An Unlikely Mommy
Tanya Michaels

MILLS & BOON

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This is my fifteenth book to be released by Harlequin Books, and I can’t imagine having hit this milestone without the encouragement, advice and friendship of the wonderful ladies (and men!) of Georgia Romance Writers. Thank you for all you’ve taught me and all you’ve seen me through.

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 Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

“Did Webster’s change the definition of celebrate and no one told me? Because I always thought it should involve being, you know, happy.”

Veronica Carter turned her attention from the dance floor, with its multicolored spotlights and twirling couples, to Lola Ann Whitford, town librarian and Ronnie’s best friend. While it was impossible to discern Lola Ann’s every word over top of the exuberant local band that played every Friday night, the gist was clear.

“Sorry,” Ronnie said sheepishly. “I’m not being very good company, am I?”

“No.” The short, curvy brunette grinned, showing all her dimples. “Which is why I am ditching you for the very first guy who asks me to dance.”

“Well, as long as he’s hot,” Ronnie conceded. After today’s inspection of her new home, she should be feeling celebratory. Yet her emotions were as badly tangled as a carelessly handled fishing line.

In addition to the inspector telling her she’d chosen her future house well, and that the flaws were mostly cosmetic and the foundation was solid, she could still hear Wayne Carter’s resigned sigh. Her dad’s eyes, the exact green as hers, had brimmed with wistful loss instead of eager joy, an image reversed in reflection. I am twenty-five, more than old enough to move out. She shouldn’t feel guilty, like some ungrateful teenager running away to the big city in the middle of the night. Heck, Ronnie wouldn’t even be changing zip codes.

Lola Ann snapped her fingers in front of Ronnie’s face. “I’ve lost you again.”

“No, I’m here. You’re right about celebrating! Is it bad luck to toast the new place before it’s legally mine?” In a few weeks, she’d officially close on the house…then spend the foreseeable future remodeling. Ronnie had always been mechanically inclined, better with power tools than curling irons or mascara wands, and without the quirks and superficial damages to the one-story brick home, she never would have been able to afford it. “Come on, I’m buying this round.”

They edged their way through the dance hall’s regular weekend crowd and stopped at the teak counter that ran parallel to the far left wall. Flannel-clad Jack Guthrie, his wire-rimmed glasses and silver hair taking on an otherworldly glow beneath the neon signs, had been the bartender here since time before memory. He’d poured Ronnie a drink the night she turned twenty-one and had done the same for her three brothers before her. He’d also served inaugural beers to her parents.

There was that pang again. Often she could think of her parents, the life they’d once shared, without missing her mother too terribly, but today—the approaching milestone of buying her first house—had left her nostalgic.

Forcing a smile, Ronnie placed a ten on the bar for two drinks. In her peripheral vision, she saw that her oldest brother, Danny, was waiting to order. His wife, Kaitlyn, stood behind him, her face flushed with pleasure and the exertion of dancing. Children were allowed inside Guthrie Hall, and Ashley often accompanied her mother and father. Tonight, however, Ronnie’s niece was hanging out with Grandpa Wayne, who’d promised to teach the second-grader how to play poker just as he’d taught Ronnie when she was around Ashley’s age.

Ronnie caught her sister-in-law’s eye, and Kaitlyn approached, nodding hello to Lola Ann.

“You look like you’re having fun,” Ronnie observed.

Kaitlyn bobbed her head in cheerful agreement. “I adore my daughter, but I need these occasional adults-only evenings to remind myself what a passionate, flirtatious man my husband can be.”

Ronnie pretended to shudder. “I don’t want to hear about passion and my brother in the same sentence.”

“Fair enough.” Kaitlyn chuckled. “Some unsolicited advice from an old married woman—when you get married, don’t feel like you have to have kids right away. Take the time to savor those early newlywed years.”

Sound, yet pointless, advice. Last time Ronnie had checked, dating was a prerequisite to marriage.

Men weren’t exactly beating down her door—correction, her father’s door—to ask Ronnie out. Her town identity as a skinny grease monkey had long been cemented. While even a flat-chested mechanic could attract male admirers once in a blue moon, her overprotective brothers had put an end to those few budding relationships, making marriage the least of Ronnie’s current concerns. Not that she minded being single. Once she moved out of her dad’s house, she selfishly planned to make the most of the solitude—watching whatever she wanted on the television set and not worrying about preparing meals for anyone.

Danny joined them, handing his wife a cold bottle of water and sipping draft beer from a plastic cup. With his free hand, he tugged lightly on Ronnie’s ponytail. “You saving a dance for your big brother?”

“Nah, I’ll leave you to a woman who can truly appreciate you.” She jerked her chin toward Kaitlyn, then grinned teasingly. “Personally, I’m holding out for a better offer.”

Kaitlyn and Lola Ann both laughed at the jibe, but Danny took the words at face value.

“Like who?” he asked, scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes.

Ronnie groaned. “Kaitlyn, go keep your husband occupied, won’t you?”

“My pleasure.” Ronnie’s sister-in-law winked at them and stood on tiptoe to whisper something in Danny’s ear. Giggling like teenagers, they headed toward a dimly lit corner.

Turning back to Lola Ann, Ronnie sighed. “Does it make me pathetic that the only invitation to dance I’ve had since we got here is from my brother?”

Even if she weren’t at a point in her life where she yearned for his-and-her towel sets, the occasional two-step partner would be nice. An image began to form in her mind, of a man with light brown hair and storm-cloud-gray eyes, but she shook off the ludicrous idea of being in his arms. Beyond some chance encounters and casual hellos, Jason McDeere barely knew she existed. Besides, he almost never came to Guthrie’s, much to the disappointment of the town’s single women.

“You forget,” Lola Ann said, “I’d love to be asked to dance by a Carter brother.”

Sympathy tugged at Ronnie. A few months ago, she’d realized Lola Ann harbored a crush on Devin, the only remaining bachelor among Ronnie’s siblings. Unfortunately, Dev seemed hell-bent on his bachelor status, having already dated half the eligible women in Joyous, Tennessee, and never staying with one for long.

“’Scuse me.” A deep voice interrupted the women’s conversation, and Ronnie looked up—and up—into the gentle brown eyes of Teddy Blinn. The nearly six-and-a-half-foot-tall man was known to most simply as Bear. “I hope I’m not interrupting you ladies?”

“Not at all.” Ronnie craned her neck back as far as it would comfortably go and smiled hopefully. She’d danced with him once or twice before. While it was difficult to match his long-legged stride, he was at least big enough not to be intimidated by her brothers. “How are things with you?”

“Good, good. The truck’s running great,” he informed her. She’d ordered some engine parts for him last month. “You both look real pretty tonight.”

With men like Bear, the compliment wasn’t a come-on so much as part of the perfunctory courtesy his mama had instilled—like opening doors for others or saying “ma’am.”

He edged a step closer to Lola Ann, their differences in height nearly comical. “I wondered if you’d do me the honor of a dance?”

“Love to.” Lola Ann passed her drink to Ronnie. “Would you mind holding this?”

Some celebration, Ronnie thought with a wry smile. She’d been reduced to cup-holder in the absence of an unoccupied table.

Truthfully, she knew she wasn’t scintillating company tonight, and she was glad to see Lola Ann having fun. Bear moved with surprising agility for a man his size, and the two of them seeming to be enjoying a brisk polka around the sawdust-sprinkled floor. When the song ended, Bear escorted Ronnie’s friend back with the solicitousness of a boy who’d promised to have his date back by curfew.

Lola Ann fanned her face with her hand. “Whew. That was fun. Thanks, Bear.”

