Comfort and Joy
Amy Frazier

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

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 SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

JUST AS THE RISING SUN was clearing her windowsill, eight-year-old Olivia Marshall slipped out of bed. She didn’t intend to waste a minute of the last day of summer vacation. The last day before the start of third grade. For her. Gabriel would be starting fifth grade. And as much fun as they’d had this vacation—thrown together by accident, or luck—Olivia knew fifth-grade boys didn’t even acknowledge the existence of, let alone play with, third-grade girls. Tomorrow she was going to lose her best friend.

The birds were singing loudly as she pulled on shorts and a T-shirt. She didn’t bother with shoes. Her stomach grumbled loudly, but she resisted the call of food. She needed to think of a goodbye present for Gabriel. Trailing her fingers over her bookshelves and desk, she tried to decide which of her treasures she could bear to part with.

The potato that looked like Mr. Hitchens from the dry cleaner’s? No. Over the past couple of months the potato had shriveled and sprouted, and although it had once made the two of them hold their sides with laughter, now it didn’t resemble anyone they knew. Olivia didn’t throw it away, though. You never knew who or what it might begin to look like in the future.

How about her copy of King Arthur’s adventures? She and Gabriel had spent hours sitting in the branches of the big old maple in her backyard, reading chapters and then acting them out. They both agreed knights and jousts and dragons and quests for the grail were as exciting as any of their favorite TV shows or comics. But the book was big, and Olivia couldn’t see Gabriel carrying it around. His school friends might think he was a dork.

No, she wanted to give him something that he could keep in his pocket. Kind of like a secret. To remember this summer. To remember her. Because she was going to miss him so much.

He was the kind of person you wanted watching your back. As brave as the whole A-Team put together. As adventurous as Sally Ride. As loyal as a Yankees fan. As funny as The Jeffersons. And as cute—yeah, she had to admit he was cute—as Michael J. Fox.

Her gaze fell on the Indian Head penny that was her prize possession. She’d found it digging in the backyard B.G.—Before Gabriel—and the strong Indian profile was her idea of a real hero. She picked up the coin. It wouldn’t be easy giving it up.

But it wasn’t going to be easy giving up Gabriel’s friendship, either.

This would be her gift. Dropping it into her pocket, she picked up a marker to cross off today’s date on her calendar, as she did every morning. September 6, 1983. Then she raced downstairs to grab the granola she’d put in plastic bags the night before.

She and Gabriel were going to Shem Creek to build a dam and catch bullfrogs.

CHAPTER ONE

HOW MUCH PRIDE DID a man have to swallow to ensure his kids’ well-being?

Gabriel Brant figured he was about to find out.

As he drove past a sign that read, Welcome to Hennings, Best Little City in New York State, he glanced in his rearview mirror to check on the twins. Justin’s eyes—far too old for a five-year-old’s—met his.

“Daddy, Jared’s hungry.” Ever since Hurricane Katrina had destroyed their home and Gabriel’s restaurant a little over two years ago, Jared hadn’t spoken. With the uncanny sensitivity of a twin, Justin spoke for him.

“We’re almost at your grandfather’s.” The thought worked Gabriel’s stomach into knots. “He said he’d have lunch ready.” Something out of a can, more than likely. The old man would do it deliberately. To emphasize that a talent for cooking was no big deal.

A third of the way down Main Street, Gabriel turned right onto Chestnut, where the storefronts gave way to residences. Two days before Thanksgiving and still not a snowflake in sight, yet some of the houses were already decorated for Christmas.

“Daddy, we see Santa!” Justin exclaimed, pointing to a large plastic figure next to one front door. “Does he come to Grampa’s, too?”

The twins could remember the motel, and then the cramped mobile home “city,” in which they’d spent the past two Christmases. Where charities had provided a holiday chow line and a few presents for the kids.

Outsiders simply did not understand or want to understand how this particular storm had not gone away. Its devastating effects still lingered months and months and months afterward. The enormity of rebuilding and the inescapable red tape involved with the process kept countless lives in a state of perpetual uncertainty. Gabriel was sick and tired of waiting. Wanting a real roof over his boys’ heads this holiday season was one of several compelling reasons he’d finally given in to Walter Brant’s appeal to come home. Trouble was, Hennings hadn’t felt like home to Gabriel for seventeen years.

“Does Santa come here, too?” Justin pressed.

“I believe he does.” Gabriel would make sure he did, even though the money situation was stickier than gum on a New Orleans sidewalk.

He pulled into his father’s driveway. Backed by lowering clouds, the squat brick Craftsman-style house with the broad front porch seemed to scowl at him. After the past two years, Gabriel had inured himself to feeling on the outs. Almost.

The return to Hennings galled him, sure, but his sons needed to be in a place that didn’t automatically mistrust them, didn’t patronize them because of their plight or refer to them as “refugees.” As if their misfortune had been their fault.

Whether Gabriel liked it or not, Hennings was his hometown, and he had every right to return. Every right—no, he had an obligation—to give his twins a fresh start. Compared to the protracted chaos left in the wake of Katrina, Walter would be a balmy breeze.

Right.

“We’re here,” he said, trying to infuse the words with enthusiasm.

“You think Grampa will make po’boys for lunch?” Justin asked.

“I doubt it, kiddo. Until I can get to the store for supplies, you two will be eating…the Grampa Walter special. Which definitely won’t be what you’re used to. But you’ll be real polite, y’hear?”

“Yessir. Polite as curtsyin’ crawdads.”

Gabriel smiled at the silly reply the last of a string of babysitters had taught the boys. She’d been nice. But like so many others, she’d left—out of necessity—for greener pastures. In her case, a sister’s in Fort Worth.

Both boys unbuckled and clambered out of their booster seats as Gabriel opened the back door. But when Walter appeared on the front porch, Justin and Jared remained in the car. Gabriel hadn’t told his sons much about their grandfather, because he wasn’t sure of the reception they’d receive.

“Come on, you two. Let’s go meet your grampa.”

It was a short but frosty walk between the car and the porch, the November day only partially contributing to the chill.

“What took you so long?” Walter asked as they climbed the steps.

“Traffic,” Gabriel replied.

“I mean what took you so long? Your rooms have been ready for two years now.”

And so it began.

“You know I needed to stay close to New Orleans. To see if I’d be allowed to rebuild the restaurant.” Into which he’d sunk every last dime of his savings. Lost every last dime was more like it, if the class-action insurance suit didn’t pay off. “The powers that be haven’t ruled on that yet.”

“If you’d stayed in New York, you wouldn’t have been in the path of that hurricane.”

“Don’t start.”

The two men eyed each other in an antagonistic standoff.

“Well, am I gonna get a proper introduction?” Walter groused, looking down at the boys. “Five years old, and yet to meet their grampa. Kept away that long, you’d think these kids were in the witness-protection program.”

Promising himself he wouldn’t rise to the old man’s bait, Gabriel put his hand first on one twin’s head and then the other’s. “This is Justin and this is Jared.”

“’Bout time I met you two. Kinda small for five-year-olds, aren’t they?”

“Walter…” His father’s name came out in a low, warning growl.

“You always were touchy.” Walter turned to squat before the boys. “You know how to shake hands like men?”

“Yessir,” Justin said shyly, holding out his small right hand and nudging Jared to do the same. “Daddy taught us.”

There had been precious few extras Gabriel could give his sons these past couple of years, so he’d concentrated on those small but important things he could provide. Like a firm handshake and the ability to look a person in the eye. Small fries to some folks, but if his boys were going to swim and not sink in Walter Brant’s world, they’d need self-confidence.

One bushy eyebrow raised, Walter took each of the boys’ hands in turn. “Well done,” he said at last. Grudgingly. As if he’d expected to catch Gabriel in some parenting gaffe. “I guess you must be my grandsons, after all. But tell me, how am I gonna tell the two of you apart?” Walter squinted up at Gabriel. “You didn’t tell me they were identical.”

“That’s because they’re not, to me,” Gabriel muttered between clenched teeth.

Walter ignored the admonition as he turned back to Justin and Jared. “Hungry?”

“Yessir.”

