’m available for covers.” She chuckled.

“You could do covers,” came the serious reply. Nan really was lovely. Her skin had a soft café au lait demureness. Combined with her liquid black eyes and jet black hair and elegant facial structure, she would have been a knockout on the cover of any magazine. She looked like an Egyptian wall painting. “I’ve seen gorgeous movie stars who were uglier than you are,” she added.

Nan chuckled. “You devil, you.”

“I’m not kidding. Why haven’t you ever thought of modeling?”

Nan shrugged. “I have a good brain,” she said simply. “I don’t want it to get lost in the shuffle. I’m going to be an archaeologist.”

Shelly groaned. “Don’t remind me that I have two more exams to go in introductory anthropology or I’ll scream!”

“I’ll coach you. You’ll do fine.”

“I won’t! I barely passed biology! We’ve still got fossil forms of man and kinship systems and subsistence patterns to go…!”

“Piece of cake.” Nan dismissed it. “Besides, you got Dr. Tabitha Harvey, and she’s the best. Oops, I mean Dr. Tabitha Reed. Can you imagine her getting married? And to such a dish!” She shook her head. “But to get back to the subject, don’t you realize that anthropology is part of sociology? How can you understand the way we are as a culture today without understanding how we came to be a culture in the first place?”

“Here you go again.”

“I love it. You would, too, if you’d let yourself. I’ve taken every anthropology course Thorn College offers. I loved them all!”

“This stuff is hard.”

“Life,” Nan reminded her, “is hard. You can’t appreciate a good grade in anthropology until you’ve had to dig for it.” She looked surprised. “I made a funny!”

“On that note, we’re leaving,” Shelly murmured, dragging her friend out the door.

* * *

THEY HAD SUPPER IN THE SAME restaurant each night. It was their one extravagance, and mainly because Nan had a crush on one of the other diners, a student from Kenya whom she’d met on the beach.

Shelly looked forward to the evening ritual because of another patron who frequented the restaurant. She ran into him everywhere, accidentally. He nodded politely and never stopped to talk, but she watched him with open fascination, to the amusement of her friends. In fact, her fascination was a ruse to keep her friends from trying to pair her off with Pete. She liked Pete, but her attitudes weren’t casual enough to suit him. By pretending infatuation for a stranger, she elicited not only sympathy for her unrequited love, but also avoided well-meaning matchmakers among the group she’d accompanied on spring break.

Her unwilling object of affection was beginning to notice, and be irritated by her, though. It had become a challenge to see how far she could push him before he exploded. The thought was oddly exciting for a woman who almost never took chances. In fact, in all her twenty-four years, he was the first man she’d ever pursued, even in fun. It was unlike her, but he wouldn’t know that. Her flirting seemed to disturb and irritate him.

To complicate matters, he had a son, about twelve or so, and the son spent considerable time staring at Shelly. She was afraid he was developing a crush on her and she worried about trying to head it off while keeping up her facade of being infatuated with his father. Showing up here for dinner every night wasn’t helping her situation, even if it did seem to be doing wonders for Nan’s social life and give Shelly the opportunity to stare longingly at the man she’d singled out for public adoration.

As if she’d conjured him up in her thoughts, a movement caught Shelly’s eye, and she saw him. He was tall and elegant, a striking man somewhere in his middle or late thirties with thick dark hair and pale silvery eyes. He had his son with him. The boy was a younger and much more amiable version of him. Shelly found herself wondering what the man did for a living. He was very handsome, but he didn’t look the male-model type. He was probably someone who carried a gun, she thought. Maybe a secret agent, or a hired assassin. That thought amused her and she smiled mischievously. Before she could erase the smile, the man turned his head and saw it, and his glare was thunderous.

How could someone that handsome look so vicious and unfriendly? she wondered vaguely. And those silver eyes looked like cold steel in his unsmiling face. An ugly man might have an excuse for that black scowl, but this man looked like every hero she’d ever dreamed of. She put her chin in her hands and stared at him with a wistful smile. She was always so friendly that it was hard to accept that anyone could hate her on sight for no reason.

He looked taken aback by her refusal to be intimidated. But even if the scowl fell away, he didn’t smile back. He turned his attention to a movement of white silk beside the table and abruptly stood up to seat a thin brunette. The boy with him glowered and made some reluctant remark, which prompted an angry look from his father. Undercurrents, Shelly thought, and began to analyze them. She felt a wave of sadness. She’d overheard a tidbit of gossip about him in the restaurant the night before—that he was a widower. She’d known that a man so handsome would have women hanging from both arms, but she had hoped he was unattached. It was her fate to be forever getting interested in the wrong man. She sighed wistfully.

“Stop staring at him,” Nan chided, hitting her forearm with her napkin as she put it into her lap. “He’ll get conceited.”

“Sorry. He fascinates me. Isn’t he dreamy?”

“He’s years too old for you,” Nan said firmly. “And that’s probably his fiancée. They suit each other. He has a half-grown son, and you are a lowly college student, age notwithstanding. In point of fact, you are barely higher on the food chain than a bottom feeder, since you aren’t even a sophomoreyet.”

“I’ll be a sophomore after summer semester.”

“Picky, picky. Eat your salad.”

“Yes, Mama,” she muttered, glaring at the younger woman, who only grinned.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY IT SEEMED to Shelly that providence was determined to throw her into the path of trouble. She always got up early in the mornings, before Nan stirred, and went down to the beach to enjoy the brief solitude at the ocean before the tourists obliterated the beach completely. She threw on her one-piece yellow bathing suit with a patterned chiffon shirt over it and laced up her sandals. For once she left her blond hair loose down her back. She liked the feel of the breeze in it.

