“Ahoy, Miss Meg!”

A black-haired boy dressed in an oversized pirate’s hat and black rain boots stepped in front of her.

“Ahoy, yourself, Davy.” She recognized Davy Diaz, whose grandfather was her landlord.

“Be ye knowin’ this comely lass, son?” The tall, handsome man with Davy glanced down at the boy, then winked at Meg.

Her heart did a flip.

Davy nodded. “Miss Meg is my Sunday school teacher.”

“Sunday school, huh? You lucky kid.”

Warmth crept into Meg’s face as both Davy’s and his father’s smiles widened. Then Davy looked up at him.

“Did you go to Sunday school, Dad?”

“You betcha.”

“Shiver me timbers!”

The man laughed, his gaze catching Meg’s as he held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Meg.”

“Meg McGuire.”

“I’m Joe Diaz.”

Meg’s heart skittered again. What was wrong with her? Losing herself in the warmth of his eyes and that smile, she thought, maybe it was true that when God closed a door, somewhere he opened a window….

MILLS & BOON

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GLYNNA KAYE

treasures memories of growing up in small Midwestern towns—Iowa, Missouri, Illinois. She traces her love of storytelling to the many times a houseful of great aunts and uncles gathered with her grandma to share hours of what they called “windjammers”—candid, heartwarming, poignant and often humorous tales of their youth and young adulthood.

Glynna now lives in Arizona where she works full-time for a medical products corporation. When she isn’t writing, she’s gardening, enjoying photography and the great outdoors, and keeping one step ahead of What Not To Wear camera crews.

Dreaming of Home
Glynna Kaye

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.

—Proverbs 3:5–6

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.

—Isaiah 41:10

To Mom and Dad, whose love for God, family and each other proves there are still happily ever afters.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Sheryl, Pam, Sandra and Manuel for all your help getting this manuscript ready to go.

Thanks to my “Seeker Sisters”

(www.Seekerville.blogspot.com) for your prayers, support and occasional kicks in the seat of the pants.

And an extra special thanks to my editor,

Melissa Endlich, for welcoming me to the Steeple Hill family.

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 Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

At precisely one o’clock on a sunny September Saturday afternoon, Megan McGuire spied the pirate.

Had Canyon Springs been a coastal, historic reenactment community or adjacent to Disneyland, she might not have looked twice. But to the best of her knowledge, the mountain country of northern Arizona generated little demand for the likes of seafaring swashbucklers.

Only minutes earlier, she’d propped open the door of the general store, allowing warm, pine-scented air to permeate the cool interior of the natural stone building. Once again huddled behind the oak counter and intent on reviewing next week’s lesson plan, the creak of the wooden floor reached her ears. At that moment she glimpsed the flash of a gold hoop earring and a black eye patch as a bandana-headed man disappeared behind a shelf.

What now? The little town, with its many seasonal visitors, seemed to draw from a bottomless grab bag of eccentric individuals. Meg gave her short, tousled hair a shake and smiled. She’d come here as one of them herself six months ago, so she could afford to be tolerant.

Reluctant to leave her cozy little nook, she nevertheless set aside her pen and straightened her maroon Arizona State hooded sweatshirt. The guy was probably a motorcyclist, not a pirate as her too-active imagination labeled him. But to fulfill her role as a part-time employee of Dix’s Woodland Warehouse, his appearance warranted an investigation.

She found the man crouched in front of the medication shelf, his muscled arm extended toward a row of aspirin boxes. Short-sleeved black T-shirt. Faded jeans. Well-worn tennis shoes. Except for a gold band on his left hand, all other fingers were pinched into dime store-quality, gem-studded rings. A foot-long plastic sword tucked securely in a belt loop topped off his unconventional regalia.

Nope, not a biker. A pirate.

Definitely a pirate.

“Yo-ho-ho. May I help you, matey?” Meg bit her lip, chiding herself for the glib intro. After all, the customer was always right, even if the customer was a healthy-looking specimen of maleness dressed like a five-year-old’s concept of a buccaneer.

He glanced up, one startled brown eye meeting hers. The other remained concealed beneath a black satin patch. The man pulled a box from the shelf and stood. Ramrod straight, legs slightly apart. Just like Meg’s older brother, who had been out of the military for years and still assumed that soldierlike stance even when “at ease.”

He didn’t look more than a handful of years older than her twenty-seven, and although he was under six feet tall, he nevertheless towered over her five-foot-three stature. Cropped black hair peeped from beneath the red bandana as he removed a gold hoop from his ear. Kneading the reddened lobe with a thumb and forefinger, he held up the aspirin box in his other hand.