“Always a pleasure.” He touched the front of his gray cowboy hat. “Ronnie, maybe you and I can cut a rug later?”

“Sounds good.” But as Bear walked away, she couldn’t help a quick double check over her left shoulder.

Yep, there was her brother Devin, smiling noncommittally at something a blonde was saying, but keeping one eye on Ronnie. As a kid, she’d adopted tomboy mannerisms and hobbies, wanting to fit in with her three brothers so that she didn’t get left behind while they camped or attended sporting events. Little had she known that all she had to do to get her brothers’ attention was hold sixty seconds of conversation with anyone of—gasp!—the opposite sex. She crossed her eyes at Devin, watched him stifle a laugh, then turned away.

Unfortunately, Lola Ann had followed Ronnie’s line of sight. The librarian scowled as fiercely as if she’d just caught someone defacing a reference book. “What has she got that I don’t have? Besides mile-long legs, flowing gold hair and a size-two waist.”

“You’re every bit as pretty as she is,” Ronnie insisted.

“Yet he’s never asked me out. You’d think, with all the different women he dates, he’d have worked his way around to me eventually.”

My fault. Lola Ann had probably been placed out of romantic bounds by virtue of being best friends with Devin’s “kid sister.” Not that Ronnie was a kid anymore, but Dev, who still called her Red and had given her pajamas featuring cartoon characters for her last birthday, obviously didn’t think of her as an adult. Still, considering his track record, was it such a bad thing that he hadn’t asked out Lola Ann? Ronnie would hate to see her friend hurt.

“Lola, you know I love him—he’s my brother, so I’m obligated. But even I have to admit that he’s…”

“Unable to emotionally connect? A commitment-phobe? A serial dater?” Lola Ann sighed. “You’re right, of course. The problem is, I’ve spent too much time with your family and got to know him as a real human being.”

In a way that most of his dates probably hadn’t, Ronnie acknowledged silently. Dev came off as such a carefree charmer that most people never noticed how truly guarded he was.

“You think I should forget it and move on,” Lola Ann surmised.

“Hey, I’m the last person to judge when it comes to illogical crushes,” Ronnie insisted. Lola Ann knew her secret. With most guys in town, Ronnie could shoot the breeze about anything from spark plugs to the finer bluffing strategies of Texas Hold ’Em to the Titans’ most recent football season. But there was one man who left her tongue-tied and uncomfortably aware that no one had taught her the feminine arts.

Jason McDeere. The high school English teacher who’d moved to Joyous last spring with his toddler daughter was unlike any of the other men Ronnie knew. While it was true they hadn’t said more than a few words to each other, she couldn’t help but feel a bond with him, given the losses he’d experienced.

“Hi, girls!” The throaty alto voice was instantly recognizable, and Ronnie was grinning even before she turned her head.

“Treble! Always good to see you, Mrs. Caldwell.” Ronnie emphasized the title with a wink.

“Absolutely,” Lola Ann chimed in, “but I’m shocked to see you out and about. I figured newlyweds had better ways of spending their Friday nights than hanging with the likes of us.”

Treble, a gorgeous brunette who towered over them, compliments of her spike heels, laughed good-naturedly. “Are you kidding? I go out of my way to find you two. At least neither of you resent me for taking Keith off the market.” She punctuated this with a fond glance at her husband, who was ordering them drinks at the bar.

Though Treble had grown up in Joyous, she’d moved away years ago. When she’d returned to Tennessee over the summer, she’d won the heart of Dr. Keith Caldwell, one of the most sought-after men in town. To celebrate Valentine’s Day, they’d eloped last month. Treble’s family grumbled about her nontraditional ways, but Ronnie knew they were thrilled for her newfound happiness, especially Treble’s sister, Charity. “Resent you?” Lola Ann echoed. “Heck, no. We want to live vicariously through you! Ronnie here hasn’t had a date in—”

“Hey!” Ronnie interrupted her friend’s impish tone. “Pot, kettle, very black.”

LolaAnn grinned. “I meant to say, neither of us have had a date in ages. We’re living out a different story from the whirlwind courtship, followed by impulsive elopement.”

“So what’s your story like?” Treble asked.

“The ‘love from afar’ kind,” Lola Ann said, glancing furtively at Devin and the blonde.

Treble made a sympathetic face. “Have you tried telling him your feelings?”

“Of course not!” Lola Ann looked horrified. “That would defeat the ‘afar’ concept. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the ladies’ room to freshen my lipstick before Treble talks me into something ludicrously bold that I’d regret tomorrow.”

“What?” Treble widened her eyes in feigned innocence. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Ronnie snorted.

“So, what about you?” Treble asked, zeroing in on a fresh victim. “Have you considered telling Jason McDeere about your mad, secret love?”

Hell, no. “You exaggerate. I don’t think you can call it love I barely know the man.” Their very first conversation had been after Ronnie rammed into Jason with her shopping cart at the local grocery. She’d apologized, feeling clumsy and starstruck by his good looks. Those eyes… Someone with Treble’s fearless poise had probably never had to maim a man to get his attention.

“Why not go talk to him now?” Treble prodded. “Get to know him.”

“Now? You mean he’s here?” Heat bloomed in Ronnie’s face; she’d never been able to outgrow the blushing her brothers had teased her mercilessly about.

“In the flesh.” Treble gestured toward the bar area and a row of tall narrow tables. “I passed him when I came over to say hello.”

Ronnie had to look twice to make sure, but, yes, there was Jason McDeere, standing at one of the tables. What was he doing here? She’d been doing her best to keep the blues at bay, but if Jason were here on a date…There were two drinks on the table in front of Jason, but to her somewhat embarrassed relief, he seemed to be here with Coach Hanover, a forty-something man she knew mostly through his restoration of a classic ’55 Ford F-100.

“This is your chance!” Treble nudged her. “In case I haven’t said so before, you have excellent taste. He’s gorgeous.”

Ronnie nodded. “None of the teachers looked like that when I was a sophomore.” Jason was somewhere between her height and that of her looming brothers. The lean, corded muscle was well defined in his arms, and the slim gold glasses he sometimes wore made his chiseled face even more masculine in contrast. He didn’t have them on tonight, she noticed.

“So?” Treble prompted.

Ronnie’s throat was so dry she could barely get her tongue unstuck from the roof of her mouth. “I wouldn’t know what to say.” With his quiet, reflective manner and literary profession, he was intriguingly different from her brothers and the other men she’d known all her life. My brothers! “Besides, Danny and Devin are both here. If they see me talking to Jason, they’ll be on him like white on rice, wanting to know his net worth and his intentions.”

Treble tilted her head, sending a cascade of dark spirals over one slim shoulder. “I know how protective they can be of you, but Danny seems nicely occupied with his wife and I don’t even see Devin anymore. It’s a thick crowd—seems like a good chance for a friendly hello without sibling interference. You want to know what I think?”

Ronnie grinned, despite the butterflies churning in her stomach like oversize mutant insects from an old grade-B horror movie. “Probably not.”

“I think that, given your home situation when you were younger—” the gentle empathy in Treble’s voice made it clear she was talking not just about the obnoxious brothers but about Ronnie’s mom being sick “—you missed out on some of the formative opportunities to flirt and date that most girls, myself included, took for granted. And now you feel so daunted at the prospect that you cling to Dev and Danny as an excuse not to learn.”

“That’s—” Ronnie broke off, closed her mouth, opened it again, then finally admitted defeat with a quick shake of her head. “That’s annoyingly insightful.”

