Professor and The Pregnant Nanny

Charles could see she was serious. Her words were heartfelt. Tears gathered in her eyes.

“Melissa, what are you talking about? You’re a great nanny. You’re doing a great job. The kids love you,” he said with a smile. He wanted more than ever to take her in his arms. To comfort her. To reassure her. To kiss every inch of…but he couldn’t do that!

“Well, I love them, too,” Melissa said miserably.

“You only fell asleep last night because your nap was interrupted yesterday,” he said. She was looking down, so he cupped her jaw with his hand and tilted her chin up, compelling her to look at him. He let his hand drop and stepped back to a safer distance. His attraction to her was making him want to say things, express feelings he couldn’t possibly be feeling after just three days in her company. She’d think he was coming on to her.

Maybe he was.

Dear Reader,

This month we have a wonderful lineup of stories, guaranteed to warm you on these last chilly days of winter. First, Charlotte Douglas kicks things off with Surprise Inheritance, the third installment in Harlequin American Romance’s MILLIONAIRE, MONTANA series, in which a sexy sheriff is reunited with the woman he’s always loved when she returns to town to claim her inheritance.

Next, THE BABIES OF DOCTORS CIRCLE, Jacqueline Diamond’s new miniseries centered around a maternity and well-baby clinic, premieres this month with Diagnosis: Expecting Boss’s Baby. In this sparkling story, an unforgettable night of passion between a secretary and her handsome employer leads to an unexpected pregnancy.

Also available this month is Sweeping the Bride Away by Michele Dunaway. A bride-to-be is all set to wed “Mr. Boring” until she hires a rugged contractor who makes her pulse race and gives her second thoughts about her upcoming nuptials. Rounding things out is Professor & the Pregnant Nanny by Emily Dalton. This heartwarming story pairs a single dad in need of a nanny for his three adorable children with a woman who is alone, pregnant and in need of a job.

Enjoy this month’s offerings as Harlequin American Romance continues to celebrate twenty years of publishing the best in contemporary category romance fiction. Be sure to come back next month for more stories guaranteed to touch your heart!

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Professor & The Pregnant Nanny

Emily Dalton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my grandparents, Margaret Emily Rutherford Phillips and James Jerome Phillips. I still miss you.

And you still inspire me.

Love, Sis.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Two years ago, Emily Dalton moved with her husband and two sons to Centerville, Utah, into the house of her childhood dreams. A two-story Cape Cod with dormer windows and a covered porch that spans the front of the house says Leave It to Beaver in a big way.

Her “boys,” both in their early twenties, attend college within daily driving distance of the house, but keep busy with school, work and girls, leaving Emily and her husband plenty of time to spend together on their own.

Emily enjoys gardening and decorating, and she’s still addicted to chocolate, Victorian art, Jane Austen and traveling by train.

Books by Emily Dalton

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

586—MAKE ROOM FOR DADDY

650—HEAVEN CAN WAIT

666—ELISE & THE HOTSHOT LAWYER

685—WAKE ME WITH A KISS

706—MARLEY AND HER SCROOGE

738—DREAM BABY

783—INSTANT DADDY

823—A PRECIOUS INHERITANCE

926—A BABY FOR LORD RODERICK

964—PROFESSOR & THE PREGNANT NANNY

MISSY’S BEST CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE RECIPE

½ cup shortening and ½ cup butter, room temperature

1 cup packed brown sugar

½ cup granulated sugar

½ tsp baking soda

½ tsp salt

2 eggs

2 tsp vanilla

2 ½ cups all-purpose flour

1 ½ cups semisweet chocolate chips

1 cup toasted pecans, chopped (See below for quick directions for toasting.)

