“I’m really proud of you. I appreciate your willingness to help out.”

The girl he remembered would have stared at the floor in embarrassment. This new Nola didn’t look away, though the tint in her cheeks deepened. “I’m glad. I—I’ve thought about you often.”

He had forgotten the color of her eyes—a pale blue-gray, like shadows on snow. The ash-blond hair he remembered as hanging halfway down her back was now cut in short, tousled wisps that revealed the shape of her head, her small, pearl-pink ears.

“What really brings you back, Nola Shannon? Why are you here?”

She kept her chin up, held his gaze with her own. But she couldn’t answer his question.

Because she couldn’t remember what she’d come for…or what she’d planned to do when, after twelve long years, she once again stood face-to-face with Mason Reed.

Dear Reader,

We hope you already know that Harlequin American Romance publishes heartwarming stories about the comforts of home and the joys of family. To celebrate our twenty-fifth year, we’re pleased to present a special miniseries that sings the praises of the home state of six different authors, and shares the many trials and delights of being a parent.

Welcome to the second book in our THE STATE OF PARENTHOOD miniseries, Smoky Mountain Reunion. Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? Well, what if you met that teacher several years later and you still had feelings for him? And what if it turns out he’s a single father? Lynnette Kent’s book is set in the Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, and I know you’re going to enjoy watching romance blossom in this glorious setting.

There are five other books in the series. Last month (June ’08) Tina Leonard’s Texas Lullaby showed us an irresistible bachelor discovering the joys of fatherhood in his instant family. In August Cowboy Dad by Cathy McDavid tells the story of an ex-rodeo rider and a woman who knows better than to trust any man who’s ever gone eight seconds on a bronc. Watch for more books by authors Tanya Michaels, Margot Early and Laura Marie Altom.

We hope these romantic stories inspire you to celebrate where you live—because any place you raise a child is home.

Wishing you happy reading,

Kathleen Scheibling

Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Smoky Mountain Reunion
Lynnette Kent

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lynnette Kent began writing her first romance in the fourth grade, about a ship’s stowaway who would fall in love with her captain, Christopher Columbus. Years of scribbling later, her husband suggested she write one of those “Harlequin romances” she loved to read. With his patience and her two daughters’ support, Lynnette realized her dream of being a published novelist. She now lives in North Carolina, where she divides her time between books—writing and reading—and the horses she adores. Feel free to contact Lynnette via her Web site, www.lynnette-kent.com, or with a letter to PMB 304, Westwood Shopping Center, Fayetteville, NC 28314.

For Pam, again, because she asks all the right

questions and nags until I uncover the answers.

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

The bad news glared at her from the computer screen.

With her spine stiff and her muscles tight, Nola Shannon stared at the monitor.

She’d dropped by her office at the university to pick up a couple of books, and made the mistake of answering the phone when it rang. Now…

Was she insane? What had she just agreed to?

“Nola?” A hand jiggled her shoulder. “Nola? You okay?”

She jerked her head around to look at the man standing next to her. “Oh, Ted. Hi.”

He frowned at her, his high forehead wrinkled in concern. “Hi, yourself. I looked in and you were sitting there like you’d been hypnotized.”

“I, um…” She pressed her fingertips against her eyelids for a moment, trying to make her brain work. “I had a phone call.”

Ted braced a hand on the arm of her chair and leaned in to study the Web page. “Hawkridge? What’s that?”

“The Hawkridge School.” Nola leaned against the opposite arm of the chair to give herself some space. “That’s who called. The headmistress asked me to fill in for a teacher on maternity leave.”

Straightening up, Ted propped a hip on the corner of her desk. “Headmistress? What kind of college has a headmistress?”

“Not a college.” Nola eased her rolling chair back from the desk. “I’ll be teaching math to grades nine through twelve.”

“High school? She wants you to teach high school?” He shook his head. “That’s some nerve, asking an Ivy League Ph.D. to fill in as a substitute teacher.”

“I graduated from Hawkridge,” Nola explained. “They sometimes approach alumni to help them out in emergencies like this.”

“I still don’t get it. Most high schools are glad to see the last of their students.”

“Hawkridge is…different. Their students have more at stake than just grades and a diploma.”

Stepping sideways, Ted settled his six-foot-four frame into a spare chair by Nola’s desk. “Explain?”

More than anyone Nola knew, Ted had the right to ask. They’d been friends since graduate school, but over the past few months, their casual evenings together had taken on an aura of romance. He held her hand now, when they went to see a film, put his arm around her as they strolled along the sidewalk. His good-night kisses were lasting longer and longer.

And Nola had recently decided to cooperate. Ted Winfield was a very nice man, a colleague nearly as successful in his field, history, as she was in mathematics. They were both on tenure-track at the university, which would mean employment there for life. Tall and thin, with his blond hair receding slightly but still plentiful, he looked exactly right for the part of a considerate easy-to-live-with husband. Together, they could produce intelligent, easy-to-care-for children.

“Hawkridge is a school for girls with problems,” she told him. “Emotional problems that are leading them into dangerous behaviors.”

“You went there?”

“Yes.” She nodded as he gazed at her, his jaw hanging loose in shock. “By court order. I’d gotten into trouble once too often—cheating, drinking, fighting at school. Shoplifting, driving without a license…” Ted’s blue eyes grew rounder with every word. “My guardians couldn’t control me. The judge ordered me into a rehabilitation program—otherwise I’d have been sentenced to juvenile detention. And so I ended up at Hawkridge.”

“Wow.” He removed his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned the lenses with a fold of his shirt. “I had no idea.” Replacing them, he took a deep breath. “I guess the program worked, huh? I mean, you’re a model citizen at this point. Not to mention a math genius.” His grin didn’t seem to have changed.

Nola relaxed her weight against the back of the chair. “Hawkridge is a good place. Structured, but caring—they changed my life. If they ask for help, what can I say but yes?”

“I see your point.” He stared at his hands, twiddling his thumbs for a moment, then looked up again. “When do you leave?”

“The girls go on spring break this Friday, so I’ll arrive the following weekend, before school resumes on Monday.”

“Good thing you’re free of classes and working on research this term.” Ted gave her his usual sunny smile. “Where is this place? Can I visit on the weekends?”

“North Carolina, west of Asheville. In the Great Smoky Mountains.”

“On top of ol’ Smoky,” Ted warbled, putting a painful twang into the words. “That’s too far for a weekend jaunt from Boston—except for rich people like you. So you’ll be hanging out with these hillbillies until when?”

Nola managed to swallow her irritation at his narrow-mindedness. There was no sense in starting an argument. “Graduation is the first week in June.”

He sobered, and reached across the desk to take her hand in his. “I’m going to miss you, Nola.” His thumb stroked across her knuckles. “That’s a long time. How about dinner tonight?”

She was glad to think her troubled past didn’t bother him. “That sounds good. Where shall I meet you?”

“Why don’t we eat in, for a change?” The intensity of his gaze, a certain resonance in his tone, conveyed more than the words. “We can relax, be comfortable.”

Nola looked down at their clasped hands. Apparently, he’d decided it was time for them to have sex. Something about her going away had compelled Ted to stake a claim. An hour ago, Nola would have considered that an appropriate next step, too.

An hour earlier, however, she hadn’t been thinking about Hawkridge. About Mason Reed.

She manufactured a sudden gasp of surprise and pulled her hand away to pick up her palm computer. “Ted, I’m sorry. I just remembered, I’ve already set up a dinner meeting with…” She pressed a couple of buttons and discovered she actually did have a dinner meeting scheduled. “With my graduate advisees. Talking over their projects, that sort of thing.”

He groaned. “Using mathspeak?”

An old joke between them. Nola smiled. “I’m afraid so.”