“Well, back in Atlanta, I did have my own radio advice show, remember?” These days, Treble co-anchored a regional cable morning show. It would never make her famous, but she seemed happy with her life.

Ronnie blew out a puff of air. When was the last time she’d felt truly happy? She was content, but that wasn’t the same. Having lived her whole life in Joyous, she loved the town and the people in it—her friends, her family—but lately she’d had the growing, restless awareness of wanting more. Wanting…Almost involuntarily, her gaze strayed back to Jason McDeere. He looked up, and for just a heartbeat, their eyes met.

A potent zing went through her body. Then someone moved between them, and the moment was gone. Still, her reaction had been powerful enough to brook no doubt: she wanted Jason McDeere.

Ronnie squared her shoulders. “All right,” she told Treble. “Pretend I’m someone who called in to your show for advice. Do you have any magical secrets for making me more…” What kind of woman did a man like Jason even want?

Experimentally, Ronnie tried to imagine what his wife had been like, but no one in town knew anything about her—only that newly divorced Jason had moved here to live with his grandmother and pick up the pieces of his life for himself and his daughter. Unfortunately, Sophie McDeere, a woman liked by all who’d known her, had passed away this winter. A wave of sympathy washed over Ronnie, nearly as forceful as the attraction she’d felt.

“You want me to start with the bare basics?” Treble asked.

“Use small words. And, if you want me to be able to concentrate, you should probably stand in my line of vision.” She couldn’t help stealing another peek at Jason. Despite Treble’s can-do attitude, Ronnie suspected that any romantic involvement between her and Jason McDeere was nothing more than a pipe dream.

Yet, acknowledging that fact did remarkably little to slow her racing pulse.

“AHA!” COACH HANK HANOVER snapped his beefy fingers; he was the track coach for Joyous High, but his build was reminiscent of football. “I know the perfect woman.”

“But—”

“Becca Gibbons, two o’clock. She’s looked over at you a couple of times now.”

Jason McDeere wasn’t surprised the coach steamrolled over his objection. After all, Hank had once invited Jason and Emily for a barbecue that had turned out to be a blind-date ambush. Jason had overheard Caren Hanover just last month, insisting to her husband that they had to “find a good woman for that sweet man and his poor little girl.” With Gran gone, it was as if the townspeople of Joyous had adopted him and were determined to improve his life…whether he wanted their help or not.

“Becca’s the blonde in that group over there,” Coach was saying. “Real nice gal, damn shame about her husband taking up with that woman from Nashville. Becca’s a single mom, so y’all have plenty in common. Come on, you couldn’t ask for a prettier dance partner!”

“I thought we came to play darts,” Jason said. At least, that was the thin pretext used to get him here, though they hadn’t been closer than fifty feet to the dartboard since they arrived.

Earlier, there’d been a pizza dinner at the Hanover house for the boys’ and girls’ track teams. Jason was an unofficial chaperone who knew most of the kids because he sometimes ran with the teams for exercise. The teenage girls had fussed over how cute Emily was, and, as the party wound down, his daughter had fallen asleep in the study during a Shrek showing. Caren had thrown her husband meaningful glances and Jason had allowed himself to be talked into a quick drink and round of darts.

“She’ll be fine here for an hour,” Caren had said, tucking a quilt around his daughter’s shoulders. “Go out with Hank, take some ‘you’ time.”

It was true that he hadn’t indulged in much of a social life since Sophie’s passing: Yet now that he stood in noisy Guthrie Dance Hall, where it seemed everyone but him had known one another since kindergarten, he couldn’t believe he’d let himself get conned into another attempt to introduce him to eligible women.

“I’m sure Becca’s lovely,” Jason said, “but we’ve finished our drinks and should probably head back to your place.”

The coach looked crestfallen. “You haven’t danced with anybody yet.”

“Hank, I appreciate the thought, but there’s already a female in my life whom I love with my whole heart.” In the past year and a half, Emily had been abandoned by her mother and moved to a new town, where she’d lost yet another maternal figure when Gran died in her sleep. His daughter needed time for her life to stabilize—his starting to date probably wasn’t the best way to achieve that.

“A female?” Hank was a good man, but subtlety was lost on him. He squinted at Jason in confusion. “You don’t mean your ex? ‘Cause I thought that was done.”

“It is. Completely.” Jason had worked his way through the initial denial and shock of Isobel’s departure to subsequent fury and eventual, faintly pitying, acceptance. He had no desire to pick at that particular emotional scab. “But just because I’m over her doesn’t mean I’m eager to start the search for the future Mrs. McDeere.”

“Okay, okay.” The other man held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Had to try, though. I promised the wife. No hard feelings?”

“No, of c—” Jason stared past the coach’s shoulder, meeting a pair of wide jade eyes. Logically, he knew he couldn’t make out the woman’s eye color from several yards away, but he’d seen her around town plenty of times. His memory automatically filled in the visual details that were fuzzy from this distance, as well as her name: Veronica Carter. Perhaps she’d merely been looking around, just as he had, and their gazes colliding was coincidence. But there seemed to be something in her expression—

A laughing couple wandered into his line of sight, blocking Veronica, and he blinked, feeling foolish.

“McDeere?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I just remembered something I needed to take care of Monday.”

“Really? ’Cause it was more like you were staring at someone.” Hank glanced over his shoulder, trying to confirm his suspicion.

“So, are we ready to leave?” Jason asked.

“I guess.” But Hank wasn’t completely diverted. “You sure you weren’t looking at someone?”

Jason had never been good at lying outright. “Like who?”

His friend shrugged. “Dunno…but if there is someone who’s caught your interest, I’ll hear about it soon enough. One thing you’ll learn about Joyous if you haven’t already, it’s damn near impossible to keep a secret here.”

Chapter Two

“Mornin’, darlin’.”

Ronnie glanced up from the Monday paper she was scanning at the table and smiled as Wayne Carter came down the stairs into the kitchen. “Hey, Daddy.”

“What’s on the breakfast menu this morning?”

“Cereal.” She pointed to the bowl and spoon she’d pulled out for him. “It’s the one thing I’m guaranteed not to burn.”

He paused behind her, ruffling her hair. “You’re too hard on yourself. You’ve blossomed into a fair cook.”

Well, she hadn’t sent anyone to Doc Caldwell with food poisoning, so she guessed that was something.

She could hold her own with prepackaged meals and brownies made from a mix, but she couldn’t duplicate the efforts of Sue Carter, who used to can her own jellies, made noodles from scratch for her soup and never once served a store-bought dessert until after her cancer diagnosis. One day, a few weeks after her mother’s funeral, Ronnie had stood inside the walk-in pantry sobbing at the realization that they were about to open the last of mama’s blackberry preserves and that there would never be any more.

The sounds of her dad’s chair scraping on the tile and subsequent rustling of cereal into a ceramic bowl dragged Ronnie back to the present. She blinked against the phantom sting of long-ago tears.

Wayne nodded toward the paper. “You done with the sports page?”

“You can have the whole thing.”

The Journal-Report was folded in half, open to the classified section. Her dad glanced down, then back at her.

“I was, ah, looking for good deals on furniture I could restore.”

“For the new place.” To give him credit, he tried to sound happy for her. But there was no mistaking the shadow that passed over his expression. “It’ll sure be lonely with you gone.”

She rose, carrying her empty bowl to the sink. “You’ll still have Dev.”

Before Ronnie was born, Wayne and Sue had bought the converted farmhouse in which she’d lived her entire life. Though the surrounding acreage that comprised the original farm had been sold off in parcels to local families, the old bunkhouse sat at the back of Wayne’s property. Devin had fixed it up and moved in, paying a nominal rent each month. Half the time, he joined them for dinner.