Preheat oven to 375°F. In a mixing bowl beat shortening and butter on medium speed for 60 seconds. Add brown sugar, granulated sugar, baking soda and salt. continue beating until all ingredients are well mixed. Beat in eggs and vanilla. Beat in as much of the flour as you can with the mixer. Stir in rest of flour using wooden spoon. Stir in chocolate chips and pecans. Drop dough by rounded teaspoons 2 inches apart on nonstick cookie sheets. Bake 8 to 10 minutes. Cool on wire rack. Makes about 5 dozen cookies.

(To quickly toast pecans, spread them on a paper or other microwave-safe plate. Microwave on high, stirring a few times, 4 to 4½ minutes until fragrant and lightly browned. Let cool completely before chopping.

This recipe will please the whole family, but leave out the nuts if you’re feeding a toddler! Serve with cold milk and warm hugs.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

“Dad, when will the new nanny get here?”

“Any minute now, Christopher,” Charles assured his four-year-old son as the two of them stood in the curve of the bay window that looked out over the front yard and the street beyond. “And she’s not really new, Christopher. She’s just temporary, till Mrs. Butters gets back.”

Christopher nodded, his carrot-red hair shining in the sun that streamed in from the bright July morning. He stood imitating his father, with his hands on his hips, both of them watching as an occasional car drove down Harvard Avenue at the sedate, residential speed of twenty-five miles an hour. But when a promising-looking minivan slowed down, then passed by without depositing their expected nanny, Christopher grew impatient.

“Did you say ‘any minute,’ Dad? ’Cause Sarah’s hair’s all tangled and stickin’ out, and Daniel’s got oatmeal down his pants and all over his face and hands.”

“Any minute,” Charles repeated, more to reassure himself than Christopher, since their fill-in nanny was already fifteen minutes late. But sticky oatmeal down Daniel’s pants and on various parts of his body didn’t seem to be keeping him from enjoying watching The Lion King with Sarah in the family room just down the hall, so there was probably no rush. In fact, Daniel would probably squawk if Charles interrupted one of his favorite scenes in the movie to haul him off for a bath. And as for Sarah’s hair, he’d probably do more harm than good if he took a brush to those fine, tangled curls of hers.

Still…where was the nanny?

The temporary nanny service, Nanny on the Spot, had come highly recommended by his permanent nanny, Mrs. Butters, who had had to dash out of the house early that morning to catch a plane. Her father had died unexpectedly the day before, and Mrs. Butters was going to New Orleans to attend the funeral and be with family for a week. Charles had called the agency at seven o’clock, and was promised a nanny by nine.

If he didn’t have a lecture to prepare for an important conference on Saturday, Charles would have simply taken the week off and handled his three small children on his own. Hadn’t he done just that when Annette had died two years ago, leaving him with a month-old baby and two toddlers?

After the tragic accident that had instantly killed his wife, Charles had taken a three-month leave of absence from his position as Professor of Astronomy at Westminster College and devoted himself full-time to caring for his children and coping with his grief, and, with the support of friends and his sister, Lily, he’d somehow managed. But now he was back to teaching full-time—even agreeing to two classes this summer—and was up to his ears in research on a new invention. And then there was the lecture this Saturday….

Charles normally had a busy schedule, but he always made sure he had plenty of time to spend with the children. Recently, however, he’d probably taken on a few more projects than he should have. He was fully aware that having Mrs. Butters there to tend the children and take care of the household was what kept him afloat as a father.

Charles easily managed the basics of bathing, storytelling and roughhousing, but he didn’t have a clue how to get Kool-Aid stains out of children’s clothing, bake holiday-shaped sugar cookies with sprinkles, or comb Sarah’s unruly brown hair into those neat little pigtails she wore. Nor did he have any idea what time the Teletubbies came on…though he did know it was Daniel’s favorite television program.

What if the nanny didn’t show up at all?

Christopher made an exasperated sound by blowing air through pursed lips and tugged on Charles’s pants pocket till he looked down. Peering up at his father from under thick brown eyelashes that were just like his mother’s, he announced, “I don’t think she’s ever going to come.”