This morning, she didn’t find the beach empty. A lone figure stood looking seaward. He was tall, and had thick black hair. He was wearing white shorts that left his powerful, darkly tanned legs bare and a blue-and-white checked shirt, open over a broad, hair-roughened chest. He was watching the ocean with eyes that didn’t seem to see it, a deep scowl carved into his handsome face.

Shelly gave him a wistful glance and took off down the beach in the opposite direction. She didn’t want to infringe on his privacy. Since he was obviously attached, it would do her no good to go on mooning over him, for appearances or not. She was giving him up, she thought nobly, for his own good. That being settled, she strolled aimlessly down the beach, drinking in the sea air.

The stillness was seductive. The only sounds to be heard were the cries of the sea gulls and the watery growl of the ocean. Surf curled in foamy patterns up onto the damp beach, and tiny white sand crabs went scurrying for cover. They amused her and she laughed, a soft, breathy sound that seemed to carry.

“What can you find to laugh about at this hour of the morning?” came a rough, half-irritated deep voice from over her shoulder. “The damned coffee shop isn’t even open yet. How do they expect people to survive daybreak without a dose of caffeine?”

With the vestiges of her amusement at the crabs still on her face, Shelly turned. And there he was, as handsome as a dark angel, his hands deep in the pockets of his white shorts.

He was devastating enough at long range. Close, like this, he was dynamite. She could hardly get her breath at all. Some sensual aroma exuded from him, like spice. He smelled and looked clean and fastidious, and she had to force herself not to stare at the physical perfection of his body. Hollywood would have loved him.

“I like coffee, too,” she murmured shyly. She smiled at him, pushing back her pale, windblown hair. “But the sea air is almost as good.”

“What were you laughing at?” he persisted.

“Them.” She turned back to the crabs, one of which was busily digging himself a hole. He dived into it like a madman. “Don’t they remind you of people running for trains in the subway?” She glanced at him wickedly. “And people who can’t get their coffee early enough to suit them?”

He smiled unexpectedly, and her heart fell at his feet. She’d never seen anything so appealing as that handsome face with its chiseled mouth tugged up and those gray eyes that took on the sheen of mercury.

“Are your friends still in bed?”

She nodded. “Most of us have eight o’clock classes during the semester, so there isn’t much opportunity to sleep late. Even if it’s just for a week, this is a nice change.”

She started walking again and he fell into step beside her. He was very tall. The top of her head came just to his shoulder.

“What’s your major?” he asked.

“Sociology,” she said. She flushed a little. “Sorry I was staring at you last night. I tend to carry people-watching to extremes,” she said to excuse her blatant flirting.

He glanced at her cynically, and he didn’t smile. “My son finds you fascinating.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m afraid so.”

“He’s almost thirteen and a late bloomer. He hasn’t paid much attention to girls until now.”

She laughed. “I’m a bit old to be called a girl.”

“You’re still in college, aren’t you?” he mused, obviously mistaking her for someone not much older than his son.

“Well, yes, I suppose I am.” She didn’t add that she’d only started last year, at the age of twenty-three. She’d always looked young for her age, and it was fun to pretend that she was still a teen. She stopped to pick up a seashell and study it. “I love shells. Nan chides me for it, but you should try to walk across tilled soil with her. She’s down on her hands and knees at the first opportunity, wherever she sees disturbed dirt. Once she actually climbed down into a hole where men were digging out a water line! I’m glad they had a sense of humor.”

“She’s an archaeology student?”

“Other people are merely archaeology students—Nan is a certifiable archaeology student!”

He laughed. “Well, that’s dedication, I suppose.”

She stared out at the ocean. “They say there are probably Paleo-Indian sites out there.” She nodded. “Buried when ocean levels rose with the melting of the glaciers in the late Pleistocene.”

“I thought your friend was the archaeology student.”

“When you spend a lot of time with them, it rubs off,” she apologized. “I know more than I want to about fluted points and ancient stone tools.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever been exposed to that sort of prehistory. I majored in business and minored in economics.”

She glanced up at him. “You’re in business, then?”

He nodded. “I’m a banker.”

“Does your son want to follow in your footsteps?”

His firm lips tugged down. “He does not. He thinks business is responsible for all the ecological upheaval on the planet. He wants to be an artist.”

“You must be proud of him.”

“Proud? I graduated from the Harvard school of business,” he said, glaring at her. “What’s good enough for me is good enough for him. He’s being enrolled in a private school with R.O.T.C. When he graduates, he’ll go to Harvard, as I did, and my father did.”

She stopped. Here was someone else trying to live his child’s life. “Shouldn’t that be his decision?” she asked curiously.

He didn’t bat an eyelash. “Aren’t you young to question your elders?” he taunted.

“Listen, just because you’ve got a few years on me…!”

“More than fifteen, by the look of you.”

She studied his face closely. It had some deep lines, and not many of them were around the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t a smiling man. But perhaps he wasn’t quite as young as she’d suspected, either. Then she realized that he was counting from what he thought her age was.

“I’m thirty-four. But that still makes me an old man compared to you,” he murmured. “You don’t look much older than Ben.”

Her heart leaped. He was closer to her age than she’d realized, and much closer than he knew. “You seem very mature.”

“Do I?” His eyes glittered as he studied her. “You’re a beauty,” he said unexpectedly, his silver gaze lingering on her flawless complexion and big pale blue eyes and wavy, long blond hair. “I was attracted to you the first time I saw you. But,” he added with world-weary cynicism, “I was tired of buying sex with expensive gifts.”

She felt her face go hot. He had entirely the wrong idea. “I’m…” she began, wanting to explain.