Or breakfast, if he hadn’t entertained an overnight guest. At least he has the freedom to have overnight guests. Ronnie glared through the blue-checkered curtains in the direction of her brother’s unseen home.

She rinsed the dishes, wiped her damp palms on the front of her jeans and smiled at her father. “Besides, you’ll see me practically every day, boss.”

He laughed. “True. You probably think I’m being an old fool, don’t you? It’s just…you’re the last little bird to leave the nest.”

Not that Devin had flown far, but she knew what her dad meant. Her brother Will had settled in North Carolina, where he’d gone to college and met his wife. Danny had Kaitlyn and Ashley now. Besides, restless Dev with his odd jobs and fleeting girlfriends sometimes seemed as likely to take off for a distant ranching job in Texas as show up for Sunday dinner. Her brothers, in their individual ways, were all living their lives.

Then there’s me, caught in a time warp.

She worked for her father, lived at home and was so tongue-tied at the thought of asking a cute guy to dance that she might as well still be the awkward, freckled fifteen-year-old who wore her brothers’ hand-me-down T-shirts more often than dresses. Even now, Lola Ann kidded that Ronnie only knew two hairstyles—a ponytail beneath her denim Carter & Sons cap and a ponytail without the hat. Glancing down, she took in the faded George Strait concert shirt she’d tucked into her jeans.

“I think I’ll run and change before heading to the garage,” she said, hearing the rueful note in her own voice.

Her dad paused with a spoonful of shredded wheat halfway to his mouth. “What the heck’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

For the mechanic who’d be sliding on protective coveralls, anyway? Nothing. For the woman she’d started wondering if she would ever truly become? More than she could possibly articulate.

BY THE TIME JASON APPROACHED the front of the high school, his paper bag from the Sandwich Shoppe in hand, there wasn’t much of his free period left to eat lunch at his desk. It would have been quicker to take his car, but the mid-March weather was ideal, providing the perfect sun-dappled, breezy backdrop for the picturesque town.

“Afternoon, Mr. McDeere.” Allen, the custodian, stood a few feet away at the half wall that formed a horseshoe around the school’s courtyard. Just beyond the brick wall were several picnic tables, the flagpole and the stairs leading inside.

Though the overall crime rate in Joyous was low, there had been some recent drive-by mailbox bashings and a spate of graffiti on the courtyard wall. Jason shook his head at the spray-painted suggestion that had appeared over the weekend. Obscene and misspelled.

“I see our miscreants are keeping you busy,” Jason said.

Allen grinned beneath his bushy gray mustache. “Beats spending the day inside solving plumbing emergencies. Principal Schonrock’s on the warpath, though. In the faculty lounge, she was threatening to cancel Spring Fling if the vandalism continues, but talked herself out of it, not wanting to penalize the whole student body for the actions of a few.”

Spring Fling was the formal dance at the end of this month. Since Jason hadn’t attended Homecoming in October or the Holiday Ball in December, Betty Schonrock had made it clear she expected Jason to take his turn and help chaperone the Fling. He’d gone so far as to promise his second-period class that if every one of them memorized either the Queen Mab speech from Romeo and Juliet or Mark Antony’s address in Julius Caesar, Jason would hit the dance floor to bust some old school moves. All part of his ongoing attempts to get the students engaged in Shakespeare.

Plan B was to point out some of the more creative insults and dirty jokes in the Bard’s plays, but Principal Schonrock might frown on that.

He took the stairs two at a time and had no sooner entered the building than he spotted the principal herself. She’d left the administrative office and was headed in the direction of the cafeteria. Betty was a diminutive but solidly built woman with a bob of silver-white hair and a sharp turquoise gaze that struck fear in the hearts of students, from pimply freshmen to linebackers on the Jaguar football team.

“Speak of the devil,” Jason said as he fell in step with her.

She arched an eyebrow. “That had better be a figure of speech and not a character assessment.”

“Yes, ma’am. Allen and I were just discussing the graffiti and your determination to end it.”

“God as my witness, even if I have to camp out in the courtyard every night with a sleeping bag, thermos of coffee and an industrial-size flashlight, I’m going to catch someone in the act and make an example of them.”

“Those kids don’t know who they’re messing with,” he said affectionately. “I heard you even considered taking away Spring Fling.”

Pausing, she slanted him a reproachful scowl. “Don’t sound so hopeful, McDeere.”

“Not at all. I’m…looking forward to it.”

“Good.” She nodded crisply before zeroing in on two girls standing near a bank of lockers. “Seneca, Jess. Do you ladies have some reason for loitering in the hallways?”

“We were on our way to the media center to work on a research project for Miss Burrows.” The taller of the two answered while her friend spared a quick glance at Jason, then lowered her head, giggling. “We have a pass.”

“Well, pick it up a little. I’ve seen injured turtles move faster than that.”

The girls both nodded, skirting around the principal to make their way down the corridor. Whispers and laughter trailed after them. Though he hoped it was his imagination, Jason thought he caught his name.

Principal Schonrock assessed him, arms akimbo. “About that spring formal, McDeere, I don’t suppose you’ll be bringing a date?”

“Ma’am?” He was unprepared for the random question, though he assumed she wasn’t asking him out. Mr. Schonrock wouldn’t approve.

“A date, McDeere. A female companion to whom you bring cups of ginger ale punch between rounds on the dance floor.”

What was it with the people in this town and their preoccupation with his social life? “I plan to go stag. Stay focused on the kids, make sure no one smuggles a flask to spike the punch.”

“I’ve got punch duty, no worries there.” She sighed. “You’re one of the best literature teachers we’ve ever had at this school, but you do pose the occasional problem.”

“Such as?” Jason was genuinely baffled, but open to constructive criticism if it would improve his effectiveness in the classroom.

For perhaps the first time since he’d known her, Betty seemed hesitant, glancing down the hall, checking in both directions before she replied. “When you were helping Coach Hanover with the cross-country team last semester, did you happen to notice how many divorced moms showed up at meets?”

“They were there to support their kids.”

“Some of them didn’t have kids on the team. Some of them didn’t even have kids at this school! Then there’s my own faculty. Shannon Cross has been teaching for four years and never once wore a low-cut sweater to a PTA meeting before you joined the staff. The way she and Leigh Norris bat their eyelashes at you over the coffeepot makes them seem more like students than educators. And it’s affected their professional relationship. Last Friday, I thought there might actually be a catfight.”

“Er…” While he wasn’t comfortable with the increasingly flirtatious mannerisms of his two female colleagues, he was even less comfortable discussing them with the principal. “Maybe it would be better to have this chat with Ms. Cross and Ms. Norris.”

“I have. But it’s not just them. You stand out conspicuously. We have a small staff here and very few male teachers. Aside from you, no male teachers who are single.”

“That has no bearing on my job performance.”

“Of course not, but you saw how Seneca and Jess reacted to you.”

“Teenage girls giggle all the time,” he said stiffly.

“Last week, Mrs. Feeney walked into the D Hall restroom and overheard three girls making dares on ways to get your attention. I dealt with it, but the fact of the matter remains that some parents…”

Surely no one had ever accused him of flirting with a student? If he didn’t resent the implication so much, he might have laughed at the irony. He hadn’t wanted to be single! When he’d made the vow to stay with Isobel until death parted them, he’d meant it. He just hadn’t anticipated her bailing on motherhood and, consequently, their marriage.

He tightened his grip on his lunch, probably crushing the sandwich inside the sack. “Principal Schonrock, I don’t like the tone of this conversation. If you’ll excuse me, I only have a few minutes left before the bell rings.”