The expression on Christopher’s small face probably reflected his own, which Charles was sure showed his impatience and worry. Determined to lighten up, he smiled and ruffled Christopher’s hair. “What is that thing Mrs. Butters always says? A watched pot never boils? We’re being a couple of watch-pots, Christopher. So, let’s quit looking out the window and watching for the nanny and see if we can lure Daniel away from The Lion King and into the tub. I might even try my hand at doing Sarah’s pigtails. What do you think, kiddo?”

Christopher followed his father’s long legs out of the room, his own short legs hurrying to keep up. “Well, you can try, Dad. But first tell me…what’s a watch-pot?”

MELISSA GLANCED at the car clock. It was already nine-fifteen and she was still several blocks from Harvard Avenue! She’d been promised the first call-in job that morning and had known she’d be working, so she should have set her alarm. She knew darn well it took her at least a half an hour longer these days to get ready in the morning.

Being eight-and-a-half months pregnant in July was no picnic. Her feet and ankles used to swell only in the afternoon and evenings, but now every morning she woke up with swollen feet, which made it rather difficult to wedge them into shoes. And if she wore her athletic shoes, which were the most comfortable for her back and legs, there were shoelaces to tie. No one had ever warned her about the difficulty of tying shoes over the protuberance of a nearly full-term pregnant belly!

Melissa sighed and pushed an already damp wisp of hair out of her eyes. The air conditioning in the car was on the fritz, and it was going to be another scorcher. But the heatwave and everything else would be much easier to bear if only there was someone around to tie her shoes for her, or rub that achy spot in the small of her back after a long day, or run down to the deli when she got that insatiable urge for salt-and-vinegar potato chips or a big, fat kosher pickle.

Melissa shook her head and smiled wryly at herself in the rearview mirror. There she went again, wishing she had a partner in this parent thing. But what good would a partner be if he’d never wanted you to be pregnant in the first place, cheated on you, maxed out your joint credit cards, and expected to be waited on as if you were his slave and he was King of Siam? In other words, if he was anything like her ex-husband and the father of her unborn child. No, she didn’t mind getting her own pickles, thank you very much. Divorcing Brad was the best thing she’d ever done for herself and her baby.

Melissa decided that even thinking of Brad was probably bad for her and the baby, so she took deep, cleansing breaths and diverted her thoughts by looking out the window at an east-side neighborhood in the Salt Lake City foothills she’d always admired. Large sycamore and maple trees lined the curving streets, and classically styled houses ranging from imposing Tudors and Queen Annes to smaller, but just as charming, brick bungalows and English cottages stood at the bottom of deep, well-tended lawns.

Melissa wondered what kind of house this Professor Avery owned. All she knew about him was his occupation, last name, the number and ages of the children she’d been hired to take care of for the next five days and his address. She’d also been told that his wife had had to go out of state to a funeral, and he needed help while she was gone. Three children aged four and under, would definitely be a handful, especially for a working dad.

Suddenly she spied the address she was seeking on the side of a bricked-in mailbox. She looked at the house and felt several indefinable emotions at once.

It was a large Tudor with climbing ivy and blooming clematis covering a good portion of the front of the house, big trees shading the side yard, and the tops of other trees in the back swaying in the wind above the wood-shingled roof. While imposing, it still looked homey and absolutely perfect for a house full of children.

It was just the sort of house Melissa had always dreamed of sharing with Brad and the children they would have together.

Suddenly those indefinable feelings she’d had when she first saw the house became crystal-clear. Because of the happily-ever-after dreams she’d started spinning the minute Brad had given her his class ring when they were juniors in high school and officially going steady, the house seemed almost…well…familiar, and she felt envy and nostalgia and the bittersweet loss of those dreams.