“Headache.”

“Getting your land legs back will do that. Clip earrings, too.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he lifted the eye patch and tilted his head to study her. “You’re going to give me a hard time, aren’t you?”

Such expressive eyes. Captivating. “I could. But hey, to each his own, right?”

The pirate stuffed the earring in a back pocket. “I bet you’re wondering—”

“Dad,” came a child’s chiding whisper from behind a nearby postcard rack. “You’re not talking like a pirate.”

“Sorry.” The man dipped his head in acknowledgment to the scenic display, then focused again on Meg. “’Tis Talk Like a Pirate Day.”

She raised her brows.

“International,” the youngster’s soft voice clarified.

“Ah, yes.” The man patted the plastic sword at his side. “International Talk Like a Pirate Day.”

A black-haired, brown-eyed boy dressed in an oversized pirate’s hat and black rain boots stepped from behind the rack. His shy smile brightened. “Ahoy, Miss Meg!”

“Ahoy, yourself, Davy.” She recognized Davy Diaz, whose grandfather was her landlord, so to speak. The good-looking brigand was Bill’s offspring?

“Be ye knowin’ this comely lass, son?” The man glanced down at the beaming boy, then winked at Meg.

Her heart roller-coastered for a fleeting moment.

Davy ducked his head and nodded, then stepped closer to lean against his father’s sturdy leg. “Miss Meg is my Sunday school sister.”

“Assistant,” Meg corrected with a smile in the kindergartener’s direction. He’d been a newcomer at church the previous Sunday. “I’m a helper in the elementary department.”

“Sunday school, huh?” The man bumped Davy with his knee. “You lucky kid. My teachers were old ladies. Ugly old ladies.”

Warmth crept into Meg’s face as both Davy’s smile and that of the man broadened in her direction. Then Davy looked up at his father, his eyes wide with wonder.

“You went to Sunday school when you were a kid, Dad?”

“You betcha.”

The boy’s mouth dropped open and he placed fisted hands on his hips. “Shiver me timbers!”

Meg chuckled. “I think that’s pirate talk for wow.”

The man laughed, his gaze again catching Meg’s as he held out a bejeweled hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Meg.”

“Megan—Meg—McGuire.”

“I’m Joe Diaz.”

Cocky Joe Diaz, she amended as her extended hand disappeared into his firm, warm shake. Her heart skittered again, but to her relief their shared laughter covered a sudden shortness of breath. What was wrong with her? Flirting with some kid’s father—and some other woman’s husband. Maybe it was the new medication making her feel giddy. Yeah, that was it.

“Bill’s son, right?”

“You know my old man?”

“She lives in an RV, Dad,” Davy interjected. “In the campground. Is that cool or what?”

“Way cool.” Joe’s eyes narrowed with the same speculative look Meg always got when people heard she lived in a house on wheels. A look filled with “whys” they were too polite to ask.

Joe folded his arms, his forehead wrinkling. “So, why do you live in an RV?”

She laughed. “Why not?”

Davy tugged on his father’s pant leg. “We turned out the lights in Sunday school, and she showed us balloon lightning.”

Joe cocked his head in question.

“You set a ball of clay on the table and insert two stretched-out paper clips like antennae. Then you rub a balloon against a woolen scarf.” She demonstrated with her hands. “Hold the balloon close to the paper clips, and voilà! Sparks.”

“Whoa. Now it’s my turn to say it—shiver me timbers! That’s outside the norm for a Sunday school lesson, isn’t it?”

Meg shrugged, unable to drag her gaze from his. “I’m a science teacher. Sometimes I get carried away.”

Like right now. Losing herself in the warmth of his eyes. And oh my, that smile. Some lucky woman had sure hit the prayer request jackpot.

“My daddy’s a science teacher, too,” Davy chimed in, his face glowing with pride as he wrapped an arm around his father’s leg.

Meg’s interest quickened. “Where?”

“Nowhere yet.” Joe ran a hand along the back of his neck. “But it looks like I’ll soon be blowing the dust off an ancient secondary education degree.”

A knot twisted in Meg’s stomach. “Locally?”

“Yeah, my old school principal, Ben Cameron, is still holding down the academic fort here. Can you believe it? Says he may have a science teacher who won’t be returning after maternity leave. So I guess there is some truth to that saying. You know, when God closes a door, He opens a window.”

Or slams both shut. Hard. Meg swallowed. “So this is your hometown?”

A dimple surfaced. “For better or for worse, I’m a product of Canyon Springs.”