“Jason, I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I considered not telling you about the restroom incident at all, but thought it better if you knew.”

“So that I can bring a date to the Spring Fling?” There were limits on what he was willing to do in his personal life to appease those in charge of his professional life.

“It might not hurt if people thought of you as less available.”

He bared his teeth in a humorless smile, spelling out what he’d tried to make Coach Hanover understand the other night. “I am the sole caretaker of a two-year-old. With my grandmother gone, I’ve tailored my schedule around Emily’s sitter and have been struggling in my nonexistent spare time, between potty training and grading papers, to renovate the run-down house Gran left us. Trust me, I’m about as unavailable as you can get.”

“MMM.” LOLA ANN CLOSED HER eyes briefly, tilting her face up toward the sun, clearly a woman who’d never freckled. “Days as lovely as today, I wonder why anyone ever drives.”

“Hey!” Ronnie laughed, scooting over on the sidewalk to avoid the dropped remains of an ice cream cone. “That’s my job security you’re threatening. How would you like it if I started questioning why people still read books?”

“Not enough of them do,” Lola Ann said vehemently.

“You have a point.” Certainly the men in Ronnie’s family never read anything unless it was related to sports or automobiles. She made a mental note to include a children’s book along with whatever gift she gave her niece for her next birthday.

A memory surfaced, the Christmas her freshman year when her dad and brothers had bought her a stack of cookbooks. The only kitchen tools I’ll need after the move are a microwave, a can opener and a refrigerator magnet with the phone number of the town’s pizza-delivery place.

It wasn’t that she’d ended up stuck with traditionally female chores because her brothers were meat-headed chauvinists. Juggling schoolwork and, in the case of Danny and Will, part-time jobs, they’d all helped around the house in different ways while Wayne ran the garage. Struggling to fulfill a promise that first year after Mom’s death, Ronnie had inadvertently set the pattern from which she still hadn’t broken free.

Take care of them. Looking back, Ronnie knew what her mother had meant—after all, without feminine interference, Will and Devin might never have thought to put on clean clothes. Yet, Ronnie felt as if she’d spent more time trying ineptly to fill someone else’s shoes than finding her own footsteps.

The library was on the corner, and Ronnie automatically slowed, assuming this was where she and Lola Ann would part company after their lunch.

“I, um, thought I’d walk with you,” Lola Ann said. “You know, work off some of that barbecue. Plus, I have to go to the post office. The garage is on the way.”

Ronnie raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment on her friend’s indirect route. “Suit yourself, I’m happy for the company.”

While Joyous was by and large a rural community where cars were a necessity, the few blocks of “downtown,” with its old-fashioned storefronts and limited parking, really did make for a nice stroll. They ran into numerous acquaintances, including Charity Sumner as she exited Claudette’s Beauty Salon.

“Charity!” Navigating the stroller the blonde pushed, Ronnie gave her a one-armed hug. “Long time, no see.”

Charity was Treble’s younger sister and, next to Lola Ann, Ronnie’s closest friend.

“We’ve missed you at Guthrie’s, but understand what’s kept you so busy.” Lola Ann leaned down to admire eight-month-old Brooke. “A cutie like this one sure makes the biological clock tick louder.”

Ronnie shifted her weight, listening as the other two women discussed baby milestones. Truthfully, Ronnie’s biological clock wasn’t running all that fast. She doubted it was even plugged in.

“I should be going.” Charity glanced at her watch reluctantly. “But we have to get together soon! Now that she’s sleeping through the night and I don’t constantly feel like a zombie, it’s time to reclaim my life.”

After they’d said goodbye, her friend’s words kept looping in Ronnie’s mind, like one of those irritatingly catchy pop songs that are impossible to get out of your head. Time to reclaim my life, time to reclaim my life. It was exactly how Ronnie had been feeling…except, had she ever created a life to reclaim?

“Lola Ann, is twenty-five too old for deciding what you want to be when you grow up?”

“What? I thought you liked being a mechanic.”

“I do. I meant metaphorically rather than professionally.”

Frankly, she’d never analyzed her vocational choice too closely. Wayne, who’d inherited the garage from his own father, had spoken often of sharing the place with his boys. Danny was the bookkeeper and worked in a mostly administrative capacity, although he’d probably help with basic maintenance procedures this week because people were gearing up for spring break road trips, keeping them busier than usual. Devin was a certified mechanic, but only pitched in between construction jobs to supplement his income—Joyous wasn’t a hotbed of new buildings and roadways. Of Wayne’s four children, Ronnie was the only one to become a full-time mechanic at the annoyingly named Carter & Sons.

She glared up at the sign that had never really bothered her before now.

Then she shook her head, trying to clear away the negativity. “Honest to God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I’ve been cranky. Itchy in my own skin, bad-tempered and unable to sleep.”

“Maybe it’s sexual frustration,” her friend teased. “That’s made me peevish on more than one occasion.”

“The sad part is, you’re probably right.” Ronnie glanced back up at the familiar sign and sucked in a deep breath. “Lola Ann, it’s time to make some changes. Are you with me?”

The brunette looked nervous. “Uh…with you on what, exactly?”

“We’ve got to take charge of our lives.” Running into Charity today had reinforced the realization that most of the people Ronnie knew were moving forward in different ways. Buying her house was an important step, but it didn’t have to be the only one. “You’re a bright, attractive woman. You don’t have to get all your happily ever afters from books—create your own future. If you’re really interested in that brother of mine, make him notice you. The next time I see Jason at Guthrie Hall, I am marching up to him and claiming that dance I’ve always wanted.”

“You are?” Lola An asked skeptically.

“I am! And if I can be brave, so can you.”

“Seems awfully convenient that the theoretical object of your bravery almost never comes to Guthrie’s.”

“I’m aiming for greatness here, don’t distract me with minor problems like reality.”

LolaAnn laughed. “All right. After you, o fearless leader.”

Empowered, Ronnie swung open the door. Lola Ann followed her inside the small office area that opened via a carpeted hallway into the much larger repair bays. “I’m back from lunch!”

Danny glanced up from his computer, looking amused at her inexplicably emphatic tone. “So we see.”

“’Bout time you got back, slacker.” Devin passed them en route from the minifridge, a carton of leftover take-out food in his hand. “Hey, Lola Ann.” He punctuated his greeting by affectionately chucking her chin, a gesture of such asexual fondness that Ronnie almost winced on her friend’s behalf.

Lola Ann’s expression was one of abject misery. Devin, being male and clueless, missed it completely.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to work,” Lola Ann told her friend. “I’ve gotta get to the post office, pick up those stamps.”

“We’ll see you on Saturday for dinner.” Ronnie gave her an encouraging smile. “In the meantime, don’t forget what we discussed. The world really can be your oyster.”

Turning to go, Lola Ann raised a halfhearted fist in solidarity.

“We make our own destiny,” Ronnie called through the door as it closed. “Even the most daunting journeys start with one decisive step!”

Devin stared at her. “Someone had way too many fortune cookies at lunch. What was that about?”

“Nothing you need worry your pretty head over,” Ronnie said. “Is Dad in the back?”

“Went to lunch with one of his poker buddies,” Danny answered, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

So it was just her and her brothers? She bit her lip, recalled this morning and decided to take advantage of the opportunity. “Devin, after I move out, will you go by the house for dinners and stuff? Keep him company.”

“I suppose, as long as it doesn’t put a crimp in my social life.” When he saw that she was seriously concerned, he sobered. “Sure, no prob. You know I always pop in to do my laundry, anyway.” The bunkhouse didn’t have a washer and dryer.