Ted pushed himself to his feet with a sigh. “As you know, I don’t do mathspeak. So I’ll let your students have you to themselves.” He bent down as if to kiss her cheek, but his lips lingered next to her ear. “I’ll call you later tonight, so we can clear the calendar and get together.” She expected a kiss, but he flicked her ear with his tongue instead. Then he left her office, whistling.

Wincing and wiping her ear with her sleeve, Nola got up and closed the door behind him, then returned to her desk and recalled the window on her computer. The Hawkridge Web site filled the screen again, with its faculty photograph and list of corresponding names. Among the faces of thirty or so women was one masculine countenance. Mason Reed.

He’d been a first-year teacher during her senior year of high school, advising her as she worked through college applications and acceptances. She hadn’t seen him since her graduation day. But the torch she’d carried for him had burned brightly for a long, long time.

“He’s a ghost, that’s all,” she told herself throughout the following week while choosing clothes and packing suitcases. “A phantom from the past. You’ll see him, put the memories to rest, then get on with your life. In a few months, you could have a wedding to plan.”

Despite her resolution, however, she somehow managed to evade Ted’s attempts at seduction every night before she left.

And yet he woke up at 4:00 a.m. on Friday to drive her to the airport. “Don’t work too hard,” he said in a hoarse voice, looking rumpled and grouchy and sweet all at once.

“I won’t.” She kissed him, out of guilt and gratitude. “Go home, get back in bed. I’ll call you tonight.” He backed up several steps, waving feebly, then turned to trudge toward the parking lot.

In the next moment, he’d vanished from her thoughts. Briefcase in hand, Nola headed toward the security checkpoint, already bracing herself for the return to Hawkridge.

Bracing herself for the ordeal of facing Mason Reed.

IN HER DREAM, they sat on a stone wall near the top of the mountain, staring into the mist that cloaked their view of the valley below and talking about colleges she might choose. He’d given her his perspective on the pros and cons, but the choice was hers. Where would she go when she finished high school?

After a long silence, she finally said, “I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here.” Swallowing hard, she kept her gaze on his face. “With you.”

His dark brown eyes widened and he gazed at her for a stunned moment. Then his fingertips touched her cheek. “Darling…” His southern accent dropped the g. “I was afraid to ask. You shouldn’t sacrifice a brilliant career for me.”

She covered the back of his hand with her palm. “You’re all I want. You’re all I need.”

In the next instant, he pulled her against his chest and took her lips with his. She kissed him back with all her heart, locked her arms around his waist and swore she’d never let him go…

“Ms. Shannon?” An unfamiliar voice wove its way into the scene. “Ms. Shannon? We’ve arrived.”

Nola blinked, then pried apart her scratchy eyelids. “Um…thank you.” Her dream vanished like mountain mist under a summer sun, and she was relieved to let it go. Who could spare the time for useless dreams?

Speaking of time, a glance at her watch showed that her appointment with Jayne Thomas, the headmistress of Hawkridge, was scheduled for twenty minutes from now. Immediately afterward, Nola would attend her first faculty meeting, which meant she’d be introduced to the other teachers and staff. Some of them were new since her days as a student, but others she knew quite well. Including Mason Reed.

Was he still so charming, so courtly? Would he still make her laugh even while making her think? Maybe he’d gotten fat—or bald. Maybe he was tired, boring, dull.

Or he might still be damn near perfect.

Nola realized her hands were shaking. She gripped them together and stared out the window of her hired car, trying to divert her thoughts with the scenery. All along the winding mountain road, white dogwood flowers fluttered around the tall pine-tree trunks, and patches of purple rhododendron blossoms brightened the dappled shade. Some long-gone gardener had planted drifts of daffodils in the grass at the edge of the forest, and now their cheerful yellow trumpets nodded in the breeze. As a teenager, Nola had spent hours wandering these woods in all seasons and weathers. Judging by today, spring was still her favorite time of year.

The mileage signs on the narrow road up to the school were falling behind, but not fast enough. Nola leaned forward and put her hand on the front seat, but before she could ask the driver to speed up, the car decelerated. In another moment, they’d stopped altogether.

She changed the question. “Is something wrong?”

The driver turned around, looking past her through the rear window. “There’s a kid back there on the side of the road.”

Nola shifted to follow his gaze. “He’s walking oddly. Do you suppose he’s hurt?”

“If you don’t mind waiting a minute, I’ll go and check.”

“That will be fine.”

The worry on his grandfatherly face eased into a smile. “Thanks.”

Nola watched as he walked back down the road. The boy came to a stop as soon as he saw the man approaching. There was a moment of hesitation as they faced each other. Then the driver returned to the car alone.

Nola rolled down her window. “Is he all right?”

Taking off his cap, the man scratched his head. “He’s carrying a huge turtle. That’s why he’s walking strangely.”

“A turtle?”

“This big.” He rounded his hands, indicating a circle at least a foot in diameter. “But he won’t talk to me at all. Won’t say a word. Backs away, if I come closer.” Smoothing down his thick gray hair, he replaced his cap. “I guess he’s been told not to talk to strange men in cars. My kids and grandkids always were.”

“Oh.” She looked at the boy again, seeing how he struggled to keep hold of the agitated turtle. To judge by the size of that shell, the animal had to be heavy. “Do you think he would talk to a strange woman?”

The driver looked worried again. “I don’t…”

A glance at her watch told her they couldn’t afford much more delay. “Let’s find out.” She released the door latch and the driver jumped forward to pull it open for her. Together, they headed toward the boy and the turtle.

The day was warm for March in the mountains, the sunlight strong. A light breeze stirred her hair and cooled her cheeks. Nola stopped about ten feet away from the unlikely pair. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Dark, silky hair fell across his forehead and into his brown eyes. His cheeks and arms were pale and freckled, his jeans, shirt and boots, filthy. “Just trying to get this fella home.”

The turtle’s arms and legs flailed, exposing sharp claws that came close to scratching the boy’s hands. Its head and tail poked out and retreated into the shell repeatedly, and with each move the boy was forced to adjust his stance to compensate.

The driver glanced at the forest surrounding them. “Couldn’t you just put him down in the woods somewhere along here?”

“I found him down on the highway. He almost got runned over twice before I could pick him up. He needs water and someplace safe. We have a pond out back of the house I think he’ll like.”

“How far do you have to go?” Nola asked.

“Coupla miles.”

“What are you doing so far from home? And on Hawkridge property? This is private land, you know.”

“My dad works at Hawkridge. He’ll take me and Homer to the pond.”

“I’ve never heard of homer turtles.” Nola glanced at the driver, who shrugged.

“Me neither.” The boy flashed her an amused look, displaying a deep dimple near each corner of his mouth. “This is Terrapene carolina carolina. A common box turtle. Homer’s his name. After the Greek poet.”

With its black-and-gold patterned shell and wizened, enigmatic face, the creature was, in its own way, fascinating. “How do you know it’s a male?”

“Males have red eyes.” Closing the distance between them, the boy lifted the turtle toward Nola’s face. “See? Females have brownish eyes.”

“Ah.” She had a feeling he could give her a college-level lecture on the habitat and habits of the box turtle. And she might have been willing to listen, but then she’d be late for her appointment. “Well, if you’re okay…” She turned toward the driver. “We should be on our way.”

He touched the brim of his hat. “Yes, ma’am.” But then he looked at the boy again. In a low voice, he said to Nola, “I hate to leave him alone out here.”

Nola looked at her watch again. “He’s perfectly safe.” She always had been.

The driver wasn’t convinced. “Two miles is a long way to walk for a young kid.”

She took a deep, calming breath. “You want to give him a ride?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, ma’am. Since we’re going to the same place.”

“Fine.” Anything to simply get going. She looked back at the boy. “Would you like a ride to the school?”

He grinned. “Sure!” But then his face fell, as he appeared to reconsider. “Uh…I’m not supposed to ride with strangers.”