“Then quit makin’ my porch sag and come on in the house. I got SpaghettiOs and fruit cocktail.” Holding open the front door, Walter challenged Gabriel with his glance. “And I just got a fresh loaf of Wonder Bread.”

Gabriel didn’t bite.

The house hadn’t changed. The living room still had the same furniture his mother had picked out long ago. Sofa, end tables, TV, Walter’s La-Z-Boy, Marjorie’s reading chair, her upright piano—the lid closed over the keys—and a table with a huge lamp, standing in front of the picture window. The fancy lampshade was still wrapped in plastic. Walter hadn’t even removed the knickknacks over the mantel. The small dining room behind the living room was as it had been when their original family of four sat around the old oak table each Sunday for Marjorie’s pot roast dinner. Gabriel bet the room hadn’t been used at all since his mother had died seven years ago.

Yet nothing looked neglected. Everything was in good repair, in the exact place it “should be,” without a speck of dust in sight. The house at 793 Chestnut represented a solid, unchanging universe, controlled, as it always had been, by Walter.

Gabriel was having difficulty breathing.

Walter had set the kitchen table for four. “You can wash up right here. I got this out of the attic for the boys.”

Gabriel recognized the stool his father had made in his basement workshop. Gabriel and his older brother, Daniel, had used it to wash up at the kitchen sink for years, until Walter eventually had determined they were “man enough” to stand on their own two feet. That was the thing about Walter. He wasn’t mean. He just insisted that life proceed according to his timetable. You could be a son of a bitch without being mean.

Gabriel helped his boys wash and dry their hands as Walter dished out four servings of SpaghettiOs. A small Pyrex bowl of fruit cocktail sat at each place, along with a glass tumbler, knife, spoon and paper napkin folded into a triangle. A milk carton, wrapped loaf of bread and tub of margarine were in the center of the table. Nothing more than was absolutely necessary.

“Need phone books?” Walter asked, as Justin and Jared climbed into their chairs.

“We can kneel, Grampa,” Justin replied. Gabriel winced. Walter couldn’t know just how much the twins had learned to make do since Katrina. With a nod from Gabriel, both boys began to eat with gusto.

“I called the school,” Walter said, pouring milk into everybody’s glasses. “They wouldn’t let me register the boys—you have to do it. Tomorrow. They’re expecting you.”

“Can’t it wait till after Thanksgiving?”

“These two need to be in school. The sooner, the better.”

Gabriel knew that. He didn’t need to be told. Didn’t need to be sitting at his father’s table, feeling a lot more like he was seventeen and lacking in judgment than thirty-four and a father himself. Maybe he should have taken one of those positions he’d considered in Atlanta or New York City. Problem was the only housing he would have been able to afford in either place wasn’t fit for the cockroaches, let alone his sons.

“You talked to Daniel recently?” Walter asked, changing the subject, as if he’d settled the whole school issue.

“No.” Gabriel replied cautiously to this loaded question. “How’s he doing?”

“Coming up on his twenty years.” His older brother was career army. “But I don’t see him retiring. Dangerous as his job can be, he loves it. Plus, we need men like him.”

Jab.

Gabriel had done his own time in the service. The Coast Guard, on Lake Erie, much to Walter’s dismay. An even bigger disappointment was that Gabriel had been assigned to the mess and had discovered he loved cooking, even under military circumstances. After his discharge, he’d entered culinary school. Women’s work and a waste, in Walter’s mind.

“Daniel going to be stateside for the holidays?” Gabriel asked, as if the jab hadn’t found its mark. “The more people around, the more I like cooking.”

“What makes you think you’re cooking?”

“It’s the least I can do, if you’re putting a roof over our heads.” Temporarily. Only temporarily, until the job he was set to start on Monday earned him enough for the deposit on an apartment. Temporarily, while he built up his savings again and looked around for the right town, the right city to start his own restaurant. Again. “I’ll shop tomorrow for Thanksgiving dinner. After I register the twins.”

“It’s not going to be highfalutin French stuff, is it? Or worse yet, Cajun. That spicy junk gives me heartburn. I like my Thanksgiving dinner traditional.”

“Turkey. Chestnut stuffing. Cranberry sauce. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Green beans. Pumpkin pie. Traditional enough for you?”

Walter looked suspicious. “If you make real whipped cream for the pumpkin pie, I guess. Daniel won’t be home, though.”

“You have any friends or neighbors you want to invite?” Now there was a rhetorical question. Walter, a retired union steward, had always been a curmudgeon, set in his ways and absolutely sure of his opinions. Marjorie had made and kept friends—never any she brought home—but Gabriel would be surprised if his father was still on speaking terms with his drinking buddies down at the VFW.

Walter didn’t answer as he got up and headed for the stove. “You boys want seconds?”

“I do,” said Justin. “You’re a good cook, Grampa.”

The look Walter shot Gabriel was one of pure triumph.

MINUTES AFTER THE LAST of her students had been dismissed, Olivia Marshall surveyed the disaster that was her kindergarten classroom. Hastily, she put away costumes that had spilled out of the dress-up box. Construction paper scraps littered the floor beneath the low tables. And the wastebasket beside the paint-smeared sink overflowed with used paper towels. She absolutely could not, would not leave this mess for the custodial staff.

“Ms. Marshall!” Five-year-old Eric Sedley, on the verge of tears, dashed back into the room. “I forgot my turkey! I can’t go home without my turkey!”

Stepping quickly to his desk, Olivia retrieved the pinecone-and-pipe-cleaner bird, covered with glitter, that had been the last project of the shortened day. “Now scoot, before you miss your bus!”

“The driver said she’d wait for me.” Eric clutched his handiwork to his chest. Tears averted, smile in place, he ran from the room. “Happy Thanksgiving, Ms. Marshall!” echoed in the corridor.

It would be pointless to remind him to walk.

Early dismissal before a major holiday guaranteed pandemonium. Because—unlike most of the faculty—Olivia didn’t have to rush home to get ready for tomorrow’s feast, she’d spend the afternoon tidying her classroom.

“Ms. Marshall.” The voice of Kelly Corona, the school clerk, crackled over the intercom. “I’m sending a Mr. Brant your way. I’ve just enrolled his twins, and they’d like to meet you and see their classroom before Monday.”

Great. She surveyed her image in the stainless-steel towel dispenser mounted over the sink. If the disorder in the classroom didn’t scare them off, her appearance might.

Pulling the elastic band from her hair, she quickly retamed her ponytail. Mr. Brant? The only Mr. Brant living in Hennings was Walter…Unless…With a quickening heartbeat, she shrugged out of the paste-covered smock she had on, shook glitter from her trousers and smoothed her top. Although there was nothing she could do about the smiley face “tattoo” Fiona Dunne had drawn with marker on the back of her wrist, she managed a quick hand wash and cursory cleaning of her fingernails, which always seemed to have crayon embedded under them. Before she could dry her hands, her three visitors were standing in the doorway.

Olivia couldn’t determine who looked more uncomfortable—the boys or the man who stood protectively beside them. She might have passed him on the street without recognizing him, but face-to-face, how could she ever fail to remember those piercing blue eyes? They could only belong to Gabriel. A good six inches taller than she was and solidly built, the adult version of her childhood friend would have struck her as more than handsome if his features hadn’t been shadowed by a scowl that seemed indelibly etched.

“Come in.” She hastily dried her hands. “Please, don’t be put off by the mess. I assure you it’s creative chaos. I’m Olivia Marshall.”

He held out his hand. “Gabriel Brant,” he said, as if she were a complete stranger. Her own moment of recognition was muddled by his faint Southern inflection. The Gabriel Brant she’d known years ago had been a scrappy blue-collar Hennings through and through. “These are my boys, Justin and Jared.”

Oh, my. Identical twins. Same ill-trimmed mops of tawny hair. Same intense blue eyes. Same wary stance. She’d have her work cut out for her, keeping them straight. At least they weren’t dressed the same. In fact, their outfits looked as if they’d been chosen haphazardly from some yard sale.

She knelt before the boys. “So who’s Justin and who’s Jared?”

One of the twins raised his hand. “I’m Justin. He’s Jared.”