Ronnie rolled her eyes. “I assume you refer to the bags of clothes you leave on the laundry room floor that get magically sorted, washed and folded for you.”

“Yeah, gotta love those laundry fairies.” Grinning, he speared a bite of cold pasta.

“Well, this laundry fairy is about to get her own mortgage payments,” she snapped, “so you’re going to have to learn how to measure out detergent.”

Devin blinked. “Hey…I didn’t think you minded. I mean, you were doing yours and dad’s clothes so I figured it was no trouble to toss in one other person’s. I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you, Red.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She waved a hand, feeling shrewish. “Just, now that I’m moving out, things will have to change.” Actually, her house didn’t come with a washer and dryer, so maybe she could go to Dad’s house once a week and—No! She would save her quarters and use a Laundromat, or take pizza and a DVD to Lola Ann’s and do a couple of loads there.

They’d snagged Danny’s attention; he was peering at her intently. “You okay, sis? You seem wound pretty tight.”

No way was she sharing Lola Ann’s theory about why that might be.

“I’m excited about the move, but a little stressed, too,” Ronnie said. “It might be weird, not living in my room anymore.”

“It’ll be an adjustment,” he agreed. “For Dad, too. Maybe we could get him a puppy for Easter or something.”

“Do you think…” She swallowed, thinking of their father’s increasingly forlorn moods. “Has he ever considered dating?”

Neither of her brothers replied, but they both looked pointedly at the single framed snapshot on Wayne’s desk.

Danny glanced back at Ronnie, his expression both poignant and proud. “You look so much like her.” As the oldest, he’d had the most years with Sue, the most stored memories.

Ronnie laughed self-consciously. “Oh, right. I can see her now, standing in the kitchen in shapeless coveralls with a grease smudge on her cheek.”

“Flour.” Devin interjected. “I’d come home from school to the smell of something amazing baking, and she’d have little smears of flour on her skin and apron. God, she made the house smell good.”

Better than I ever did, Ronnie thought with an apologetic pang.

Silence fell over the little room, and Ronnie didn’t know who was more discomfited by the thick undercurrent of sentiment—the guys, or her.

Danny cleared his throat. “Guess who brought her car in while you were at lunch? Beth Gold. Seems her vehicle is suffering from phantom engine noises again.”

Ronnie was grateful for the excuse to laugh. “You mean those noises no one else has ever heard but which always seem to mysteriously reappear if she notices Dev working the shop?”

“I don’t think it’s engine noises,” Danny said solemnly. “I think it’s lo-o-o-ve.”

At this, Devin harrumphed. “We went on two dates this summer. Two! She should let it go.”

“She can’t,” Danny said. “Because she’s in lo-o-o-ve.”

Devin tossed a wadded-up napkin at his older brother, doing his part to dispel the earlier emotional tension. “Does Kaitlyn know that when you’re away from her good influence, you revert to a ten-year-old?”

“At least I’ve learned how to be a grown-up part of the time. Just one of the benefits of life with a good woman,” Danny said. “Something you would discover if you settled down.”

“There’s the problem,” Devin said. “Why ‘settle’ when I can get to know so many different beautiful women, each with her own delightful and unique personality?”

“Yeah, ’cause it’s really their personalities you’re after, you hound.”

Devin jerked his head meaningfully toward Ronnie, apparently wanting to spare her delicate sensibilities. Then he smiled, taking the opportunity to redirect Danny’s brotherly concern. “If you want someone in the family to find domestic bliss, you should stop badgering me and help Ronnie here.”

Ronnie ground her teeth and grabbed some paperwork from the inbox on Danny’s desk. “I don’t need ‘help.’”

“Sure you do,” Devin said. “How long’s it been since you had a date?”

“My darling siblings run off my potential dates.”

“That’s not true!” Devin protested. “We just screen them carefully. To keep away those who aren’t good enough.”

Danny nodded. “The guys who wouldn’t be right for you in the long run, the guys who are too stupid to know how to change their own oil, the guys who only have One Thing in mind.”

“You mean like Dev?” she asked wryly.

“Exactly!” Devin flashed an unrepentant smile, then grimaced. “God forbid you go out with anyone like me. If you did, we’d have to kill him. You don’t want Kaitlyn and Ashley reduced to visiting Danny in prison, do you?”

It was time Ronnie got to work on a car. Interlocking automotive systems made far more sense than her knucklehead brothers. Besides, she felt like taking something apart with her hands. But Danny calling her name in a soft voice stopped her in the doorway.

She looked over her shoulder with mild curiosity. “Yes?”

“There isn’t someone…specific you’d like to date, is there?” he asked. “Someone like, well, Jason McDeere.”

“Jason McWho?” She felt herself go white. Literally felt all the blood drain from her face in an almost audible whoosh.

Danny held her gaze. “After we had dinner at Adam’s Ribs last week, Kaitlyn mentioned that you were watching Jason.”

Darn her sister-in-law’s keen powers of observation! “I was just admiring what a good father he is to that little girl,” Ronnie mumbled.

“See?” Devin’s posture relaxed. “She was melting over the kid, not the guy. Her biological clock’s probably in countdown mode.”

She was going to clock the next person who used that phrase! Still, hard to argue without invalidating her own alibi.

“But Kaitlyn said you were looking at McDeere the way I used to look at my old Thunderbird.”

Devin shook his head. “As much as I adore your wife, Danny-boy, I think she’s off base. McDeere’s a decent sort, but a high school English teacher? Not the most manly job, reading Lord Bryan and Edgar Allen Poe to kids all day.”

“It’s Lord Byron,” Ronnie snapped. “And how is shaping the minds of today’s youth and, by extension, the future of our country, somehow inferior to selling wiper fluid? Just because he doesn’t spend his time belching or scratching or chasing skirts at Guthrie Hall like you…Jason McDeere is an intelligent, charming, good-looking man, and any woman in town would be lucky to have him.

“Really good-looking,” she added in a breathless afterthought, temporarily recalling those eyes and that smile instead of her audience: two brothers who were now gaping.

“Well, I’ll be,” Devin said. “Kaitlyn was right.”

A slow smile spread across Danny’s face. “Ronnie’s in l-o-o-o-ve.”

“We may have to screen him,” Devin said thoughtfully.

“You stay away from Jason McDeere or I will bludgeon you unconscious with a crescent wrench!” On the heels of that threat, Ronnie spun around and headed for the repair bays.

Her interfering, overprotective brothers knew about her attraction to Jason. What were the odds that they wouldn’t mention it to her equally overprotective father? Ronnie groaned, inhaling the scent of gasoline and industrial cleaners. Was it too late to fake her own death, skip out of town and start a new life far from Joyous?

Preferably, a life without siblings.

Chapter Three

“Wiseshine, Daddy!”

Even from his nearly unconscious state, Jason was able to translate Emily’s message of rise and shine—a phrase he’d made the mistake of using sometime in the past. Because she liked the sound of it, his nearly three-year-old daughter used it frequently, whether it was technically appropriate or not. It would be more appropriate now, for instance, if the sun were actually up.

He cracked one eye open. “Morning, sweet pea.” The digital clock on the nightstand said that it was 6:26 a.m. His little girl hadn’t grasped the concept of sleeping in on the weekends and loved to bounce out of her toddler bed first thing Saturday.

At times like this, he really missed the retired crib, where she’d been confined to playing with her stuffed animals until at least seven. Was it wrong to keep your kid behind bars so you could get an extra half hour of sleep?