She heard the laughter in his voice, clearly oblivious of the blow he’d dealt her.

“So,” he continued, his eyes attentive, “you’re a science teacher. Here?”

“Subbing. Show Low. Pinetop-Lakeside. Anyplace within driving distance. At Canyon Springs exclusively the past month.” She zipped her hoodie, then rubbed her palms together, willing her circulation to jump-start and the erratic beat of her heart to subside.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Great. Then I’ll know at least one familiar face at the faculty meetings.”

“Miss Meg?” The little boy stepped forward, his eyes dancing. “Did you know I was named after Davy Jones Locker?”

She knelt down to his level, still attempting to suppress the anxiety washing over her in icy waves. “No, I had no idea. I’m impressed.” She glanced up at his father, forcing a smile. “Way to go, Dad.”

Joe’s arms remained folded, but he cast an amused sidelong glance in Davy’s direction. “He was named after his grandfather. David. On his mother’s side.”

Davy shrugged, his smile impish.

“So, which of you,” Meg whispered to the boy, “is Captain Jack?”

“Me,” father and son responded in unison.

“Two captains?”

Both nodded, Davy an adorable Mini-Me of his parent.

Joe motioned to his son. “Davy wanted to be the other guy—until I congratulated him on getting the girl.”

“I don’t want to get the girl.” Davy rolled his eyes, then pointed to his father. “And he doesn’t want to get the girl either.”

Meg laughed and stood. “I’m sure your mom’s relieved to hear that.”

For a flashing moment Davy’s eyes registered confusion, but his father scooped him into his arms and heaved him over a broad shoulder. Joe pulled the patch down over his eye again and spun toward the door.

“Aarrr! Come, Captain. Our ship sets sail. Bid Miss Meg farewell.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Giggling, the little boy clutched his hat to his head and waved. “Farewell, Miss Meg.”

“Bye, Davy. I’ll see both you Captains at church tomorrow.”

“This Captain.” The little boy waved a chubby finger at himself. “Grandpa will bring me.”

“Okay. See you then.”

Oh, no. Meg rushed to the door as the pirate pair stepped onto the porch. “Excuse me, um, Davy’s dad?”

Joe swung around to face her with a still-snickering Davy over his shoulder. “Joe.”

“Right. Joe. About your headache—”

“Gone. Must have been that earring.” Grin broadening, he winked. “But thanks for asking.”

Flirt. Bet the little woman at home has to keep a short leash on you.

“Sure. But I mean…the aspirin?”

She pointed, and he glanced down at the box still clutched in his fingers. With an apologetic shake of his head, he tossed the aspirin through the open door in a high arc. She caught it with both hands.

“Thanks for keeping me honest, Miss Meg. Wouldn’t want to get arrested in the old hometown.” He bestowed another wink. “At least not right off the bat.”

He turned away, his footsteps echoing a hollow cadence on the wooden porch.

“Dad, can we have pirate food tonight?” Davy’s plaintive voice carried back to Meg.

“What? Fish sticks? Again?”

“So you met Canyon Springs’ hometown hunk and hero rolled into one.” Sharon Dixon, the shop’s owner, maneuvered her considerable weight and a metal walker over the threshold. Her auburn hair now lacking the tell-tale gray it sported earlier in the day, the fifty-five-year-old glanced in a mirror hanging inside the door and brushed at her bangs.

A former heavy smoker, her voice came in rasping fragments. “Saw him come out the door as I was leaving the Cut-n-Curl. Quite the looker. Cute kid, too. But don’t get any ideas. Joe’ll tire of this place. Faster than you can bat your big baby blues at him.”

Catching a whiff of generously lacquered-on hairspray, Meg laid a stack of T-shirts on the shelf she’d been stocking, grateful it had been a slow afternoon and the shop was devoid of customers at the moment. Why did people always assume that because she was single, she “got ideas” anytime an attractive man crossed her path? She’d hardly given the eye-catching pirate a second thought—or had she? Okay, maybe a second. Or third.

“Don’t worry, Sharon.” She turned away to straighten a sunglasses display. “Men in general—and married men in particular—hold little interest for me.”

“Joe’s not married. Widower.”

Meg cringed and gave the display rack a slow spin. No wonder Davy looked confused when she referred to his mother. Or why his father immediately toted him far, far away from the blundering Sunday school assistant.

Usually, she took precautions with parental references at school. No one came from an intact mom-pop-and-two-point-five-kids home anymore. She could blame her change in meds or the distraction of Joe Diaz’s dazzling smile all she wanted, but it was her own insensitive mess-up. She’d apologize at the first opportunity.