“Well, I’m Ms. Marshall, and I’m going to be your teacher.”

The boys didn’t seem to know what to think.

“Would you like to play with our BRIO town, while I talk with your dad?”

“What’s a BRIO town?” Justin asked.

She led the boys to a carpeted corner where interlocking BRIO train tracks surrounded a town that changed every day, depending on her students’ imagination. Because of the Thanksgiving skit and the turkey craft project, the miniature village had been neglected today. It was probably the only spot in the classroom that didn’t look as if a tornado had struck it.

“There are DUPLOs, too,” she said, pointing to a crate filled with blocks in primary colors. “If you want to make your own buildings.”

Although their eyes sparked with longing, the twins turned to their father nervously.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Ms. Marshall said so.”

Justin and Jared settled down to play, but with a hesitation that puzzled her.

When she turned back to talk to Gabriel, he seemed hesitant, as well. As if judging how much he should disclose. “Where we’ve been living,” he said at last, “there weren’t many resources. And if someone managed to get a little extra, he guarded it fiercely. The boys have learned to make sure they’re reading the signs right. If it’s okay for them to touch something that doesn’t belong to them.”

She tried to take in his statement without making judgments. After ten years as a teacher, she knew not to pry. Besides, underlying family issues always came to light in their own time. But where had this family lived, that sharing was so difficult?

“You did say Gabriel Brant?” she asked instead, proceeding cautiously. “Daniel’s brother? Walter’s son?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Do you remember me? One summer when you were ten and I was eight, you actually let me tag along after you. I think all your other friends had gone off to various day camps that year.”

His chuckle wasn’t much more than a grunt. “I do remember. But what happened to the pigtails and glasses?”

“The pigtails have been known to appear now and then, usually on field days, but laser surgery finally did away with the need for glasses.”

He studied her carefully. “Your aunt’s a great lady,” he said. “How is she?”

“Aunt Lydia died six years ago.” Olivia waved her hand to ward off any sympathy. “She was seventy-eight. Right up until the end, she said she’d had a wonderful life.” The best part, she’d claimed, was having the opportunity to raise her grandniece.

“I still live in the house,” Olivia continued. “At the end of every year, I give a party for my students and their parents. On the veranda. I serve refreshments using Aunt Lydia’s recipes. Although I’m not the cook she was, I can follow directions.” She grinned. “Sort of.”

Gabriel glanced at his boys as they played in the corner, one providing quiet commentary and the other eerily silent. “Sounds like a good time,” he said without much conviction. “If we’re still here.”

“This isn’t a permanent move to Hennings?”

“That depends on whether I find a better job than the one I have lined up here.”

Olivia decided to let that explanation suffice. “Tell me a little about the boys. About the school and the program they’re transferring from.”

His expression darkened. “This is the first opportunity I’ve had to enroll them anywhere.”

“Did they go to preschool?”

“No. But I read to them. We count together. When I cook, they help me measure. They’re bright,” he said. His pride had an edge. “They’ll catch up.”

“Of course. Anyway, this is kindergarten,” she assured him, trying to ease his defensiveness. “We don’t start drilling for college entrance exams until first grade.”

When he didn’t respond, she prodded him. “That’s teacher humor.”

Preoccupied with watching his sons, he largely ignored what she was saying. He seemed to have fewer social skills now than he had as a ten-year-old.

“What’s this?” The boy Olivia thought might be Justin broke the uncomfortable silence. He stood at her desk, pointing to the pinecone turkey she’d made.

“Why, that’s a Thanksgiving turkey. Would you each like to make one to go on your dinner table tomorrow?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We have to get going,” Gabriel said, his brusque manner reminding Olivia of his father.

“Please, stay a few minutes more,” she urged, bringing her thoughts back to her responsibility. Her new students. “This is such a simple project. And if the boys have fun today, they’ll look forward to returning on Monday.”

Instantly, she knew she’d hit upon Gabriel’s soft spot. What was best for his sons. Before he could change his mind about staying, she cleared room at the craft table, dusted glitter off four chairs, then laid out fresh materials.

“Sit, Daddy,” Justin urged, plopping down in a pint-size chair as Jared wordlessly claimed the seat next to him. “You can help.”

Next came a scene Olivia never tired of watching. When a new parent first sank onto a kindergarten chair. Would the adult handle it with nonchalance, with self-deprecating humor, or with a sense that this was a deliberate assault on his ego? Over the years, Olivia had come to view it as a remarkably accurate test of character.

Gabriel Brant sat warily. As he’d sat many years ago on her aunt’s antique wicker porch furniture. Aunt Lydia had served them homemade lemonade and gingersnaps. The memory tugged at Olivia now. She remembered how, at the end of the summer, Aunt Lydia had said, “He’s a fine boy with a good imagination. Let’s hope Walter Brant doesn’t drum the imaginative part clear out of him.”

As Olivia showed the twins how to twist brown pipe cleaners to form the turkey’s head, legs and feet, and then demonstrated how to secure them in the pinecone’s “tail feathers,” Gabriel helped. Remarkably, his large hands were adept at this, his patience—with the boys—infinite. He never seemed to become more comfortable, though, only more determined. To accomplish this small task for his sons. Only when they’d finished shaking glitter onto the cones, and both Justin and Jared, who’d looked so sober upon entering her classroom, were smiling shyly, did Gabriel appear to relax.

She handed him the second demonstration bird she’d made today. “Now you can each have a turkey at your place tomorrow.”

“What about Grampa?” Justin asked. “He’ll need one. We’re staying with him. Every day we’re gonna walk from his house to school.”

Interesting. When Gabriel had left town after high-school graduation, Olivia had heard rumors that it was because Walter and he were such polar opposites they couldn’t stand to be in the same room. What had happened to bring Gabriel back?

He offered no explanation.

“I’ll give you another one I made earlier with the class,” she said, rising. “That way no one gets left out.” Returning to the table, she handed a fourth turkey to Gabriel and then spoke to the boys. “So do you think you’re going to like coming to school?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Justin replied, but Jared only stared at his turkey.

“Jared,” Gabriel said gently. “Look at Ms. Marshall when she’s talking to you.”

Jared did. Self-consciously. There was intelligence in his eyes, but deep uncertainty, as well. Although he made the requisite eye contact, he didn’t speak.

“Well, I’m looking forward to having you both in my class. Let me get your dad a list of the supplies you’ll need.”

As if glad to be dismissed, Gabriel rose. When she handed him the list of pencils, crayons, glue sticks, tissues, change of clothes and more that was the standard request of kindergarten parents, he blanched. “They’ll each need all these?”

“Yes,” she replied. This was always the ticklish part. “But if, for any reason, you can’t provide the supplies, I do have a discretionary fund….”

“I’ll see they have what they need by Monday.” His expression hard, he looked her in the eye. “Don’t do me any favors. Don’t offer any charity.”

She was stung by the vehemence of his words.

As he turned to leave, it was as if he’d thrown a switch, shutting her out completely. In retreat, the set of his broad shoulders was stiff. The light touch of his hands on his sons’ heads was gentle, but nothing else about Gabriel Brant was soft or yielding. Nothing that indicated the return to Hennings was the least bit pleasant for him.

What had life dealt her childhood friend to harden him so?

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER GABRIEL LEFT with his boys, Olivia didn’t have time to puzzle over his prickly behavior before Kelly poked her head around the door frame.

“So did you like the early Christmas present I sent you?” the perpetually cheery clerk asked.

“I haven’t had a minute to eat it,” she replied, indicating the cupcake Kelly had sent to the classroom earlier. Olivia deliberately misunderstood the question.

“Not that, silly! Gabriel Brant.” The clerk entered the room with a mischievous grin. “He didn’t want the twins split up. I could have put them in Megan’s class. She has the same number of students as you. But she’s married.”

Matchmakers. Hennings was full of them. “Are you forgetting the odds are fairly high Mr. Brant is married, too?”

“Oh, no,” Kelly countered. “On the registration form he left the space for the twins’ mother blank. I’m assuming he’s unattached.”

“That’s a pretty dangerous assumption.”