Emily was struggling to hoist herself onto the double bed that dominated what had once been Sophie McDeere’s guest room. The lavender wallpaper with its climbing vines of faded flowers had hung in here since his father was a boy.

Jason scooped his daughter up next to him and reached for the remote control nestled between the phone and the clock. While he hadn’t bothered to bring the queen bed he’d once shared with his ex-wife to Joyous, he’d brought all the electronics, like the first-class stereo system, the DVD player and the large television that sat on the rose faux-marble top of a white wooden dresser.

Stifling a yawn, he smiled at his daughter. “How about I find some cartoons?” Maybe she wouldn’t mind if he watched them from behind closed eyelids.

“’Kay.” She snuggled closer, instantly agreeable as long as she got to be in his company.

As it so often did, the fact that he was all she had weighed heavily on his shoulders. Sometimes he worried that Emily was more clingy than other kids her age, but who could blame her? Her own mother, after months of an extreme postpartum depression, had shoved a crying baby into Jason’s arms one day and walked out, never to return. More recently, “Gran-Gran” had, as Emily solemnly put it, gone to live in the sky. It was entirely possible Em would grow up with a few abandonment issues. Hell, after the way his marriage ended, he had abandonment issues.

He’d been fully aware of Isobel’s depression and escalating panic that she wasn’t cut out for motherhood, but he’d been trying his damnedest to help her through it, to solidify them as a family. He’d failed.

He refused to do so again. We’ll make it work, kiddo. I swear I’ll do everything I can to be a good father. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, breathing in the grape smell of her no-tears children’s shampoo. God, life should be like that. He should be able to protect this trusting little person curled into his side, be able to guarantee that everything would always come up smelling sweet, with limited tangles or tears.

For this morning, at least, she was coping better than him. While he spent twenty minutes worrying about all the ways he might potentially screw up as a parent, his daughter laughed—that unabashed, full-bodied sound that had taken him by surprise when she was a baby—at the antics of an animated rabbit and duck on the TV screen. Afterward, he made them a modest but healthy breakfast of cereal and strawberries.

“You get to see Zoë today,” he reminded her as he buckled her into her booster seat at the table.

The Spencers across the street had a four-year-old daughter. Emily had always loved having the older girl over or even playing in the Spencers’ yard when Jason stayed in view. It was only in the past couple of weeks that she’d consented to being in Mrs. Spencer’s care without Jason there; even then, he kept his cell phone within reach in case Em suddenly and vehemently changed her mind, the way children her age could. While people often referenced the “terrible twos,” he’d only seen real tantrums from Emily in the past month, and Wanda Spencer agreed that the worst trouble she ever had with Zoë was the transition from two to about four months after she turned three. Emily’s third birthday would fall just after Easter this year.

Today, Wanda was taking the two girls to see a new G-rated movie at King Cinema that was garnering rave reviews from parents. The outing would give Jason a chance to run by the hardware store and pick up his latest batch of supplies. Though he knew more about elements of myth than he did wiring ceiling fans, modernizing this house meant something special to him. His dad had been in the military, and the family had relocated from base to base throughout Jason’s childhood with Gran’s place serving as a touchstone, a nostalgic constant. During the winter they’d lived in Alaska, Jason’s mom had vowed that while she’d dutifully follow her husband all over the world during his career, once he retired, they were moving somewhere very, very warm. They now resided in Phoenix. With her only child out west and her husband passing away several years ago, Sophie McDeere hadn’t had much help keeping up with repairs on this place.

Until he’d returned to his lifelong refuge during the divorce proceedings, Jason hadn’t realized how much the house had suffered from neglect. He’d made it his unspoken mission to respectfully refurbish Gran’s place and, in the process, build a wonderful home for Emily. Of course, while he was learning as much as he could through various instruction manuals and painstaking trial, he didn’t have a knack for design. If he let Emily have input, she’d probably insist on pink for everything from the sofa cushions to the carpet. There were some projects that needed…more of a woman’s touch.

Sighing, he loaded their breakfast dishes into the washer, thinking about the magazine-perfect house he’d left behind. Isobel, always flawlessly put together, had had a natural talent for design. While pregnant, she’d decorated a baby nursery that looked like something out of a fairy tale. But no amount of unicorn switch plates or fanciful wall murals could make up for what Emily had lost.

Pushing aside thoughts of the past and his occasional demons of self-doubt, he helped his daughter get dressed and read her a few of her favorite picture books. Though he was unquestionably biased, he thought she had a great vocabulary for her age, which he attributed to the stories they shared. Afterward, they played in the yard until it was time to walk her over to the Spencers’.

He took Emily’s hand as they climbed the four steps to the spacious front porch, where one of Zoë’s dolls sat in the glider-swing. “Are you excited about the movie, sweet pea?”

She nodded and said something about princesses, which he understood was a major selling point to the female preschool demographic. Emily was rarely without the tiara that had been part of the Halloween costume Gran put together for her. But despite his daughter’s eagerness for the princess film, he noticed her glance nervously his way when Wanda Spencer opened the screen door. Would Em fuss when he left? During the week when he went to work, she stayed home with a mother of two who had her days free while her own sons were in school. Emily still cried about half the time when he left, and it continued to break his heart. He’d hoped she’d be better adjusted to her daytime caregiver, Miss Nina, by now.

Wanda Spencer had plenty of experience with little girls, however. She bent down to Emily’s level, overlooking the girl’s wide green eyes and trembling bottom lip. “Hey there. Zoë and I were just talking about how we couldn’t wait for you to come over. She wants to show you a special bubble-blowing toy she got. We have plenty of time to play out back before our movie. Want to see?”

After a brief hesitation, Emily nodded, managing a smile when Zoë appeared in the doorway behind her mom.

As he watched the two little girls greet each other, Jason couldn’t help making visual comparisons. Emily’s dark hair was sliding out of the ponytail he’d attempted, and there was a sticky spot of strawberry residue he’d missed on her chin. Her clothes were clean, but her favorite green T-shirt, scuffed sneakers and purple skirt, worn over pull-up training pants, didn’t quite have the panache of Zoë’s pink-and-white shirt underneath pink overalls. She’d accessorized with pink-sparkle tennis shoes and ribbons at the end of two fancy braids. French braids? Braided pigtails? They reminded him of Dorothy’s hair at the beginning of The Wizard of Oz. Did mothers take some sort of special class to learn how to do stuff like that? Plaiting 101. Every time he picked up the small lavender brush to fix Em’s hair, he was all thumbs.

“She’ll be fine,” Wanda Spencer said, misreading his expression. “You go ahead, and we’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Thanks.” He hugged Emily in farewell and turned to Zoë’s mother. “Really, thank you.”

The people in Joyous were nosy and interfering, no doubt about it, but they were also generous of spirit and especially quick to help those they considered part of the fold. He knew that in a town this size, you could go a long while and still be thought of as an outsider, but Sophie had been well loved and locals had automatically extended that affection to him. He should try harder to remember this feeling of warm gratitude the next time someone was telling him about a woman he just had to meet.

“You’re welcome.” Wanda touched his arm, briefly, companionably. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be to go it alone. Zoë’s a good kid, but if I didn’t have Brad to help me…Well, I hope you and Emily know we’re here for whatever you need.”

As he walked back across the street, he found himself hoping that Wanda didn’t regret the open-ended offer of assistance. It was already becoming clear he’d have a lot of questions to deal with. Now that he was working with Emily on the concept of potty training and she was old enough to start voicing questions, he was increasingly aware of situations that he, as someone of the opposite gender, didn’t feel equipped to handle.