She stooped to pick up an empty T-shirt box.

“I’m surprised he’s still on the market,” the older woman continued as she made her way slowly across the room, sneakers peeping from beneath turquoise velour sweatpants. “Good lookin’ guy like that, you know? Too bad my Kara’s not in town anymore. She had a crush on him when she was in junior high. Probably still does. She tell you about that?”

Kara was Meg’s best friend from college and one of the reasons she’d arrived in the somewhat remote Canyon Springs in the first place. Ironically, Kara sounded the bugle to charge into the world at the very moment Meg called retreat.

“She never mentioned him.” No doubt she’d remember her friend talking about a man whose smile could take your breath away and send your heart kicking into overdrive.

“Then she still has a crush on him,” her mother concluded with a nod, “even though he hasn’t been around these parts since high school. Took off for college, then the Navy. But just as well she’s not here. He won’t be for long either.”

“I don’t know about that.” Meg stripped the seam tape from the cardboard box in her hands, wadded it and tossed it in a nearby trash can. “It sounded like he plans to stay awhile. He’s applying for a teaching job.”

“Around here? In his dreams. Look at how long you’ve waited.”

Meg dropped the box to the floor and flattened it with her foot. “A science teaching job.”

Sharon’s eyes widened and she clasped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Meg gave the box another stomp. “Ben Cameron, his old principal, has apparently told him he’s just the man for the job.”

“Can he do that? Doesn’t the board or somebody have to approve it?”

Meg shrugged. “Davy’s dad—Joe—thinks God’s opening a window.”

Sharon scoffed. “Pooh. I have it from a good source—Joe’s dad—that Joe hasn’t graced a church door since his wife died. What’s he know about God opening any windows?”

“You don’t always have to be sitting in the front row pew for God to hear you,” Meg said. “Or for you to hear from God. And for some people, church is the hardest place to go when they’ve suffered the loss of a loved one.”

Sharon scoffed again and eyed Meg. “I hope you told Joe you have a prior claim to the job. Need it more than he does.”

Her heart lurched. “Of course I didn’t.”

Sharon eased the walker closer. “Doll, you can’t let him come in and roll right over you. As I recall, that boy’s used to calling the shots and getting his own way. This will be no different if you don’t take a stand.”

“I’m not going to make a play for the sympathy vote.” Meg’s lips tightened. She’d decided that right from the beginning and she wasn’t backing down now. The job was either God’s will or it wasn’t. Manipulation on her part wasn’t going to play a role in the outcome.

Sharon’s expression softened as she laid a hand on Meg’s arm. “So what are you going to do?”

“Not much I can do, Sharon.” She swallowed as she placed the flattened box on the checkout counter. “Or that I intend to do.”

“As the saying goes, you can’t expect God to steer a parked car. March yourself down to the school and talk some sense into that principal.” Sharon’s brows slanted into a dangerous-looking V. “Or I will. He’s a blustery old bag of wind, but he doesn’t intimidate me.”

Meg’s cold fingers clenched at her sides. She’d thought Sharon could be trusted not to say anything about her situation. “Please don’t.”

“Ben knows better than to think Sailor Boy will anchor himself to dry land long enough to fill a teaching slot for more than a semester.” She held up a couple of fingers. “Two at the most.”

Meg’s lips trembled. “Maybe Ben doesn’t think I’m long-term either.”

Her subdued tone echoed with an ominous ring as her mind flew to her friend Penny, now lying in a Phoenix hospital bed. No, life didn’t always turn out the way you’d dreamed it would.

“Oh, honey.” Sharon’s round, determined face crumpled as she leaned in for a gentle bear hug over the top of her walker. “He knows nothing about that, and I’m not going to say a word. I don’t agree with your thinking, but I promised, didn’t I? So I don’t want to hear you talking like that.”

Meg mustered a shaky half smile as the woman released her. “Nevertheless, you have to admit the RV does scream temporary resident.”

“Don’t you worry. You’re going to get that job and buy yourself that nice little house you have your eye on.” Sharon reached out to clasp Meg’s hand, her voice more gruff than usual. “You’re going to have a bright future. Right here if you want it. And don’t you dare start thinking otherwise.”

Chapter Two

Gripping his son’s hand, Joe led Davy across the black-topped road a few blocks down the street from the stone-fronted Dix’s Woodland Warehouse. They located the dirt trail shortcut through towering ponderosa pines and headed on the three-quarter-mile hike homeward, home temporarily being Joe’s father’s place at the Lazy D Campground and RV Park.