It wasn’t that Olivia wasn’t looking for love. Her aunt Lydia, the town librarian for many years, had raised her on a diet of fairy tales and adventure stories. Princesses in towers and princes on stallions. And happily ever after. They were the same tales she shared with her kindergarteners. Only now she occasionally changed the endings to have the princess do the saving.

“And you seem to forget,” she added, “he’s the parent of my two newest students. There must be a clause in my contract prohibiting a teacher from entering into a relationship with a parent.”

“No. You can’t date an administrator. And you can’t engage in public lewdness. Otherwise, what you do in private is pretty much your own business.”

Olivia slipped her arm around Kelly’s shoulders. “I’ll cut you some slack because this is your first year in the system. But FYI, the written rules and the unwritten rules can be poles apart.” She didn’t want to sound like a prude, but ten years’ experience had taught her that teachers were still considered the most public of public servants. And single teachers? Their extracurricular activities were always scrutinized. “Besides, you’re kind of jumping the gun, aren’t you? Married or not, the guy just walked through the door.”

Kelly shrugged. “The early bird, and all that. Hey, maybe he’s separated. Maybe he needs a soft shoulder to lean on.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

None of Kelly’s musings answered the question of Gabriel Brant’s marital status. He did have two sons. At some point there must have been, or else there still was, a significant other in the picture. Quite frankly, Aunt Lydia’s lovely fairy-tale fantasies—and fantasies they were—made it hard to settle for anything less than magic. Olivia did know one thing with certainty, however. There was no fairy dust on affairs with married men.

“Well, what are you going to do?” Kelly pressed.

“What I’m going to do,” she replied, “is catch a late lunch, then come back and straighten up this classroom. Want to join me for a bowl of chili at the diner?”

“I’d love to, but Don’s parents are driving in tonight. If I don’t get home and run a vacuum cleaner and a dust cloth around the house before then, his mother will drop not-so-subtle hints all weekend about my housekeeping skills. As if her only child and heir apparent shouldn’t share the responsibility.”

“As if you had nothing better to do with your time. Just how many are you having for dinner tomorrow?”

“Eleven. So one more wouldn’t cause any more stress. You know you can change your mind and join us.”

“Thanks.” Olivia was tempted. “But the Meals on Wheels volunteers count on us holiday subs.” And the elderly they served counted on a smiling face and a little company on a day when they knew others would be inundated with friends and family. Olivia understood the feeling. “And the diner’s doing the turkey dinners this year. At the end of my shift, I get take-home. Marmaduke will see that I don’t go hungry.”

“If you say so. But you can always stop by for dessert.”

“I might do that. Just to run a white glove over your dusted surfaces.”

“Don’t encourage my mother-in-law.”

When Kelly left, Olivia put on her coat, scarf and gloves. She couldn’t find her hat, and she wondered whether one of her students had worn it home. Finally giving up the search, she headed for the diner, not a block from the school. The biting air made her wrap her scarf more tightly around her neck. Although the temperatures had been right for the season, there was still no sign of snow. A big disappointment, in Olivia’s mind. What were the holidays without snow? The skeletal tree limbs arching overhead appeared downright spooky, as if Halloween still lurked. The branches needed at least a light dusting to flip the calendar to the appropriate page. This is the famous New York snow belt, she silently reminded the leaden sky. So produce!

She pushed through the diner’s doorway into the crowded and steamy interior. “Olivia!” several people called out as she made her way to an empty stool at the counter. Ignatz, the ancient cook, winked at her from his side of the pass-through.

“The usual?” Maggie, one of two midday waitresses, asked from behind the counter, her Christmas bell earrings tinkling cheerily.

“Yes, please.” Although, suddenly, Olivia wanted something unusual. It was such a strange and overwhelming sensation. A craving. An itch. A nameless longing. For something she’d never experienced before. She couldn’t even tell if what she wanted was food or something bigger. Some adventure right out of a genie’s lamp.

But what she got was chili and a large glass of milk.

“Thanks, Maggie.” The odd feeling lingered as familiar voices around Olivia hummed in conversation.

“Who knows what your usual will taste like come Monday,” Maggie said. “Ignatz’s last shift is Saturday.”

“That reminds me, I have a little retirement present for him. I’ll bring it by Saturday afternoon. So who’s the new cook?”

“Marmaduke’s talking to him now.” Maggie nodded to a booth in the corner. “I know the boss is relieved to finally sit down with him face-to-face. He got so many responses to that Internet ad, but he hired this guy on his reputation and his connection to Hennings.”

“His connection to Hennings?” It couldn’t be.

“By way of New Orleans. He’s definitely easy on the eyes, but it’s anyone’s guess what the specials are going to taste like. Spicy, I’m betting.”

Olivia turned to see the owner of the diner in conversation with a man who had to be Gabriel Brant. His back was turned to her, but she could see the crowns of two small heads beside him. Justin and Jared. Someone had put crayons on the table. She could see a small hand coloring a place mat.

So this was the job Gabriel had taken until something better came up elsewhere. From the short interview they’d had in her classroom, she suspected he wasn’t thrilled about the opportunity. Why not? Marmaduke, who’d started out as a short-order cook himself and still worked the breakfast shift, was known to be an excellent employer. One who hadn’t forgotten his roots. One who prided himself on providing his employees with jobs that could actually pay the bills.

At that moment, Sasha, the second waitress, brought a tray to Gabriel’s table and began to clear dishes. Stretching out his arm, Marmaduke rose to leave. The two men shook hands. The twin on the outside of the bench seat turned around and spotted Olivia. His tentative wave melted her heart.

She ate her chili and drank her milk and wondered—for the umpteenth time—if she would ever have children of her own. After getting her degree, she’d turned down a more lucrative teaching position in a bigger system to come home and help her aunt as that extraordinary woman’s health began to fail. It was the least Olivia could do, after all her aunt had done for her.

Plus, she loved Hennings. Loved the big, old Victorian house in which she’d grown up, loved the small city’s quirky rhythms, loved knowing her contributions made a difference. Her students became her children for ten months, and although she enjoyed watching them grow beyond kindergarten, she always felt a sadness at the end of the school year, when she could no longer pretend they were hers.

Someone tugged at her shirttail. “Teacher?”

She looked down to see Justin and Jared standing next to her stool, colored place mats in hand. Their father, serious and eagle-eyed, watched from the booth.

“Hello,” she said. “I can see you’ve both been busy.”

“We want to give you our pictures,” Justin said. Olivia had determined that Justin was the twin who did all the talking. “Mine’s a dog. If I could have a dog, I’d want him to look just like this.”

Olivia took the picture and examined it. Two primitive figures cavorted across the drawing space. One, an obviously happy child, the other, an enormous dog. “This is very good, Justin. Do you know the story of Clifford, the big red dog?”

“The bookmobile lady read it to us.”

“Well, we have that book in our classroom. On Monday, when you come to school, I’ll find it for you. In fact, we’ll read it together.”

As Justin’s eyes grew wide with anticipation, Olivia felt a fairy godmother pleasure at being able to grant this simple favor.

“So, Jared,” she said, turning to the quiet twin, “let’s look at your picture.”

Silently, he handed it to her. In the corner, three sad circle faces peered out of a tiny car. A swirl of brown and black and blue covered the rest of the paper, threatening to engulf the travelers. Stick figures floated in the deluge.

“Tell me about your drawing, Jared,” she said ever so softly.

“It’s what he experienced during Katrina,” a deep voice replied, equally softly. Gabriel stood over his sons. “It’s all he draws, in one variation or another. I figure if I let him get it out on paper, the nightmares will eventually stop.”

And he’ll eventually talk again, Olivia thought. She’d watched CNN, horrified as the hurricane had devastated a city. But that was two years ago. Evidently, to this little boy, the horror still hadn’t diminished.

“Maybe I’m wrong, though,” Gabriel said. “It hasn’t happened yet.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong,” she replied, looking into adult eyes that held a world of pain. “Now that the boys will have the structure of home and school, I think you’ll see a marked improvement.”

The set of his jaw told her he wasn’t convinced, and made her wish she could offer him a guarantee.