Recalling Principal Schonrock’s entreaties to bring a date to the Spring Fling, Jason made a face. He needed a woman, all right—not for some school dance, but someone who could braid hair and tackle delicate scenarios with a light touch. Emily was growing so fast that, before he knew it, she’d be a young woman getting her first—

Sheer panic filled him, so he squelched the thought immediately. Toddlerhood was terrifying enough; he didn’t even want to contemplate puberty. One day at a time. It wasn’t the most original or inspiring motto, but it had brought him this far. Whatever life threw at him next, he’d handle.

His daughter was counting on him.

SINCE SHE WASN’T SCHEDULED to work this particular Saturday, Ronnie had planned to use today to pack. Yet it had taken depressingly little time to box up her belongings.

Her father had shocked her that morning when he’d suggested she take the dining room table and china cabinet with her. “Your mama would’ve wanted to you to have them.”

“Oh, I can’t!” She’d glanced around the room, appalled by the thought of a big empty space. “I appreciate the thought, Daddy, but my place is too small. Besides, where would everyone sit at Thanksgiving and Easter and plain ol’ family dinners?”

Speaking of this evening’s looming supper…Her brothers had been suspiciously silent on the subject of Jason McDeere since teasing her at the beginning of the week. Lulling you into a false sense of security, no doubt. Heckling was a Carter family tradition, and she wondered what might be said later. Especially since insightful Kaitlyn, who had first clued Danny in about Ronnie’s unspoken feelings, would be present. Ronnie still couldn’t believe her sister-in-law had said anything without first broaching the subject with Ronnie herself. Sharing thoughts with a spouse must trump gal-pal confidences.

At any rate, there wasn’t much left to pack that she wouldn’t need between now and the move, so Ronnie decided to get out of the house for a few hours. Cranking up an old Bon Jovi CD she’d found while emptying out her desk, she drove to the town’s main hardware supply store. She wanted to start thinking about the specific changes she planned to make, putting together a list of priorities and a preliminary budget.

Once inside the spacious warehouse, she grabbed a cart. Armed with a notepad of scribbled measurements and a calculator, she began at the far left, intending to make her way systematically across the aisles. She was only four rows in, however, when she halted. Her breath caught in her throat.

Jason McDeere.

He was standing in front of a section of white plastic strips dotted in colorful squares representing paint shades. Apparently he was interested in one of the color schemes on a lower shelf, because he’d bent over for a closer look. She couldn’t help but notice the way the denim of his jeans—

“Veronica.” He straightened, giving her a smile that was just a touch self-conscious.

“Hello.” Too formal. “Hi.” Yeah, that was better. “Hi.” Except that now she’d greeted him three times and was probably coming off as manic. On the plus side, anything she said from here on out was bound to be an improvement as long as she didn’t say it in triplicate. “How’s it going?”

“Okay, I guess.” He ran a hand through that thick hair—light brown with touches of burnished gold. “I consider myself an educated man, but hell if I can tell you the difference between ‘apricot’ and ‘tangerine.’ Or ‘cranberry’ and ‘pomegranate.’”

She laughed, a combination of nerves and genuine amusement. “Are you wanting to paint something, or make a fruit salad?”

“Exactly!” Moving closer, he extended a strip with various shades of green. “Kiwi? Honeydew? They can’t just call it yellow-green?”

“Maybe they thought they could charge more for honeydew.”

He nodded, studying the selection in front of him with befuddled exasperation. “I always thought choice was a good thing, but this is overwhelming. Where do I start? Now I know how my students feel when I tell them to pick a topic for their research paper each semester.”

“You could try flipping a coin. It’s what my brother Dev would do.” But she was secretly pleased that Jason approached decisions more thoughtfully.

“Better yet, I could get a second opinion. Help a guy out, Veronica?”

Something rippled through her, a foreign intimacy at hearing her name again from his lips. “Actually, it’s just Ronnie. Hardly anyone’s called me Veronica since my mom died.”

“Ronnie, then.” After a moment, he asked gently, “Do you still miss her?”

“Some days more than others.” Was he thinking of his grandmother? “Have I ever told you how sorry I was for your loss? Sophie was a lovely person.”

He smiled. “She was, wasn’t she? I like to think she’s with Grandpa Bert now. I don’t think she ever truly got over him.”

Ronnie thought back to the photo of her mom in her dad’s office. “Some people really do find that once-in-a-lifetime true love, don’t they?”

This time, his smile was tinged with the barest hint of bitterness. “I might be the wrong person to ask.”

Stupid, she chided herself. In light of his divorce, her babbling was probably insensitive. “So, um, paint samples?” Smooth segue. Yeah, it’s a real mystery why you never date.

He glanced down at the stick in his hand as if he’d forgotten he held it. “Right. I’ve been putting off drastic changes to Gran’s house because it seemed somehow disrespectful to her memory, but I can’t ignore the needed repairs. There’s one section of the roof I should reinforce so we don’t end up with a leak, and the whole place could use some updating. My bedroom definitely needs a change.”

Mine, too. It needs a man in it. Ronnie blinked, as horrified by the uncensored thought as if she’d said it aloud. She tried to squelch the idea, but when she glanced into Jason’s eyes her nebulous fantasies took on new clarity. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cursed her redhead’s fair complexion so thoroughly. He’d have to be blind not to notice she was blushing. There was a question in his eyes, but he didn’t voice it.

Doing her best to sound nonchalant, she asked, “Then you’re planning to paint your room?”

“Probably. The wallpaper that’s in there now has got to go. No offense to Gran’s taste, but I’m not really a roses kind of guy.”

She smiled. “When I was seven, my mother painted my room pink, hung frilly white curtains and got lacy pillow covers for my bed.”

“Sounds like my daughter’s idea of heaven,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I coveted the monster truck decor in Will’s room. So I empathize on not loving the roses.” It occurred to her that as lone occupant of her new house, she could fix up the entire place in a monster-truck motif. She chuckled at the image.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “What’s funny?”

“It’s silly.”

“Try me. I have a two-year-old, I’m fluent in silly.”

“I’m buying my first house this week,” she said. Just saying it out loud sent joy glowing through her. “I suddenly pictured all the rooms done in that truck theme I wanted when I was a kid.”

He grinned. “I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t ask your decorating advice.”

“Definitely not. I’m doing well just to pick out clothes each morning that don’t actively clash.”

“Looks like you do okay.” As he spoke, his eyes swept downward in automatic observation. Yet long before he’d reached her navy shirt and white shorts, his gaze slowed, became something less casual and more reflective.

Her skin tingled in the wake of his visual caress. She was unused to prolonged perusal from a man, was even less accustomed to the elemental admiration she saw dawning in those indescribable eyes. Her heart sped up in her chest, and she wondered if he could make out the rapid flutters beneath the thin cotton.

She swallowed. “Thank you.” It should have been a simple acknowledgment of a perfunctory compliment, but it was something more than that, husky and personal.

His eyes returned to hers, the expression in them dazed. A thrill of heady, feminine power shot through her—she’d put that look on Jason McDeere’s face. It was surreal, so unexpected that she found herself emboldened enough to blurt, “Would you like to go have lunch with me?”

He hesitated, and she felt sure he would say no. After all, he’d just finished telling her how much work he had to do revamping his—

“I’d love to.” His smile was boyish. “I’m as bad as my students. I always tell them not to procrastinate, but when faced with the prospect of slogging through more paint samples or a meal with a pretty girl…Well, it’s a no-brainer. You’ve rescued me from a kiwi-pomegranate-tangerine meltdown.”

In turn, he’d rescued her from going to bed tonight with the heavy feeling that she’d let one more day pass her by, full of quiet longings and missed opportunities.

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