Nola stared at him, not sure what to do next. “I’m Nola Shannon. I’ll be teaching at Hawkridge for the next two months. So I’m not exactly a stranger.”

Relief brought out another dimpled grin. “I’m Garrett. If you’re a teacher, then it’ll be okay.” He marched forward, his flailing burden held in front of him. “Let’s go. My arms are getting tired.”

“You don’t want that animal in the car with you,” the driver told Nola as they followed the boy. “It’s filthy.”

She nodded. “We’ll put him in the trunk.”

With the trunk of the limousine open, however, Nola experienced second thoughts. So, evidently, did the turtle’s rescuer. “Homer might get hurt if a suitcase fell on him,” he said. “It would be good if we had something safe to put him in.” He scrutinized Nola’s luggage. “Can we take the stuff outta that little bag and put Homer in there?”

The driver gasped. “Absolutely not!”

But Nola, looking at the boy’s worried face, said, “I guess so.” It’s just my Louis Vuitton lingerie case.

With her underwear tucked into a different bag and Homer installed in French leather, she and Garrett got into the backseat. Still shaking his head, the driver restarted the engine and resumed their course.

“Would you like something to drink?” Nola opened the limo’s small refrigerator.

“Awesome.” The boy sat forward, his eyes wide. “Is this your car?”

“I rented it at the airport. Soda, juice or water?”

He pointed to a can of soda. “Have you got food, too?”

At the touch of her fingers, a sliding panel above the refrigerator revealed crackers, nuts, chips and candy. “Be my guest.”

“Oh, wow.” He took a bag of chips and scooted back against the seat, munching and sipping. “Where are you from?”

Nola settled into the corner with a bottle of water. “Boston.”

Garrett nodded. “I’ve been there. My mom and dad went to college in Boston. We used to visit sometimes.” He stopped chewing, and his gaze turned inward. “She died.”

“I’m sorry.” Losing a parent was hard, Nola knew from experience—she’d lost both of hers before she was eight years old. But he’d get over it, just as she had.

His shoulders lifted with a deep breath. “My mom liked animals a lot. They have a good zoo in Boston. Have you been there?”

“No, I haven’t.”

His brown eyes reproached her. “Why not? They have a great zoo in New York, too. And the one in Washington, D.C.—have you been there?” When she shook her head, he stared at her in shock. “Why not? Don’t you like zoos?”

“I—I just never think of going, I guess.” She’d been to the Boston zoo once on a school field trip, she remembered. And gotten in trouble for climbing into the giraffe enclosure on a dare. The animals hadn’t cared, but the chaperones had been furious.

“What do you do for fun?”

“I…” She had to stop and think. “I read and…and do word puzzles.” If you could call the New York Times crossword a mere puzzle.

“That’s all? Don’t you go out with your friends or anything?”

“I have a lot of work to do.” She didn’t want to admit how few people she could call “friend.”

Shaking his head, Garrett ploughed into the bag for more chips. “My dad says the same thing. We used to have people over all the time, before…” He sighed again. “He doesn’t feel much like seeing anyone these days. Says he’s tired.”

Nola didn’t know what to say, but Garrett didn’t seem to require a response, although he did ask politely for another bag of chips. He’d hardly stopped chewing long enough to breathe before the car emerged from the shady forest into bright afternoon sunlight. Just ahead, the road split to form a circular driveway leading up to the front door of the Victorian mansion that housed the Hawkridge School.

Nola chuckled. “I’d forgotten. It looks like a castle, doesn’t it?”

Garrett nodded and swallowed at the same time. “Some of the girls call it Hawkwarts. You know, like Hogwarts in the Harry Potter books?”

“There is a resemblance.” Built by railroad magnate Howard Ridgely in the late nineteenth century, the brick-and-stone house possessed its share of pointed turrets, plus acres of diamond-paned glass in its casement windows and hundreds of feet of iron railing around its porches and balconies. The overall effect should have been forbidding, like the setting for a gothic novel.

But instead, after twelve years away, Nola had the strange impression that she’d been on a long, difficult journey and had now, finally, come home again.

The car stopped beside the entrance. As Nola stepped onto the cobblestone driveway, girls’ voices floated through the open doorway from the main hall, competing with the sounds of birds twittering in the trees.

Garrett scrambled out behind Nola and went immediately to the rear of the car. “I need to get Homer to some water.”

Lifting the lid of the trunk, the driver said, “I’ll bring your bags in, Ms. Shannon. Just have someone tell me where I should put them.”

She turned to him and extended her hand. “I will. Thank you for everything. You’ve been a good sport.”

He grinned. “Hey, it’s not my suitcase that turtle’s been traveling in.”

Nola rolled her eyes. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

Garrett started up the steps, but then hesitated and turned back to wave at the driver. “Thank you for the ride,” he said, his cheeks flushed. “Me and Homer woulda had a long walk.”

The driver returned a two-fingered salute. “No problem.”

Nola joined Garrett on the steps. “Where do you think you’ll find your father?”

“In his office or at a meeting or something.” The boy picked up Nola’s case and climbed the remainder of the stone stairs, leaning a little to the side with the weight of the turtle. “He said he’d be done about four o’clock.”

“That gives you at least an hour to wait.” As they stepped inside, the tall case clock by the door began to play the Westminster chimes, a sequence as familiar to Nola as her own breath. The huge entry hall—fifty feet square, according to the Hawkridge Student’s Manual—had always been an afternoon gathering place for students, and nothing had changed there, either. Singles, pairs and groups of girls sat cross-legged on the black-and-white marble floor tiles, leaned against mahogany-paneled walls or perched on the steps of the circular staircase with its wrought-iron banister, studying and gossiping, arguing and laughing, as they’d done for more than forty years.

To the casual observer, the scene suggested a very expensive, very elegant private school for girls. But Agatha Ridgely, Howard Ridgely’s only child, had dedicated the estate and her fortune to a special cause. For most of these students, the Hawkridge School was the last resort, a final chance to turn their lives around before their behavioral problems—and the criminal-justice system—took over.

Having rung the chimes, the clock gave three sonorous strikes—marking the time for Nola’s appointment with the headmistress. Before the last note died away, a door on the right side of the hall opened. The woman who stepped out smiled as the entry hall instantly went silent.

“It’s okay,” she said, her voice low but clear. “I won’t start cracking the whip until Monday morning at eight.”

Judging by their laughter, the girls did not feel particularly threatened.

When she saw Nola, the other woman quickly crossed the floor. She wore a white shirt, dark blue slacks and sensible shoes, but her colorful sweater was decorated with cartoon characters—a crazy rabbit and his roadrunner pal, plus a wise-cracking duck and a bald little man with a rifle.

Her smooth skin revealed she was younger than she’d first appeared. Her chestnut-brown hair, combed back to fell in waves over her shoulders, showed not a single strand of gray.

“Nola, there you are! Welcome to Hawkridge. I’m Jayne Thomas, the ringmaster of this circus. Please forgive the noise—spring break has just ended and the girls are catching up on each other’s lives.” She took Nola’s hand without really shaking it, then looked down at Garrett. “Helping with the luggage, Garrett? That’s nice of you.”

“Uh, not exactly.” He shifted Nola’s case to his other hand. “She let me borrow it.”

The headmistress widened her eyes. “For what?”

“Homer,” Nola said. “A turtle he found on the road.”

“Oh, Garrett.” The headmistress now looked quite distressed, indeed. “Tell me you didn’t put a turtle in that beautiful suitcase.”

“He was gonna get hurt in the trunk,” Garrett explained. “Ms. Shannon said I could.”

“Oh, dear.” Jayne Thomas placed a hand on Nola’s shoulder. “Garrett’s well-known for his collecting habits. He keeps an entire menagerie of injured animals.”