She turned to the boys. “Thank you for my pictures. Would you like me to hang them in the classroom or on the refrigerator in my house?”

“In your house,” Justin said. “So you won’t forget us.”

“It’s not likely I’ll ever forget you two,” she replied, placing a hand on each twin’s shoulder. Every kindergartener who walked through her classroom doorway needed her, but clearly these two were special. Their needs ran deep, maybe deeper than a single teacher could or should explore. Would she be able to help? She looked into the wary eyes of their father. Would he let her?

Suddenly, for Gabriel, the air in the diner was too close. He nudged the boys toward the cash register, but they wanted to linger with Olivia. She’d won them over already, which was a good sign they’d settle into school. If the memory of his own schoolboy crush on one pretty second-grade teacher rang true, his sons would be head over heels in love with doe-eyed Ms. Marshall before next week was out.

He wasn’t certain he wanted the boys to form that great an attachment to anyone or anything in Hennings. The diner job was fine for starters. Knowing the difficulty of getting and retaining good cooks, Marmaduke paid well. Wanting to distance himself from fast-food places, he served traditional comfort food, but he was open to new ideas. Experimentation. Although he wouldn’t change his long-established menu, he’d promised Gabriel the daily specials would be his to play with. Even so, Gabriel planned on using his off time to use the public library’s Internet hookup to find a better position. Most likely an out-of-town position. And that would mean a commute. Or a move.

As he stood in line to pay for his lunch, he watched his boys with Olivia. Somehow, he didn’t think she’d approve of him uprooting the twins again. She seemed like the quintessential kindergarten teacher—sweet, traditional and rooted. But he firmly believed he and his sons could make it anywhere—hadn’t they already?—as long as they were together.

When his turn at the cash register arrived, Marmaduke refused to let him pay. Gabriel fought the urge to insist, but his new boss matter-of-factly told him all employees got one full meal per shift. He should consider today a signing bonus. Finding it almost impossible to regard the act as a handout, Gabriel switched his attention to Jared and Justin. “Ready to shop for turkey day?”

“Grampa says we need more PasgettiOs,” Justin said, waving goodbye to Olivia.

“Oh, I think my leftovers will replace the Grampa Walter special for a few days. Then we’ll think about buying more O’s.”

“I like SpaghettiOs,” Olivia said from her stool as Gabriel opened the diner door.

“Heaven help us,” he muttered, stepping out into the cold.

“When are we gonna see snow?” Justin asked, trudging alongside his father as the three made their way the few blocks back to Walter’s house and their car.

“Any day now. And if it snows enough, I’ll take you sledding on Packard Hill.”

The boys, who’d spent their short lives in a climate that didn’t require winter gear of any sort, gave him puzzled looks.

“Trust me,” Gabriel said, opening their car door so the boys could pile in, “you’re going to love it.” Hey, that was the first positive thing he’d said about the return to Hennings. Maybe Ms. Olivia Marshall’s quiet optimism was contagious.

At Wegmans, they made an “I spy” game out of shopping for their Thanksgiving groceries. The boys were wide eyed at the hustle and bustle, the colors, the choices, the piped-in music and the employees stationed throughout the store, handing out food samples.

For his part, Gabriel was glad to finally feel anonymous. Sure, he was a hometown boy, and a couple of people recognized him. But as far as being a Katrina evacuee, he didn’t register on anyone’s radar.

When the national media and the public at large had reached saturation point with the devastation and the hard-luck images, they’d moved on to the next breaking story, and Katrina—the good, the bad and the ugly—became a continuing reality only for New Orleans and the cities that had taken in the majority of those who’d had to flee. The lack of interest elsewhere was a curse, but at this particular moment in Hennings, it was also a strange blessing.

Back at 793 Chestnut, Walter met them at the door. “I got a surprise for you boys.” The old man looked like the proverbial cat with a canary in its craw.

Gabriel suddenly felt uneasy, but as Justin and Jared dashed up the porch steps, he began to unload the bags of groceries from the car. By the time he made it through the front door, the twins were on the living-room floor, playing with a fleet of Tonka trucks. Brand-new construction equipment. Shiny yellow dump trucks, bulldozers, cement mixers, cherry pickers, earthmovers. You name it, Walter had bought it.

“The set you and Daniel had,” Walter explained, all puffed up and looking proud of himself, “was metal. Pretty dinged up and rusted. Tetanus shots in the making. These are the same brand, but they’re plastic. They’re safer, plus they’ll last longer.”

Gabriel knew he should be thankful Walter was warming to this new role of grandfather, but…“Would you get the rest of the bags from the car?” he said. “I have stuff here that needs to go in the freezer.”

Walter narrowed his eyes, paused a fraction of a second and then headed outside.

When the two men came together in the kitchen, Gabriel had curbed his initial negative reaction. “It’s great you wanted Justin and Jared to feel at home,” he said, trying to choose his words carefully. “But let’s not go overboard with the toys. The boys are going to get bombarded with advertising between now and Christmas, and they’ve had so little these past two years, I don’t want them to have unrealistic expectations.”

“Are you finished?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been buying a truck here and there for the past four years. Ever since I knew I had grandsons. Four years I’ve been waiting to meet them. There might be eight trucks out there. One a piece, for each birthday I’ve missed. So don’t give me any crap now about overloading them with gifts.”

Gabriel had no answer for that. In a tense silence, the two put away the groceries.

“Did you register the boys at school?” Walter asked at last.

“I did.”

“Who’s their teacher?”

“Olivia Marshall.”

“That’s good. She was an orphan—she’ll understand the boys.”

Gabriel felt the anger rise, hot and wild. Trying to keep his words from reaching the twins, he felt his voice come out thin and strained, like steam under pressure. “What are you talking about? My boys are not orphans.”

“Their mother abandoned them.”

“She brought them to me. Their father.”

Only four years ago Gabriel had found out he was a father. Morgana, a woman with whom he’d had a brief affair, had shown up in New Orleans out of the blue and deposited one-year-olds Justin and Jared on his doorstep.

She’d been an exotic dancer when he’d first known her. When she arrived in New Orleans, she was an exotic dancer with a drug problem. But at least she’d had her head on straight enough to realize she couldn’t continue to take care of the twins. His sons, she’d claimed. She’d even put his name on the birth certificates. So he’d taken a paternity test, and the boys were clearly his. As soon as the test results were in, Morgana had disappeared.

“Let’s get this straight,” Gabriel growled. “I’ve done some things I’m not all that proud of. You can beat up on me, but you are not to judge Justin and Jared for anything their father’s done. Understood?”

“I understand you’ve got a burr in your boxers. Always have. And I’ll be damned if I know why. But where your sons—my grandsons—are concerned, I was just stating a fact. Those two youngsters have had hard times to last four lifetimes. But they’re home now. Me, I’m just glad they’ll have a teacher who’ll show them some kindness. Don’t read any more into what I said than that.”

His speech ended, Walter stomped out of the kitchen. Gabriel could hear the La-Z-Boy creak as the television came on.

Maybe he did have a burr in his boxers. After seventeen years of being on his own, of supporting himself, of building a reputation as a chef, he didn’t find it easy starting over. Or coming to his dad, hat in hand. Walter, who’d never believed Gabriel could make it in the restaurant business in the first place. Thank God his boys were too young to understand the comedown.

Maybe this whole direction he’d decided upon was wrong. Maybe Hennings wasn’t the place to regroup.

“I need to get some air,” he said to the living room at large. “Boys, do you want to go for a walk with me?”

“Jared and I want to stay with Grampa and play trucks,” Justin answered. “It’s nice and warm in here.”

Walter didn’t take his eyes from the TV screen.

Outside, Gabriel walked in no particular direction, the low gray clouds matching his mood. He soon found himself standing outside the boys’ school. Lights were on in one of the classrooms, and he could see Olivia Marshall gathering up her belongings. Why was she still at school well after dismissal on the afternoon before Thanksgiving? Didn’t she have a better place to be? In fact, why was she still in Hennings at all?