Where had it all gone wrong? she wondered for the millionth time. Brad had been captain of the football team, and although not a sterling student, he was a star athlete with scholarship offers to several colleges, and the most popular guy in school. She’d been head cheerleader, Homecoming Queen her senior year, and an A student. They were the “golden couple” at East High. She’d been on cloud nine in those days, the envy of all her girlfriends, headed for a bright future. But the reality of her future had been a far cry from everything she’d hoped and dreamed for as a naive and starry-eyed teenager.

She’d been only eighteen when she and Brad had married right out of high school. The wedding had been magical. The marriage had been a disaster.

To her surprise, Melissa felt the sting of sudden tears in her eyes. Angry at herself, she blinked several times and got rid of them.

Melissa drove up the long driveway of Professor and Mrs. Avery’s house, turned off the ignition and sat in the car for a moment, gathering her composure as she smoothed out the seat belt wrinkles from the front of her maternity blouse. Why was she thinking about Brad and being so emotional and weepy? It had to be the pregnancy hormones, because she was glad Brad was out of her life.

Of course, it didn’t help her general frame of mind that she felt so awkward and large. She envied the movie stars who were confident enough to actually flaunt their pregnant bodies on the covers of magazines…some of them not even wearing clothes! Maybe she didn’t feel pretty because Brad had always chided her whenever she gained even as little as two or three pounds around the holidays. With an extra thirty pounds packed on around her middle—and, yes, a little bit on her fanny, too—he’d definitely think she was unattractive now.

Melissa snapped down the sunshade and looked in the mirror. At least from the neck up she looked the same as before her pregnancy. Today, though, she hadn’t bothered to put on any makeup other than a dab of lipstick, and had had pulled her shoulder-length hair into a practical ponytail. Fortunately, although her hair was naturally a pale blond, her eyebrows and eyelashes were dark.

She snapped the sunshade back into place and opened the car door. Her backside stuck to the hot vinyl of the bucket seat of her compact car as she struggled to get out. Melissa heaved a relieved sigh as she finally straightened up, pressing her hand into the small of her already-aching back.

Then she remembered her nanny bag, a small suitcase well-stocked with fun and useful items to help her on the job, as well as a few jars of toddler meals from her fledgling business, Missy’s Kid Cuisine. With a sigh, she bent over again, reached into the low-slung car and pulled out the suitcase.

Straightening up the second time was even harder than the first time. Clutching her suitcase, she shut the car door and headed for the house. She felt as though she was waddling, but couldn’t be sure. She was teetering slightly from side to side…was that waddling?

Melissa scolded herself again for dwelling on Brad and put on a bright smile as she rang the doorbell. She didn’t exactly feel bright, but she could fake it for the children’s sake.

The door was opened by a tall, lean man in a green-and-white pinstriped cotton shirt, the long sleeves folded to above his elbows, and jeans that were wet at both knees. He had auburn hair and green eyes and was, in a word…gorgeous. His sinewy forearms were damp and sudsy and he was holding a chubby, redheaded cherub with rosy cheeks. The towel-wrapped toddler was obviously fresh from the tub and smelled like watermelon-scented bubble bath.

Melissa was beginning to think she really was asleep and dreaming, because this man fit so perfectly with her idea of a hunky husband doing domestic duties, and he was doing them in her dream house! Mrs. Avery was one lucky lady.

After a couple of minutes, Melissa realized that not only she, but Professor Avery, seemed at a loss for words. He was staring at her, probably in the same way she was staring at him. But he couldn’t possibly be staring for the same reasons. She’d been struck by his good looks and obvious “good daddy” traits. Why he’d be speechless at the sight of a ready-to-burst pregnant lady in denim capri pants with a stretch panel, and a wrinkled white tent of a blouse, was beyond her comprehension.

Then it occurred to her that he might be a tad irritated that she was nearly half an hour late. “Professor Avery, I’m sorry. I know I was supposed to be here at nine,” she said, offering an apologetic smile. “I won’t be late again.”

Still he said nothing.