“I’m glad I could help.” Nola smiled. “I hope his father won’t mind one more addition to the collection.”

“Dad doesn’t care.” Garrett glanced up at the curved balcony running around three sides of the entry hall. “There he is now. Dad! Hey, Dad!”

He ran to the circular staircase and started up, lugging the suitcase with him, dodging the girls who lounged on the steps, talking and laughing. “Come see what I found, Dad. It’s the coolest box turtle, ever!”

Somewhere out of sight, a man said, “A box turtle, so early in the spring? I guess this warm spell has brought them out of hibernation.”

His voice hadn’t changed, and Nola would have recognized it anywhere. The years rolled back, and she was eighteen again…

…standing at the foot of the staircase on a hot August afternoon, when a gorgeous guy wearing jeans and a navy sports jacket stepped through the front door. He slipped his backpack off his shoulder, looked in her direction and grinned.

“I’m Mason Reed,” he said in a delicious southern drawl. “The new physics teacher. And you are…?”

In love, Nola answered silently. Totally and forever in love. With you.

Chapter Two

“There’s Mason, now.”

Jayne Thomas’s voice brought Nola back to the present. In the next moment, he descended into view on the staircase, but then quickly crouched down to peer at the turtle Garrett—his son, Garrett—revealed in Nola’s suitcase. Through the iron balusters, she could see that Mason’s hair was as dark as she remembered, the same silky brown as Garrett’s. Worn a little long, the relaxed waves brushed his jacket collar and the curves of his ears and his eyebrows. Still lean and flat waisted, he straightened up without visible effort.

“Where did the bag come from?” he asked his son as they headed down the stairs. “That’s a pretty fancy carrying case for a box turtle.”

“I got a ride from the highway,” Garrett explained. “It was the coolest car, Dad, with a fridge and a food cabinet and everything. The lady in the car gave me the suitcase.”

Mason stopped, braced his hands on his hips and glared at his son. “What have I told you about accepting rides from strangers?” The drawl had hardened, developed a sharp edge.

“It’s okay, Dad. She’s a teacher.” At the bottom of the staircase, Garrett led the way to where Nola stood, paralyzed, beside Jayne Thomas. “See? Ms. Shannon said she’d be working here. With you. So I knew it would be okay.”

Nola watched Mason’s deep brown gaze widen with shock as he realized who she was. She’d changed her appearance since twelve years ago, but she was still too tall and too thin, with washed-out blue eyes and pale, straight hair.

When he didn’t say anything, she swallowed hard and forced herself to smile. “Hello, Mason. It’s good to see you again.”

“Nola!” The shock in his eyes transformed into pleasure. “Welcome back! I had no idea…” He looked at Jayne Thomas. “Did I know Nola would be teaching here?”

The headmistress shook her head in mock dismay. “There were only about five memos on the topic in your box. She’s substituting for Maryann Lawrence during her maternity leave.”

Mason winced. “I tend to ignore those. Sorry.” Before Nola could prepare herself, he settled his hands on her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “That’s okay—the surprise is terrific. I’m so glad to see you.”

“Thanks.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as faint as she felt. He smelled so good, like limes and evergreens and mountain air. His mouth was firm against her skin, his shoulders broad as he came so near.

“And this, I take it,” he said, stepping back, “is…was your suitcase?” He peered down into the bag, then looked up at her, one eyebrow lifted. “I don’t think you’ll want it back.”

“Um, probably not.” She returned his grin with a smile. “Garrett can keep it for collecting purposes.”

“Cool,” Garrett said. “Dad, I need to get Homer some water. Can I take him to your lab?”

“Sure. Just don’t let him loose—the cleaning staff doesn’t like wildlife in the hallways.”

As the boy went back up the stairs, Jayne Thomas said, “I think that pretty much covers our interview, Nola. I just wanted to say welcome and encourage you to call me with any questions you have. The faculty meeting starts in ten minutes. You remember the way to the library?”

“Of course. Can I tell my driver where to take my luggage?”

“I’ve put you in Pink’s Cottage. I’ll have my secretary give him directions and a key.”

With a nod, the headmistress went back through the door into the office suite. Nola was aware of all the girls in the entry hall watching her out of the corners of their eyes. For them, this was just the arrival of a new teacher. They didn’t know the history behind her meeting—her reunion—with Mason Reed.

After an awkward pause, Mason cleared his throat. “You didn’t attend the five-year reunion for your class.”

“I was at Oxford on a fellowship. I couldn’t get back.”

He nodded, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “So I heard. You’ve made a real success of your career. Not too many mathematicians are close to having Ivy League tenure before they reach the age of thirty.”

Nola tried for a light response. “I had a terrific mentor in high school. He helped me believe I could do anything I wanted.”

Mason’s one-sided smile acknowledged the compliment. “A very smart man.” He gestured toward the stairs, walking beside her as she set her feet on steps worn into curves by decades of student use. “I’ve read your papers. Brilliant, of course. Your Domino corollary, alone, would have secured you a place in the mathematics hall of fame. If there is one.”

She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m glad there’s not.”

They reached the top of the stairs and moved into the north wing, along a hallway leading past literature and language classrooms toward the library.

“I have to admit I’m puzzled,” Mason said. “Most graduates of Hawkridge send money as their contribution to the school. Very few return to do the work themselves.”

He stopped and turned to look at her, his head cocked to one side. “What really brings you back, Nola Shannon? Why are you here?”

Nola kept her chin up, holding his gaze with her own. But she couldn’t answer his question.

Because, at that moment, she couldn’t remember what she’d come for—or what she’d planned to do when, after twelve long years, she once again stood face-to-face with Mason Reed.

MASON WINCED as he heard his own words. “And I sound like a nosy old geezer,” he said, watching a rosy blush flow across Nola’s cheeks. “What I should have said was that I’m really proud of you, and I appreciate your willingness to help out.”

The girl he remembered would have stared at the floor in embarrassment. But this new Nola didn’t look away, though the tint in her cheeks deepened. “I’m glad. I…I’ve thought about you often.”

He had forgotten the color of her eyes—a pale blue-gray, like shadows on fresh snow. She’d been thin as a teenager and remained so, but the ash-blond hair he remembered hanging halfway down her back was now cut into short, tousled wisps that revealed the shape of her head and set off her delicate pearl-pink ears. The transformation—and his visceral reaction to it—completely confused him.

“I guess the last time I saw you was graduation day.” He paused at the door of the library, aware of the teachers inside waiting to meet their new colleague, aware that he wanted to keep her all to himself. “You’re not eighteen anymore.”

“No.” She looked away for a second. “I’m sorry about Ms. Chance…Your wife. Garrett told me.”

Mason took a deep breath against the familiar twist in his gut. “That’s right. She taught here your last year, didn’t she? I wish she had known you better. She was very good for the girls.”

Before Nola could reply, a coffee-colored hand with long red, white and blue nails clamped on to her arm.

“Mason Reed,” the owner of that hand said, in a loud, rich voice, “you cannot monopolize our new teacher. You bring her in to meet the rest of us right this minute!”

“Alice Tolbert,” Mason said, making an introductory gesture toward the short, plump chair of the literature department. “She serves as unofficial faculty den mother.”

Alice gave a decisive nod. “Somebody has to keep this crowd in line. Poor Tommy can’t do it all herself.”

Nola’s brows drew together. “Tommy?”

Mason grinned. “That’s the girls’ nickname for Jayne Thomas. Pretty much everybody calls her Tommy now, though not usually to her face.”

“Come on,” Alice insisted, drawing Nola after her into the library. “We’re all dying to talk to you.”

Following Alice and Nola into the library, Mason found a place in the back row of study tables and took a seat. Alice managed to present Nola to every member of the faculty, taking her from group to group with the kind of efficiency an army general would admire. As the headmistress stepped up to the podium, Alice pulled out a chair for Nola at the front table, offered her a notepad and pen, then sat down beside her with an air of satisfaction.