When he’d hung out with her as a kid that one summer, she’d seemed so adventurous. As if the town wasn’t big enough for her imagination. His friends had felt sorry for him, when they’d heard how he’d spent his vacation. With a girl. Two years younger than him, no less. He’d never admitted it, but it was one of the best summers he could remember. Olivia was smart as a whip. Fearless, too. He’d kind of expected the daring Olivia he knew then to grow up to be more than a demure hometown kindergarten teacher.

“Did you forget something?” Her grown-up voice at his side startled him. Not as much, however, as the very real, very close, very pretty woman’s face that replaced the freckle-nosed girl he recalled.

He looked at the school and saw her classroom was dark now. How long had he been standing here? “Actually, I was remembering something.”

“Good, I hope.”

He didn’t answer. The past didn’t matter. The present didn’t mean much to him, either. He was working on the future.

“Out for a walk?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you have cabin fever already. Winter hasn’t even begun.”

“Being closed inside against the cold is going to take some getting used to.”

“Well, when you’re outside, you’re going to have to remember to keep moving. Walk me home—I’m only a couple blocks out of your way.”

How could he say no? He fell into step beside her, the soles of his shoes making crunching noises on the frozen sidewalk. He found it hard not to glance at her. Not to notice that the tip of her nose was already turning red and that the wisps of condensation as she breathed made her lips look soft and muted, as if she were an actress in a film and the director had called for the gauze over the camera lens. As if the mood aimed for was romantic.

Get a grip, Gabriel, he told himself. You’ve been too long without.

“I only know New Orleans from books and travel shows,” she continued, her voice dreamy. “But with the warm climate and all the verandas and balconies and sidewalk cafés, I imagine the inside and the outside just melt one into each other.”

“They did. Before the storm. Now…there are pockets. But the ease is gone from the Big Easy.”

“You don’t want to talk about it.”

“No.”

“Okay. Change of subject.” Was she always this amenable? This upbeat? Didn’t it exhaust her? “Are you bringing the boys to the Turkey Trot on Friday?”

“Turkey Trot?”

“It’s a 5K road race up Main Street to the park. Race is a bit of misnomer, although I think they still give out a prize for the first person to cross the finish line. The real fun comes with the informal parade that tags along after the racers. It’s kind of evolved over the years. People dress up. There’s a prize for best seasonal costume. Parents push strollers. Kids ride decorated bicycles. Carl Obermeyer always walks on stilts, and his wife juggles.”

Olivia picked up a stick and ran it, as a kid might do, along a wrought-iron fence that fronted a neatly kept yard. “One year,” she continued cheerily, “a group of men from the Shamrock Grill attempted a synchronized lawn-mower routine. Turkey Trot’s always a little nutty, but it’s a good way to meet your neighbors and walk off the previous day’s food. At the park, the outdoor skating rink officially opens. The whole thing’s a lot of fun. Your boys would love it.”

He stared at her. Slightly out of breath, she actually seemed as excited as a child at the prospect of this civic goofiness. “I don’t know.”

“Got better things to do?” There was mischief in her eyes. And a challenge.

“Hey, we just got into town yesterday. We’ve barely settled in.”

“And today here you are out and about, enjoying our frosty air.” She put a hand on his arm to stop him. “I can see you’re already looking for an excuse to get out of the house.”

She had him there.

“Do you want to talk?”

“What’s this we’re doing?”

“I mean, about your homecoming.”

“No.” With Lydia Marshall’s old home in sight, he picked up the pace.

“So what about the Turkey Trot?” Olivia asked. Gabriel remembered that as a girl she’d been tenacious.

“Five K, you say?” He tamped down his frustration. Aimed for a reasonable tone of voice. “The twins are little, and we don’t have a wagon or bikes.” He didn’t want to sound surly, given her enthusiasm for the event, but he didn’t feel ready to plunge into the fishbowl that was small-town life, either.

“I believe there’s still a Radio Flyer wagon in my garage,” she replied, as if she wasn’t in the least deterred by his excuse. “I’ll bring it with me the day after tomorrow, and you can pull the boys in it.”

He’d learned to mistrust seemingly generous offers. “Thanks, but—”

“It’s the same wagon we used when we tried for the speed record down Packard Hill.”

“Good God.” The memory jolted him. “I still have the scars on my knees and elbows.” He remembered how frightened he’d been, not because of his own injuries, but at the possibility that she’d be as badly hurt.

“Luckily, I don’t have any reminders of my concussion.”

“And you want me to put my boys in that demon wagon?”

“The parade route’s flat. I promise,” she said, her eyes sparkling, as if she knew he was running out of excuses. “And I’ll introduce the boys to any of their classmates we meet on the way. So Monday won’t seem like a sea of strange faces.” She smiled. A radiant smile. “In front of City Hall, Friday, at one?”

He didn’t know what persuaded him. That smile, or the persistent memory of her earlier fearlessness. Of her tenacity. Her aunt’s generosity. His lost innocence and childish optimism.

“Sure,” he said, before he could figure out what he actually might be getting himself into.

CHAPTER THREE

THE OLD RED RADIO FLYER at her side, Olivia stood in front of City Hall amid a crush of Turkey Trot racers performing their warm-up stretches, and neighbors jovially complaining to one another about how they’d overeaten the day before. She wondered if Gabriel would show. Had her excitement at seeing him again—especially later, alone—come across as unprofessional? Having had forty-eight hours to question her motives in asking him to join her, she almost hoped he’d decide against it. But then the twins would miss out, and she didn’t want that.

So what did she want? She’d been so unaccountably antsy the past few days that she’d be hard-pressed to give a reply.

“Olivia!” Lynn Waters, director of the community rec center, squeezed through the crowd, confidently wearing a headdress of turkey feathers and a necklace of miniature gourds. “When can we get together to begin work on the pageant?”

“Anytime.” The annual children’s winterfest pageant was one of Olivia’s favorite volunteer activities. No matter how precisely she and Lynn planned or how many times they rehearsed the kids, their charges always did something so spontaneous, so kidlike, so delightful at the performance, that no year was ever the same as the year before. And every one was memorable.

“I’m thinking of using real animals this year,” Lynn said. “Ty Mackey’s offered any or all of his.”

“Even the potbellied pig?” Olivia laughed. “Does nothing frighten you?”

“Not having enough singers frightens me. I’ve gone over the list of kids who’ve signed up already, and we’re still short on boys.”

Olivia spied Gabriel making his way through the crowd, with Justin and Jared clinging to his side. It surprised her just how pleased she was to see him. Them. “I know two more boys who might be persuaded to join us,” she said, thinking the camaraderie of the pageant might be what the twins needed to help them fit in and feel at home. “But I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“Shall we have a planning session Sunday afternoon?”

“That’s fine with me.”

“Hi,” Gabriel said, stopping in front of them. The one syllable slid over her senses like the intro to a mournful blues ballad. His eyes said he didn’t want to be here. “I thought we might be too late.” Wishful thinking?

His sons pulled at his hands. Justin glanced sideways at Olivia through lashes as thick as his father’s, but Jared simply stared at the ground.

“Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?” Olivia asked.

“We survived,” he replied.

For a moment Lynn studied Gabriel with interest, then raised an eyebrow and shot Olivia a silent, Well?

“Where are my manners!” Olivia exclaimed. “Lynn Waters, this is Gabriel Brant. And Justin and Jared Brant. Gabriel recently moved back to Hennings. His boys are going to be in my class.”

“You’re lucky,” Lynn said to the twins. “Ms. Marshall was my daughter’s first teacher. And she’s still her favorite.”

“Is your daughter five?” Justin asked.

“My daughter’s now fifteen and in high school.” Lynn looked directly at Gabriel. “And she babysits, if you and your wife…”

“We’re not babies,” Justin said, standing tall. “And Grampa watches us when Daddy can’t.”

Olivia could see the wheels in her friend’s head spinning. Taking in this all-male scenario. But before Lynn could get the 411 on Gabriel’s marital status, Olivia frowned and cleared her throat in warning.

“Well, I’d better find my husband,” Lynn said. “He and his buddies at the Shamrock are trying to revive the lawn-mower brigade. They’ve sworn off alcohol until after their performance, so we’ll see if that improves their synchronicity. Nice to meet all of you.” She dimpled innocently at Olivia. “The wagon’s a nice touch. It makes you look so…approachable.” As if the Radio Flyer was some clever trolling device. “Bye!”