She was about to break the awkward silence once again when he finally said something. Something she hadn’t expected at all. “Missy? Missy Richardson?”

Melissa frowned. He knew her? And he knew her by her high-school nickname, the name no one but Brad, her parents and her two brothers still called her? But she didn’t know him. Certainly if they’d ever crossed paths before, she’d remember.

“I’m sorry, have we met?”

He smiled. “I’m Charles Avery.”

Melissa stared. He had a wonderful smile. Straight, white teeth. Sexy dimples. But she had no idea who he was.

His smile wavered a little. “We went to school together.”

Melissa searched frantically through her memory, but her continued silence told all. How embarrassing. She didn’t remember him! But maybe she could fake it.

“Oh, yes. Charles Avery. So…have you seen anyone from the old gang lately? I confess I lost track years ago.”

Now Professor Avery’s smile changed from a spontaneous expression of pleasure to one of wry resignation. “If you’re asking about ‘the old gang,’ you don’t remember me, Melissa. We didn’t exactly hang out with the same crowd of kids.”

Melissa blushed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t remember you. Please tell me how we…er…knew each other.”

“I was in your trig class, senior year.”

Melissa remembered her trigonometry class. It had been a subject that threatened her grade point average. Her predominantly right-brained mentality had always made any sort of advanced math challenging, and she’d have never received a decent grade in that class if it hadn’t been for—

Melissa’s hand flew to her mouth. “You sat behind me. You were the boy with the—”

“Glasses so thick and round you could use them for hockey pucks,” he finished for her, again with that slight, crooked smile.

Now Melissa remembered Charles Avery. But not like this…She couldn’t help it. She gave him another once-over, from head to toe, from gleaming auburn hair to wide shoulders, trim hips and endlessly long legs in snug jeans and trendy athletic shoes. Could this be the skinny, shy guy with bright red hair and glasses that obscured what were obviously very beautiful eyes? He’d been shy and polite and incredibly smart back then. And very, very nice. In fact, if not for him…

“Now it’s coming back to me,” she murmured, her hand still hovering near her mouth. “You were the reason I got a decent grade in that class. You tutored me. You came to my house for three weeks, right?”

He nodded. “Four nights a week.”

“Till I was finally able to comprehend what Mr. Daynes was trying to teach us.” Her hand dropped to her side and she asked, not very hopefully, “Did I ever thank you properly?”

He shrugged, then shifted the cherubic toddler he was holding from one hip to the other. “Well, I remember something about some cookies—”

“Dad, is this the temp’rary nanny?”

Melissa looked down and noticed two little faces peering around Charles’s legs. There was a redheaded boy and a little girl with a mass of curly, bed-rumpled hair so full of static it was sticking to her father’s pants. She was still in her pajamas.

“I think so,” Charles replied, casting Melissa an assessing look, his gaze lowering ever-so-briefly to her pregnant stomach. “They didn’t give me a name. Are you the nanny we requested from the agency, Melissa?”

Melissa could feel her cheeks burning. She didn’t think Charles sounded exactly sure whether or not he wanted her answer to be yes. As well, it suddenly occurred to her that Charles might be shocked to see her in this job. Back in high school she’d been president of the Future Business Leaders of America. Despite her slight math handicap, she’d always been good in business classes back then and had had big plans.

But look at her now! She was embarrassed. Very embarrassed. Charles wasn’t making her feel that way, and she loved being a part-time nanny, but it didn’t take an Einstein to figure out that Charles Avery, labeled a nerd in high school and excluded from her popular circle, had made something of himself, while she on the other hand…

At thirty-one she was already divorced, struggling to get the college degree she’d put off while helping Brad through school, and had to work a part-time job to make ends meet while she paid off debts from her failed marriage and tried to succeed at a business venture she should have started years ago. Actually, it was the things about her life Charles didn’t know that were most embarrassing, so if she could keep them a secret, maybe she’d make it through the week without dying of shame.