Nola looked shell-shocked, Mason thought, but anybody would, running a gauntlet like the Hawkridge faculty in under ten minutes. Thoughtfully, Jayne made the official introduction her first order of business, and she didn’t expect Nola to say anything beyond the standard “glad to be here” before moving right into the business of the meeting.

Mason let his mind wander, but not far for a change. He watched as Nola gradually relaxed her shoulders and spine against the chair, saw her doodling and taking notes. He observed the elegant angles of her elbow and wrist, the graceful crossing and uncrossing of her legs. Gazing at her profile, he saw her lips curve into a smile and caught himself smiling in response.

Damn. He wrenched his gaze from Nola’s face to the agenda sheet lying on the table in front of him. The words blurred, focused, blurred again. “Vandalism…spring dance…graduation list…” He should care about these issues.

But all he could think about was Nola Shannon. She’d been a senior when he arrived at Hawkridge for his first teaching position, an orphaned teenager from Boston with a lot of money and no one there who really cared what happened to her. He’d recognized her potential immediately and pushed her toward college, advising her as she prepared the applications. In the process, they’d become friends.

More than friends, to be strictly accurate. In fact, he had almost fallen in love with Nola Shannon.

Fortunately, he’d managed to get control of himself before his job, his career and his good name had been threatened by an inappropriate relationship. The weeks before graduation were always filled with chaos and excitement in equal measure, and he doubted Nola had even noticed how he’d backed off. In a matter of days, it seemed, she’d chosen to attend Harvard, had received her diploma and then—poof—vanished from his life.

Now she was back, and he had a hollow feeling in his belly, as if he’d been tackled by an NFL pro. He hadn’t cared about a woman’s curves since Gail had gotten sick four years ago, but he sure was noticing Nola’s narrow waist, defined by a slim black belt, and the swell of her breasts under a soft gray shirt.

Mason didn’t like thinking about a former student this way. As the only male teacher in an all-girls’ school, he walked a very narrow line. He’d been careful to keep his balance, since the near miss with Nola. His tutoring sessions always were conducted with at least three girls present, his office door remained open at all times. Any kind of involvement with a student, even a former student who’d returned as a fellow teacher, might endanger twelve years of work.

Especially now, when he’d just sent out applications to a dozen different schools across the country, looking for a new job.

More important, he was a man in mourning for his dead wife, with a son who still called out for “Mommy” in his dreams and talked to her when he said his prayers. Garrett wasn’t ready to see his father with another woman. Hell, until this afternoon, Mason would have sworn he, himself, wasn’t ready to talk to a female about anything more personal than work. Or maybe baseball. Nola’s presence didn’t—shouldn’t—change his situation in the least.

When the meeting finally broke up, Mason left the library without a word to anyone. He would treat Nola as a colleague, keep his distance. Staying current with grading and lesson plans—not that he’d been doing such a great job of that this school year—offered him plenty to occupy his time and his brain. The students needed more than he’d been giving lately. He could improve there, as well. All the while avoiding too much time with the disturbing Nola Shannon.

“So, did you like Ms. Shannon, Dad?” Garrett walked beside Mason on the way home, staunchly carrying Nola’s expensive suitcase with its homely occupant inside. “I thought she was cool. She said she went to Hawkridge. Were you her teacher?”

“I was. Back before you were born. Even before your mom and I got married.” Which made him feel about a hundred years old—no kind of candidate for a romance, inappropriate or not.

“That must be kinda weird, to see one of your students grown up.” Sometimes, Garrett was too perceptive for a ten-year-old. Maybe that happened when kids lost their moms.

“Most students do grow up, you know.” Though not always in such an appealing way as Nola had. Mason clenched his jaw, trying not to think about it.

“Yeah.” Garrett set down the turtle case in their front yard. “Maybe you could invite her over sometime, so she could see the animals. I bet she’d be interested.”

Mason climbed the porch steps and crossed to the front door. “I expect she’ll be pretty busy.” With the door unlocked, he dropped his briefcase by the table in the hallway. “And I’m pretty busy, too.”

“Oh, Dad. You always say that.”

“It’s always true.” Before he could say more, the dogs came running from the back of the house. Gimp, the three-legged terrier mix, made a mad dash for Garrett, his idol, ignoring Mason completely. But Ruff and Ready, two “Carolina brown dog” puppies who’d shown up last winter during a snowstorm, stopped for an ear scratch and a couple of pats before rushing outside to play. Last came Gail’s old dog, Angel, a golden retriever with more white than gold in her fur these days and eyes blurred by cataracts. Mason gave her a gentle back rub and some soft words.

“It’s not always true.” Garrett stayed outside on the grass, with Gimp bouncing around him and Homer rustling in the suitcase. “You just don’t try anymore. You say you will, but you never do.”

When his dad’s only answer was a shrug and a crooked smile, Garrett gave up. Blowing a frustrated breath, he picked up the case with Homer inside and headed toward the back of the house and the pond beyond.

At the corner of the house, though, he tried one more time. “Want to come?” he yelled.

“I’ve got design work to do,” his dad answered. “I’ll catch you later. Stay out of the water.”

The sad thing was, he really did intend to spend time on his airplane plans. Garrett could remember the days when page after page of computer diagrams littered the floor of his dad’s office—designs he produced using different systems, materials and structures. He’d built models, too, along with simple balsa-wood planes they used to fly together in the afternoons while Mom cooked dinner.

These days, though, his dad would go into the house, hesitate at the office door, then turn on TV news in the den and sit down with the latest book he’d ordered—always a mystery or science fiction—until dinnertime. Or maybe he’d decide to do some housework. Lately he’d been a real fanatic about keeping everything neat and clean, like Mom always had.

After they ate, Dad would do some grading or make up tests for his classes while Garrett finished his homework. Then they went to bed. His dad didn’t go to sleep right away, though. If Garrett woke up in the middle of the night to pee, more often than not his dad was still reading. Or just lying in bed with the light on, staring at the ceiling.

Switching the suitcase from his right hand to his left, Garrett went through the open gate in the backyard fence and on down the slope through the woods leading to the pond. Angel had stayed behind at the house, but Ruff and Ready and Gimp had come with him and now they zigzagged through the undergrowth, checking out scent trails and animal droppings. He’d patrolled the forest this morning, looking for lost baby squirrels and raccoons, grounded birds and other wildlife, so he felt safe letting the dogs run.

The pond filled a small opening amid the trees, with only a narrow bank around it. Sometimes, after a hard rain, the tree roots closest to the pond would be underwater. But today there was a muddy border for him to kneel on as he tipped the case onto its side.

“Okay, Homer. Here you go.” He tapped the bottom with his hand. “Slide on out, buddy. This is your new neighborhood.”

Homer stuck his head out and looked around, then put one foot on the mud. Gimp came up beside them, sniffing, and Homer jerked back inside his shell.

“Shoo! Go on, Gimp, leave me alone.” Garrett pushed the dog away. “Get back in the trees.”

Right then one of the other dogs barked, and Gimp took off to investigate. Garrett encouraged Homer again, and this time the turtle slipped all the way out onto the bank.

Moving carefully, Garrett picked up the bag and backed away, watching to see which way the turtle headed. Homer sat there for a few minutes, then made his slow, steady way toward the high grass along the edge of the water and disappeared.

“Whew.” Garrett took a deep breath and let it out. “Stay away from the highway,” he said out loud. “You got all you need right here. Prob’ly even a lady turtle to make a family with.”

From what he could tell, the instinct to mate and create new members of the species was the major motivation for animals of all kinds. They ate to survive, and they survived to reproduce. That’s what his mom had told him.