“Is that your wagon?” Justin asked, sparing Olivia the need to look at Gabriel.

“It is. Your dad and I used it when we were a bit older than you and Jared. I brought it today so that you can ride in the parade.”

“Parade? Like Mardi Gras?”

“Not quite,” she replied, suppressing a chuckle at the thought of the forthright women of Hennings baring their breasts for beads in near-freezing Turkey Trot temperatures. “But hop in. If we’re going to take part, the first thing we need to do is get ourselves over to the face-painting station.”

“Cold, wet paint on my face sounds really inviting,” Gabriel said, pulling the zipper of his windbreaker as far up as it would go.

“It’s just a dab,” Olivia said, laughing. “It’s kind of like a badge of honor, showing how tough we Hennings folks are. I’m thinking I’d like a pumpkin vine on my forehead.” She turned to the twins. “How about you?”

“Can I get Spider-Man?” Justin asked, clambering into the wagon first and then helping Jared, whose eyes, despite his silence, registered real interest.

“I don’t know if they’ll have superheroes,” Olivia replied, “but we’ll check.” She handed the wagon handle to Gabriel, who’d been listening carefully through this exchange. “How about you? Are you up for a superhero? If I recall, your favorite when you were ten was the Hulk. You told me my personal fave, She-Ra, was a wimp.”

He took control of the wagon, but didn’t exactly appear comfortable. He looked as if he didn’t want her as a tour guide, pointing out highlights of the past. What was she thinking? She was presuming upon a very slight acquaintance. Apparently, it hadn’t meant much to him then, and now it didn’t engender the same warmth and ease it did in her.

“Take the wagon,” she said, trying to regain her composure. “Don’t worry about getting it back to me today. I won’t need it until spring, when I’ll use it to carry my seedlings from the nursery.” Oh, great. Now she was babbling. What had gotten into her? Besides three pairs of blue eyes that said they needed relief from their recent experiences, even if one pair—his eyes—said he didn’t need it from her.

“Have fun!” she said, trying to sound positive, wondering why she was so disappointed he didn’t want her company. “If I see any of the boys’ classmates, I’ll be sure to bring them over for introductions.”

She turned to leave, but Justin stopped her. “Teacher! Are we going to get our faces painted?”

“Your dad will take you.”

“But I wanna see your face painted like a pumpkin.”

“Maybe Ms. Marshall has plans to meet other friends,” Gabriel said.

“No,” she replied, without thinking. “I mean…I’m flexible.”

“Come with us,” Justin urged. “Pretty please with gumbo on top.”

Gabriel still looked uncomfortable, but he seemed to soften. “How can you refuse a ‘please’ with gumbo on top?”

“Sounds messy,” she said. Almost as messy as stepping beyond the absolutely professional with the father of two of her students. “But yummy.”

“Then lead the way.”

She did, as the mayor, standing high on City Hall’s steps, bullhorn in hand, exhorted those participating in the race to assume their positions at the starting line.

“When the race starts,” she warned the boys, “there’ll be a big bang. It always makes me jump. But it’s just the starting gun, letting the racers know they can begin to run.”

“Noise doesn’t bother them,” Gabriel said, his voice low but bitter. “They’ve gotten used to close quarters and too little peace and quiet over the past twenty-seven months.”

Twenty-seven months. Not rounded down to two years. As if each month was etched painfully into his memory. Distinct. Unforgettable. Now, that just wasn’t fair. Her heart went out in sympathy.

When they approached the face-painting station, Jessie Nix and Sheria Hobson—middle-schoolers now—came forward, paint palettes in hand. “Hey, Ms. Marshall!” they chorused, as Sheria looked at Gabriel. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“Sheria!” Olivia felt her cheeks tingle.

“Oops! My bad!” The girl dimpled with mischief and then shot Jessie a knowing look, which Jessie returned.

The girls knelt by the boys in the wagon. “Twins! Cool!” said Jessie. “Are you gonna let us paint your faces?”

“Can you paint Spider-Man?” Justin asked.

“I think he’d take too long, and you’d miss the fun,” Sheria replied. “But we can do Spidey’s web. Okay?”

Both boys nodded vehemently, and the girls got to work.

“It’s cold and it tickles!” Justin exclaimed.

“Want me to stop?” Jessie asked.

“Nope. Ms. Marshall said it’ll make me tough.”

Olivia glanced at Gabriel and found he was staring at her. His intense gaze caught her off balance, and so she was unprepared for the signal beginning the race.

Not far from them, the starter’s gun cracked.

With an indecorous squeak, she jumped, stubbed her toe on the curb and fell against Gabriel’s chest. He was rock solid and smelled just good enough that in an instant she stopped thinking of him as the father of two of her students, or even as a childhood friend, and instead thought of him as a man. Plain and simple.

Although he definitely wasn’t plain, and the situation sure wasn’t simple. On top of which, the crowd pressing closely around them made it impossible to extricate herself.

In Katrina’s aftermath, Gabriel had thought he was immune to the unexpected, but surprise didn’t describe how it felt to find Olivia Marshall up against him. With so many layers of cold-weather clothing separating them, you’d think he wouldn’t be able to feel her heat. But he did. Or maybe it was his own.

For more than two years, he’d been so busy eking out an existence for the boys and himself that he’d had no time for women. No time to acknowledge that he sorely missed their company. No time, now, to separate, as you might under normal circumstances, the simply social or the mildly amusing from the purely physical. He’d been without for so long, his reaction automatically skipped to physical want.

Olivia felt damn good.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding breathy and smelling of peppermint. She struggled to pull away, but the crowd pushed them closer.

He could kiss her, she was that close. And if this had been a New Orleans Mardi Gras, no one would even blink. But this was the Turkey Trot in Hennings. A different atmosphere altogether.

“Daddy! Look at us!”

As Gabriel turned to look at his sons, his mouth grazed Olivia’s forehead and created a spark of static electricity. She gasped and managed to free herself from his embrace—because embracing her was what he found himself doing. What he found himself wanting to do, until he noticed the openmouthed gazes of two adolescent girls, paint palettes and hand mirrors frozen in midair.

“Did you trip?” Justin asked Olivia, innocent curiosity lighting his face.

“Y-yes…I’m afraid I did.”

The girls dissolved in not-so-innocent giggles.

“Because your shoe’s untied!” Justin exclaimed as Jared pointed to Olivia’s hiking boot, its lace dangling.

“That must be the reason,” Olivia replied, red-cheeked.

Gabriel really couldn’t have said why he bent to tie her shoe. Reflex, perhaps. Because in the past four years he’d tied so many, at the twins’ insistence. Anyway, as he bent on one knee and she did the same, their heads met in a painful bump.

“Ow!” Justin shouted in empathy.

“I second that,” Olivia said, rubbing her head.

“Do you two need ice?” one of the face-painting girls asked.

Gabriel rubbed the already rising lump on his forehead. “That would be a good idea.”

“We’ll get some,” the second girl offered, and both headed for the concession stand.

“If this was a typical November,” Olivia remarked, tying her boot, then rising, “we could stick our heads in a snowbank.”

“They have banks for snow?” Justin asked.

Gabriel thought of the difficulty of explaining this concept to kids who’d been raised in a warm Southern climate. “I think this is something that gets explained in kindergarten.”

Olivia gave him a “gee, thanks” look before turning to the boys. “When we get snow—which we should by Christmas—you’ll see that the snow on the sides of the road gets pushed into big humps called banks.”

“If there’s money in them,” Justin replied solemnly, “maybe Daddy can get some for us. We need money.”

Gabriel felt a sudden rush of shame, not at his son’s honesty but at the fact that Justin—five years old—knew they were strapped.

“Everybody needs money,” Olivia said, as if the statement was no big deal. “But you can’t get it out of snowbanks. They’re not regular buildings.” Gabriel liked how she looked at Jared, as well as Justin, when she spoke. Including him, although he let his brother do all the talking. “Maybe they’re called banks because that’s where the snow gets saved until spring comes.”