Garrett glanced up at the patch of pale sky above the pond. “Is that what Dad needs, Mom? A reason to survive?”

His dad cared about him, Garrett didn’t doubt it for a minute. But a ten-year-old could take care of himself. Maybe his dad needed a new baby to get interested in. And that would require a mom.

He glanced at the sky again. “I need some help with this, Mom. Show me what to do.”

PINK’S COTTAGE, named for the long-departed Josiah Pink, was one of a dozen small houses scattered within walking distance of the Manor, as the main house was called, on the Hawkridge estate. In the grand old days, senior staff members such as Josiah, who had been Howard Ridgely’s personal secretary, lived in these cottages. Now the school made ten of these houses available to teachers and kept the other two as guest accommodations.

Nola found her luggage on the floor of the single bedroom in Pink’s Cottage, lined up from smallest bag to largest, minus the lingerie case, of course. Fresh daffodils filled a vase on the table by the casement window, cut from the Hawkridge gardens, she was sure. White curtains lifted with the breeze and a white spread stretched invitingly over the plump mattress. She looked forward to settling in there later tonight.

First, there was dinner to get through. Jayne Thomas had caught her at the end of the faculty meeting and invited her to supper in the Hawkridge dining hall. Much as she wanted the chance to relax by herself, an invitation to the head table was not to be declined.

So she spent her free half hour changing for dinner and wondering why Mason had disappeared so fast, without a word or even a wave. The meeting had run long, as the faculty discussed several incidents of vandalism on school property, the upcoming spring dance—the biggest social event of the Hawkridge year—and of course the impending senior graduation. Maybe Garrett was the reason Mason had left so quickly. Maybe they’d gone to the pond together to return Homer to the wild.

Or maybe Mason simply didn’t think she was interesting enough to wait around for.

And that was something about Hawkridge that hadn’t changed. Twelve years ago, he’d brushed her off like a mosquito at a summer picnic. From an adult perspective, Nola could acknowledge the facts—she’d been a lonely adolescent with a huge crush on a man not much older than herself. Mason had been a teacher with his career and reputation at stake. But at the time…

She knew he cared about her. She saw the glow in his eyes when they talked and laughed. He touched her when they were working together—nothing sexual, of course. Anybody could walk in on them in a classroom. But his hand would rest on her shoulder while he looked over the work on her desk. Or his fingers would brush hers and linger, as he reached for one of the gazillion papers she had to fill out for every college application.

Nola had been with her share of guys, and she could read the signs. Mason was falling in love with her. Not for her money, like the idiots back in Boston. Mason had a job, and money of his own. And not even just for sex, because any woman would want him if he looked at her twice.

No, Mason wanted her because they were soul mates. Because they were meant to be together, forever. And as soon as she graduated, as soon as she got free of Hawkridge, he would make her his own.

Like most adolescent fantasies, Nola’s had been destined to remain unfulfilled. And now, away from the distraction of his magnetic personality, she could remember her resolution regarding Mason Reed. She wanted to put him—her memories and fantasies of him, to be exact—firmly in the past where they belonged. Then she’d marry Ted and have his children, sharing a home and their careers in Boston. They’d spend summers on Cape Cod, or even in France, perhaps, renting a small cottage in Provence. Ted specialized in Napoleonic politics. He could do research while the children learned fluent French.

Unfortunately for her plans and intentions, however, the encounter with Mason this afternoon had simply confirmed Nola’s worst fears.

The man appeared to be as irresistible as ever.

Chapter Three

“Why do I have to eat in the kitchen?”

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Mason frowned at the knot of his tie, pulled it loose and started again. “Because you aren’t old enough to eat at the head table.”

“I could eat at one of the girls’ tables.”

“You don’t belong there, either.”

“I don’t belong in the kitchen.” Arms folded, lower lip stuck out, Garrett sat cross-legged on the floor and pouted as hard as he knew how.

“What’s wrong with the kitchen?” Mason started over on his tie for the third time. “It’s big and warm, and Mrs. Werner lets you eat as much as you want.”

“Babies eat in the kitchen.”

“I’ve never seen a baby there. Just you.”

“Why can’t I stay here by myself?”

Here they went again. “You’re not old enough to stay alone.”

“I am, too! I’ll do my homework, watch some TV. I won’t let anybody inside until you get back.” He sprang to his feet and threw his arms around Mason’s waist. “Please, Dad, please? I’m old enough to take care of myself while you’re just over at the school. Please?”

Mason was tempted. Mostly, he was tired of arguing. But he knew what Gail would say if she were here to be asked. “No, Garrett. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone.”

“That’s stupid.” Garrett kicked at the door, slammed it back against the wall and stomped down the hallway to his room. He slammed that door, too.

Mason braced his hands on the edge of the counter and let his head hang, chin to chest. He and Garrett seemed to be flying at different altitudes these days. Nothing much happened without an argument—breakfast, dinner, homework, bath, bed.

As he left the bathroom, he noticed that Garrett’s slam had dented the plaster wall behind the door. Mason swore to himself. The house belonged to Hawkridge and he was trying to keep the place intact so he could turn it over to the school without qualms when…if…he left. One more job for the to-do list—repair plaster.

“Come on, Garrett, let’s go.” He knocked on the closed door as he went by, but got no response. Backing up, he knocked again. “Garrett, don’t make this a battle, son. Just do what I ask, please?”

After a long minute, the door opened and a stone-faced boy emerged.

“Thanks,” Mason said, putting a hand on one thin shoulder.

His son shrugged off the touch and marched downstairs without a word.

“Get your coat,” was a waste of breath. Jaw clenched, Mason slipped into his own jacket, pulled the front door shut and followed Garrett down the porch steps. The only way this day could get worse was if he had to sit beside Nola Shannon during dinner.

Surely fate would not be so cruel.

WITH THE COTTAGE door key in the pocket of her slacks, Nola stepped into the front garden, where rosebushes were leafing out. Early tulips and late hyacinths glowed like jewels in the last rays of spring sunlight. Climbing rose canes rambled through the arched trellis over the gate, as well, and the white picket fence stood in a border of “pinks”—carnations in shades from white to deepest burgundy.

She stopped for a moment, charmed by the pink stucco cottage and its setting. Thankfully, she’d determined how to conquer the challenge Mason’s continued appeal presented—all she had to do was keep her distance. She’d taken this sabbatical in the first place to escape the pressure of Ivy League academics, the stress of a publish-or-perish lifestyle, the constant demands on her time and energy from people who always wanted more. She could escape at Hawkridge as well as anywhere else, maybe even better.

Long walks in the mountains, good books to read, easy math to teach—those were her goals for the next few months. If she could help some of the students at Hawkridge, then she’d feel her time well spent.

She didn’t need Mason’s friendship anymore, or his advice. He’d dismissed her when she was eighteen, and she would return the favor now.

Stepping through the garden gate, Nola saw her path was about to merge with that of a young woman approaching with strong, athletic strides. Her hand lifted in greeting as she drew close.

“You’re Nola Shannon, right? I’m Ruth Ann Blakely, the riding instructor. Welcome to Hawkridge.”

“Thank you.” Nola fell into step with Ruth Ann on the cobblestone walk. “It’s good to be here. The mountains are so gorgeous this time of year.”

Ruth Ann glanced at the hills surrounding them and drew in a deep, appreciative breath. “We’re having a really nice spring. I still think fall is my favorite, though. I love the richness of the colors.”

“Do you live in one of the cottages?”

The trainer nodded. “Barrett’s. It’s nearest the stable, done in blues. I hate pink. Are you sitting at the head table tonight?” When Nola nodded, Ruth Ann gave a low whistle. “It’s a little unnerving, sitting up there above the rest of the dining hall, knowing everybody’s watching and waiting for you to choke on your food.”

Nola grimaced. “I hadn’t thought about it quite that way.”

“Or you could dribble gravy down your front.”

“Thanks so much for the suggestion.”

Ruth Ann looked her over. “I’m thinking you don’t suffer from accidents of that kind, though. Me, I always seem to leave the table with something on my shirt. Last year, the first time I sat at the head table, I dribbled raspberry sauce on my white blouse.”

“So you’re fairly new to Hawkridge yourself?” They’d reached the paved service road leading to the Manor.

“Yes and no. I only started full-time teaching last fall. But I grew up at Hawkridge, more or less. My dad was the trainer until I took over. My grandfather managed the stable for Howard Ridgely.”

“I liked riding,” Nola said as they climbed the steps of the east entrance to the house. “Though I wasn’t devoted the way some girls were. Still, shouldn’t I remember you?”

Ruth Ann opened the heavy mahogany door for Nola to enter. “I groomed and tacked up the horses in the barn and Dad would lead them out for the students to mount. You wouldn’t have seen me too often.”

She shrugged as she came into the hallway. “But I run my program differently. If you want to ride, you need to know how to take care of the animal. I don’t treat these girls like princesses. They may be rich, but they’re still human.”

Nola winced. “Ouch.”

The other woman stopped, thunked the heel of her hand against her forehead and groaned. “Sorry. Tact is not my strong suit. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m just saying—”

Smiling again, Nola shook her head. “It’s okay. Hawkridge has always been criticized for being too exclusive and costing too much. I’m surprised they haven’t made some changes by now.”

“There are scholarships available nowadays, a few more each year. Miss Agatha was a real snob, though. She’s probably turning over in her grave to see the ‘lower classes’ getting a chance to attend her school.”

“It’s about time.” The paneled doors along this hallway opened into the math and science classrooms. Nola wondered which one would be hers when classes started on Monday. Which one was Mason’s?

At the end of the hall they pushed through double doors into the main entry hall and turned right, following a group of girls into the dining hall, once the mansion’s ballroom, which occupied the north wing underneath the literature department and the library. Nola caught sight of the students in front of her, dressed in jeans, T-shirts and flip-flops, and leaned close to Ruth Ann.

“No uniforms? They come to dinner in jeans?”

“On weekends,” Ruth Ann whispered back. “During the week they have to wear slacks or skirts, nice shirts and proper shoes. Uniforms are for classes only these days.”

That would take some getting used to. Nola’s Hawkridge uniform hung in one of the closets in her Boston house—a pleated skirt in the sky-blue plaid of the Saint Andrew’s clan, to which the Ridgely family was distantly related, along with a white shirt, black sweater and black kneesocks. Maybe she would give away those clothes when she returned home—a personal declaration of freedom.

“I’m sitting with the students,” Ruth Ann said as girls filed past them and found their places at the long tables. “I’m advising the girls on Third West this year—all sixth and seventh graders.” The dormitory wings at Hawkridge ran east to west, three floors on each side, with twenty-four tenants on each hall. Advisers sat with their students at each meal, rather than at the faculty tables.

“They must give you some trouble, since they’re new to the school.”

“Oh, they do.” The light of battle shone in Ruth Ann’s eyes. “But there are twenty horses in my stable, each of them producing fifty pounds of manure a day. Mess with me, I tell them, you’ll be moving half a ton of poop before breakfast every morning. Most of the time, they listen.” With a wave of her hand, she headed toward the Third West table.

Nola swallowed hard, squared her shoulders and made her way down the long center aisle to the head table. On either side, she felt the curious gazes of the girls, heard whispers running along the tables. There was surveillance, as well, from the dining-hall staff setting out food, and from those teachers already seated on the dais. She couldn’t see them clearly, and although she kept walking, the head table seemed to recede with each step, until she began to think she would never arrive. By the time she reached it, she wondered if trial by fire wouldn’t have been easier.

Jayne Thomas was waiting for her. “Thanks for coming.” She put one hand on Nola’s back and motioned her forward with the other one. “I know that’s a tough walk, but it is a Hawkridge tradition. I’ve put you on my right, with Mason Reed on your other side. You can relax now.”

Hah, Nola said to herself. That’s what you think.

Mason stood up as she approached, and pulled out the chair she would sit in. Tonight, he wore a navy blazer and tan slacks, with a white shirt and the Hawkridge tie—burgundy with a golden hawk’s head pattern. His smile seemed stiff, even distant, and his dark eyes somehow missed connecting with hers.

Still, a peculiar kind of vibration hummed through her body at the sight of him. Nola didn’t know whether she was going to faint or be sick. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to eat a bite.

But she managed some kind of smile. “Hello, again.”

“Welcome to dinner.” He slid the chair in behind her as she sat down, catching her behind the knees at just the right moment. Then he took his seat beside her. “You handled that quite well.”

She reached for the water goblet at her place and took a much-needed drink. “I wish I’d been warned. I didn’t remember it as such an ordeal.”

Mason shook out his napkin. “The girls never do realize. But it’s basically the final test before you get the job.”

Nola surveyed the crowd rather than look into his face. “Has anyone ever failed?”

“I once saw a prospective teacher break down and run out,” he said. “A couple of years after you left, I’d guess that was. He never returned.”

“He?” She lifted the goblet again, watching the play of light through the cut crystal. “What was he supposed to teach?”

He hesitated for a pregnant moment. “Self-defense.”

She’d just taken another sip of water. Stunned by Mason’s dry delivery and unbalanced by her own nerves, Nola laughed so suddenly and so hard that she sprayed water over her plate, the tablecloth and the front of her shirt.

A single second earlier, Tommy had rung the bell signaling the start of the meal. An immediate silence fell, exposing Nola’s indecorous sputter to the entire crowd.

Under the table, Mason handed her his napkin to wipe her dripping chin. Tommy glanced their way, but kept a straight face. “Students and faculty of Hawkridge School, welcome back from your spring travels. The staff and faculty are glad everyone’s returned safely, and we look forward to getting down to work again. For now, however, enjoy your meal.”

After a brief round of applause had died away, Mason said, “Salad?”

Her gaze fixed on her plate, Nola shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Dark green spinach leaves, golden orange slices and huge walnut pieces tumbled onto her plate from the spoon in his hand. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “Nobody noticed.”

“Of course they did,” she hissed. “The entire dining room saw me make an utter idiot of myself.”

“They saw you being human.”

She snorted, but didn’t speak. When the baked chicken and wild rice came Mason’s way, he served Nola, then himself. “You’ll get more attention if you don’t eat something,” he told her.

She picked up her fork, searching for a diversion of some kind. “Where is Garrett having dinner?”

“In the kitchen with the staff. They’re all practically family.”

Her first bite of the chicken awakened a cascade of food memories. “Mrs. Werner is still the cook?” Forgetting to be wary, she stared at Mason in surprise. “I always thought she would retire any minute. She must be in her seventies now.”

He nodded, smiling. “She brought in her daughter to help. And her granddaughter lends a hand for big occasions.”

The bread basket arrived. Nola unfolded the cloth and inhaled deeply. “Oh, they make the same rolls as when I was here. How wonderful!” She placed one roll on her plate, hesitated, then took another.

Beside her, Mason chuckled. “That’s the first enthusiasm I’ve seen you exhibit since you arrived.”

She tore off a piece and closed her eyes to savor the yeasty, buttery flavor. “I used to steal them,” she confessed. “I’d gather as many as I could get away with and put them in my shirt, under my sweater. After lights-out, I’d have this orgy of roll eating. They were so warm, so sweet—”

“Is that your best memory of Hawkridge School, then? The dinner rolls?”

The question seemed casual enough. Just in time, though, Nola recognized the easy familiarity that had sprung to life between them. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t fall under the spell of his grin, wouldn’t allow herself to be enchanted by his warm, intimate drawl. She didn’t need Mason Reed anymore.