“I don’t know,” Justin said, shaking his head. “I’m just gonna hafta see one of these things.”

Olivia laughed, and the sound on the crisp, cold air was genuine and refreshing. “After the first snow, your dad is going to have to take you sledding on Packard Hill.”

“That’s what I told them,” he said, suddenly imagining how she’d looked on the Radio Flyer. Her gap-toothed smile lighting the way. Pigtails flying.

“What if it doesn’t snow?” Justin asked. “What are we gonna do then?”

“Well, not sledding,” she replied, “but there are lots of other fun things to do here. In fact, I was just about to ask your dad if he’d let you be in one of them.”

“One of what?”

“It’s our community winterfest pageant,” she said, massaging her head. Her forehead had to hurt as much as Gabriel’s did, but it was apparent she was trying to minimize the pain in front of the boys so as not to worry them. “You get to dress up and sing and celebrate the first day of winter and our famous cold weather. This year, we’re going to have animals, too.”

“Elephants?”

“No elephants, but farm animals like—”

“We’re not theatrical,” Gabriel said. Brants never had been. Walter, maybe. But only for a home audience. “Thanks, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t consider Ty Mackey theatrical,” she replied, with an edge of determination Gabriel found challenging, “but he’s the one providing the animals. Just think about it.”

“Omigosh, we had to chip this out of the concession-stand cooler!” One of the face-painting girls returned with two paper cups of ice. “It’s so cold today nobody’s ordering anything but cocoa and coffee, and the ice had turned to one big lump.” She handed a paper cup each to Gabriel and Olivia. “Whoa, I’m just in time. You guys have matching goose eggs.”

“Thanks for the first aid, Sheria,” Olivia said, pressing her cup to the lump on her forehead.

“No problem.” Sheria waved to Justin and Jared as she melted back into the crowd, which now swept along in the wake of the racers. “Have fun, little Spidey dudes. Hope you like the webs we painted.”

“How do we look, Dad?” Justin asked, turning his cheek for inspection.

“Awesome.”

Sitting in the wagon, the boys threw their shoulders back and their chests out in minimacho postures, clearly pumped by their new superhero markings.

“Are you going to be all right?” Gabriel asked, turning to Olivia. She’d been so plucky as a girl, but there was something unexpectedly fragile about her as a woman.

“Of course,” she replied, as if she read his thoughts and still wanted to appear tough as nails. “You’d better get going. I hear the lawn mowers revving up. And I think Ty’s brought his llamas. The boys won’t want to miss them.”

“Are you going home?”

“No.”

“Then you’re coming with us. So that we can keep an eye on you. I feel partly responsible for that crack on your head.”

“Believe me, I have no intention of passing out on the parade route.”

“But what if I do?” he replied, trying for lightness. An unaccustomed tone for him. “Then who’s going to pull the boys in the wagon?” He didn’t know why he suddenly wanted her company, but he did. “Don’t you feel partly responsible for the lump on my head?”

“Daddy!” Justin pointed to a man on stilts, dressed as Uncle Sam and walking through the crowd, tossing candies to the kids. “That man is almost as tall as a house.”

Olivia reached up, and one-handed caught several candies, which she gave to the twins. “Okay, boys, your first field trip in Hennings. Let’s go.”

Gabriel suddenly wondered if Olivia’s unflagging fortitude was an act. If so, why did she need to have one?

Olivia felt his scrutiny. Would it have been more prudent to go home? But now they were moving forward, and there were so many people that it didn’t look as if she and Gabriel were together, as in “couple” together. They were just part of the crowd, walking off too much turkey. Although after that little misstep back at the face-painting station, she couldn’t help wondering—for just an inappropriate second—what it might be like to be paired up with him.

They hadn’t gone more than a block when both Olivia and Gabriel ditched their ice cups in a trash container. It was easy to forget about a bump on the head when you were so busy watching happy five-year-olds reacting to the sights and sounds of a town gone silly. Sheria had even doubled back to hand them a couple of kazoos, which the twins quickly mastered.

“This was a good idea,” Gabriel said. “It was getting a little tense at Walter’s.”

“And you don’t want the boys to suffer.”

“Actually, Justin and Jared get along fine with my father. I can’t figure that out, but I’m thankful for small miracles. It’s Walter and me. We’re the ones sniffing round each other like mistrustful dogs. I don’t want the boys picking up on that.”

She was surprised at his admission. Unfortunately, even if he didn’t know why, she knew the root of his and Walter’s disconnect. But it wasn’t her place to explain it. Besides, she didn’t want to say anything now and have Gabriel close down again. “You might talk to Marmaduke,” she replied instead. “In addition to the diner, he owns some rental properties in town. I’m sure he’d make you a fair deal.”

Despite the fact she thought of what she’d said as a neutral statement, he seemed to withdraw.

“Daddy,” Justin interjected. “Jared’s thirsty. Me, too.”

“The concession stand’s up ahead,” Olivia offered. “I’ll treat.”

Gabriel glowered at her. “Don’t.”

“I just…”

“I can buy my boys a couple of drinks.” His voice was low. Almost a growl. A warning. Then, more calmly, he said to the boys, “Do you want something cold or hot?”

Olivia was struck by how Gabriel’s frustration simmered so close to the surface. How he had to exercise control to interact civilly with anyone other than his sons. If he hadn’t been the parent of two of her students, she might have called him on it.

“We want a hot drink,” Justin said. “Our noses are cold.”

They stood in front of the refreshment stand, where Greer Briscoe waited to take their order. Olivia could have wished for anyone else. Seventy-two-year-old Greer was kindhearted, but she often exercised her right to behave as a self-professed “magnificent crone.” The advantage of old age, she always said, was that you could dispense with conversational filters. You were old, and you were supposed to tell it as you saw it.

“Your nose looks cold, too, Ms. Marshall,” Gabriel said, before turning to Greer. “Four hot chocolates.”

“Whipped cream or marshmallows?”

“Whipped cream,” he replied, without consulting Olivia. “But before you top the two for the kids, can you add a little milk to cool the hot chocolate?”

“You got it.”

When Greer slid the drinks for the boys across the counter to Gabriel, she looked at Olivia.

“Olivia, hello. I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, as if the fourth drink wouldn’t be for Olivia. As if, of course, Ms. Marshall would be unattached.

“I’m with them,” she replied without thinking.

“Oh?” Greer glanced at Gabriel and the boys with interest. “Wait a minute. I thought you looked familiar. You’re Walter Brant’s son. The Hurricane Katrina refugee.”

Olivia saw Gabriel flinch at the loaded word.

“I prefer to be called a survivor,” he said, his jaw tight.

“Well, you’re certainly in the right company,” Greer declared, passing the other two hot chocolates their way. “Olivia has the softest heart in all of Hennings. Why, as a little girl, she brought home every stray cat and injured bird…”

Gabriel didn’t wait to hear the rest. He picked up the handle of the wagon and stormed away up Main Street, leaving Greer still rambling on and Olivia smarting.

The day could not end this way.

She picked up the two abandoned drinks and hurried after him.

When she caught up, he didn’t slow his pace.

“Hold on!” she implored. “The boys will spill their hot chocolate.”

He stopped abruptly to face her. “I was wondering what your game was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve met other women like you, who get their kicks doling out pity. Taking on the downtrodden. Feeling so satisfied when you save one of the hopeless from the brink.”

Both boys were staring at the adults, worried expressions making their young faces seem much older.

“That is not what’s going on,” she insisted with a significant nod toward his sons.

“No? The offer to fund the boys’ school supplies, the loan of the wagon, the willingness to buy drinks…”

“Have you been gone from Hennings so long you’ve forgotten what being neighborly means? Gabriel, this is me. Olivia.”

Something flickered in his eyes—a light that disappeared as soon as it appeared. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” he said. “We’re not refugees. We don’t need your pity. And we don’t want your charity. We’ll borrow the wagon for today, but I’ll return it tonight. If my kids need something, I’ll provide it.”

He pulled the boys away and left her standing with two cups of hot chocolate and a guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.