So she would turn the tables on him. “I’d forgotten that about you,” she told him, spearing her fork into crunchy spinach and a juicy slice of orange.

“Forgotten what?”

“That you’re always asking questions, always poking and prodding, getting people to think, to reveal details they hadn’t planned to share.”

When she glanced at him, he was staring at her with his dark eyes round, his brows lifted. “I do that?”

“Don’t try that innocent face with me. You know you do it quite deliberately.”

“But you didn’t answer the question.”

“My favorite thing about Hawkridge…” She looked out over the dining hall, at all the girls settled in to eat, at the teachers sitting with them, keeping an eye out for any trouble, at the quiet, caring servers, mostly women, moving among them. At that moment, one of the staff set a bowl of ice cream and a steaming apple pie on their table, just to Mason’s right.

Confessing the truth would make her vulnerable. She had to stay strong, keep him at a distance.

“My favorite thing at Hawkridge,” Nola said firmly, “was always dessert.”

AFTER DISMISSING the girls from the dining hall, Tommy turned to Nola and Mason. “I’m having a few people in for drinks. Please come, both of you.”

Nola hesitated, but Mason did not. “Thanks,” he said, keeping his eyes on the headmistress, “but I think I’d better get Garrett home. He’s supposed to show up for a soccer game out in town at eight tomorrow morning.”

“So he is on a team?” Tommy asked. “I wasn’t sure you’d convince him to try out.”

Mason shrugged. “I can’t always get him to go to practice, which means he doesn’t get much chance to play. I’m hoping a few games spent sitting on the bench will change that behavior.”

Tommy nodded. “Well, good luck.” She turned to Nola. “Professor Shannon, can you join us?”

At that moment, Mason lost the battle to keep his gaze away from Nola Shannon. Her fair hair shone silver in the lights of the dining-hall chandeliers. She wore solid black—a shirt and slacks Mason thought were silk, and a jacket he knew was cashmere from the feel of it when he’d helped her put it on after the meal. He’d managed the process without actually touching her at all. Too bad he hadn’t held his breath, and so would have to remember the drift of expensive perfume he’d caught when she was close.

Then she shook her head in response to Tommy’s invitation. “I’m very grateful, but I flew out at six this morning and haven’t really caught my breath since then. Could I take a rain check?”

“Of course. I should have realized.” Tommy put her hand on Mason’s arm. “Your way goes past Pink’s Cottage. Be sure Nola gets home safe, won’t you?”

Not exactly what he’d intended, but at least Garrett could chaperone. “Sure.”

Tommy walked with them to the kitchen to give Mrs. Werner her compliments on the dinner, and then left for her own quarters in the main part of the Manor. Garrett sat at the big oak table in the center of the huge Victorian kitchen, finishing up a giant-size dish of apple pie and ice cream.

He ignored Mason, but his eyes lit up when he saw Nola. “Ms. Shannon! I got Homer down to the pond this afternoon. He slipped right into the grass like he belonged there.”

“I’m glad he felt at home,” Nola said. “I’m sure he was grateful to you for taking care of him.”

“Unlike some children,” Mason muttered to himself. More loudly, he said, “Finished, Garrett? We need to get home.”

Picking up the bowl, Garrett proceeded to slurp down the last of the melted ice cream.

“Garrett.” He closed his eyes in shame. “That’s rude.”

Slurp.

“I try,” Mason told Nola. “But he’s a boy.”

She smiled. “A suitable explanation.” Glancing around the room, Nola shook her head. “I spent more than my share of time in here. Whenever I made trouble—and I made a lot of trouble in the first couple of years—a teacher would assign me kitchen duty. I developed into a terrific potato peeler.”

“That you were.” Mrs. Werner set a wide ceramic bowl covered with a cloth on the table. “Did you like my rolls tonight, Miss Nola?”

Before Nola could answer, the cook tugged her into a hug. Caught in the ample embrace, Nola’s slender body remained stiff. After a moment, she lifted a hand and patted the cook’s shoulder, then drew back, putting a good distance between them.

“Of course,” she said, cheeks pink, voice shaky. “Those rolls are even better than I remembered.”

“You should take a few with you.” Mrs. Werner turned to one of the cabinets. “I always have leftovers.”

“No, really…” But Nola’s voice died away as she was handed a paper package. “Thank you,” she said, blushing yet again. “I’ll enjoy them, I know.”

Mason pulled Garrett’s chair away from the table, then scooted it back in when his son stood up. “We’ll get out of your way,” he told Mrs. Werner. “’Night.”

“More rolls in the morning,” Mrs. Werner told Nola. “Come for breakfast.”

They left through the kitchen door and turned west, toward Pink’s Cottage. “I’ll need a new wardrobe when I leave here,” Nola said. “I’ll have gained fifty pounds eating these rolls.”

“You’ll get your share of exercise,” Mason said, watching Garrett sprint ahead of them. “The faculty still plays volleyball on Mondays and Wednesdays. You can join them.”

“I haven’t played in years,” she said. “I remember the student/faculty game my senior year, though. You spiked the ball practically down my throat. Scared me to death.”

Mason grinned. That had been a great hit. “The students won anyway.”

“Are you still playing?”

The answer wasn’t easy to give. “When Gail…” He cleared his throat. “There’s not as much time as there used to be. I don’t play anymore, either.”

“That’s too bad.” Her hand lifted as if to touch his arm, then fell back at her side.

They walked the rest of the way to her cottage in silence, with six feet of cool night air between them. When Mason opened the Pink’s Cottage garden gate, Nola stepped through, then turned to face him, closing the white picket panel between them.

“Thanks for the escort.”

“My pleasure.” His pleasure, indeed. The night’s shadows showed off the arches of her cheekbones, the squared curve of her chin, the provocative fullness of her lower lip. Mason made himself look away from Nola’s mouth and found himself caught in the glimmer of her pale eyes, shining almost silver in the darkness. She stood just a breath or two away, protected only by the flimsy barrier of the picket gate. A kiss would be so easy to give…to take….

“Hiiiyah!” Garrett yelled from somewhere behind him, battling imaginary aliens with his own brand of martial arts.

Nola jumped, and took a step backward. “He’s quite a handful. And a charmer to go along with it. I didn’t know children could be so easy to talk to.”

“Oh, yes.” Mason scrubbed a hand over his face, hoping to clear his brain. “Until you say no. Then he turns into the Incredible Sulking Child.”

Since sunset, the breeze had picked up, become an actual wind. Clouds veered across the sky, obscuring the stars, veiling the moon. “Here comes our rainy weather.”

Nola shivered inside her sweater. “But today was so beautiful!”

Mason rejected the urge to put himself between her and the cold. “The mountains are unpredictable. We’ve had snowstorms later in the spring than this. Hope you brought your raincoat and boots.” He glanced over his shoulder and called, “Come on, Garrett, let’s go.”

Even as he looked back toward Nola, he heard the door to Pink’s Cottage shut tight. The lock clicked into place. She’d gone inside without saying goodbye. He only wished he felt relieved.

Garrett ran up and tackled him around the waist. Apparently, all was now forgiven. “Where’s Ms. Shannon?”

“In her house, where we should be.” A Freudian slip, if ever there was one. “I mean, we should be in our house.”

His son didn’t notice the mistake. “I was gonna ask her to come over tomorrow to see the pond and the animals.”

Close call. Mason sighed. “Right now, you need to go to bed, get ready for your soccer game tomorrow.”

“Aw, Dad, do I hafta play?” Garret dropped his arms and trudged on alone, his head hanging low. “I don’t like the guys on the team. And the coach is mean. Can’t I stay home?”

Back to the old routine, Mason thought, blanking out the memory of Nola’s mysterious gaze in the moonlight. Thank God.

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