The boy tugged on his dad’s hand and, as always, the tiny one engulfed in his own swelled Joe’s heart with an overwhelming love and sense of responsibility. How could he have stayed away from his son so long?

“Dad?”

Joe felt little fingers dancing in his palm as he glanced down at the hope-filled face staring up at him. Davy looked like his mother when his eyes got big and solemn like that.

“Can we have Miss Meg over for pirate food tonight?”

He hadn’t seen that one coming. “I…don’t think so, bud.”

“How come?”

“Because…” Because he didn’t need any distractions right now. Especially not a pretty, petite distraction. One with gentle, laughing eyes and a smattering of freckles over her pert nose. A winsome smile that made you want to hang out and talk a while longer. No. No distractions of that variety. Never again. Or at least not for a good long while.

Shaking away a mental image of the perky brunette shopkeeper, Joe banished a lingering smile. His boy came first now.

Davy slowed, scuffing his feet through the dry, brown pine needles. “Because why?”

“Because I don’t think we have enough pirate food for all of us.”

There, that was easy enough.

Davy perked up. “I’ll eat only one fish stick.”

“You like her that much?” Joe playfully jiggled his son’s hand, remembering the delight reflected in the pretty woman’s eyes when Davy stepped from behind the postcard rack. And the teasing smile she’d leveled in his own direction when she discovered a pirate crouched on the floor of the shop. “I think she likes you, too.”

The boy ducked his head.

“Is that a blush?” Joe tugged Davy close and ruffled his hair. He needed a haircut, but Davy’s grandma said all the boys were wearing it that long now. That was one battle he’d put on hold.

The little body squirmed free. “Please, Dad?”

“Not tonight. We need to spend some time with Grandpa. That’s one of the reasons we came here, remember?”

And he’d let himself be flayed alive if Davy ever found out the other reason.

“I bet I can spend time with Miss Meg and Grandpa at the same time.” Davy folded his arms in an uncompromising manner Joe recognized as his own.

“Let’s visit with Grandpa tonight, okay? Then we’ll see about Miss Meg another time.”

Or not.

With a triumphant wheeee, Davy spread his arms winglike and dashed ahead. Joe watched in fascination, as he’d done countless times in recent days, at the ephemeral transformation of childish spirits. Dead sober one moment and carefree the next. Trusting that everything would work out. No worries.

If only life were so simple. Joe pulled the bandana from his head and roughed up his hair with his fingers. Then holding out his left hand, he stared for a long moment at the gold band gleaming among the faux pirate gems. It wasn’t going to be easy but, God willing, he’d do whatever it took. Separating from the Navy and coming back to Canyon Springs was the right decision. The teaching job, too. It was all about Davy now.

He watched his son race down the winding dirt path, arms outstretched as he wove from side to side like a fighter jet honing in on an aircraft carrier.

The kid never asked for much. It probably wouldn’t hurt to have Miss Meg over for pirate food. Sometime.

Maybe.

Not tonight.

“Not tonight!” Meg wailed. “Not again!”

It was at her third rapid step into the RV park’s darkened laundry room that the splash registered in her ears and water seeped into her low-cut flats.

She whirled with the overflowing hamper in her arms and slopped back out onto the covered porch. Setting down her laundry, she peered into the dimly lit room once more. Yep. Two inches of water. Again.

And wouldn’t you know it. She hadn’t had any time to do laundry that week, so it was getting to the do-it-now-or-wear-dirty-clothes stage. She was almost out of towels, too.

Zipping her sweatshirt against the encroaching chill, Meg gazed across the heavily treed campground, trying to decide what to do next. “A thinning number of oversized “land whales,” pop-up tents, trailers and campers dotted the landscape, their windows aglow as twilight slipped into darkness. Seasonal guests at this more-than-a-mile-high elevation had diminished considerably after Labor Day and more departed with each passing week as nighttime temperatures dipped into the low forties.

She sighed. Would she be wintering here herself or soon be heading back home to Phoenix? Until a few hours ago when Joe Diaz announced his intention to apply for the teaching job, she’d been certain of God’s leading. But now?

The Log-O-Laundry was not far down the road, but first she needed to make management aware of the water problem. Lugging the hamper along, she made her way to the log-sided office building. The door was locked, and only dim light emitted from the vending machines at the rear of the main room. She knocked, hoping someone might be in a back office or the rec room, but it was apparent Vannie Quintero, the White Mountain Apache teen who worked weekends, had closed for the evening.

While she hated to bother the campground’s owner, someone needed to know about the laundry room crisis. Again hoisting the hamper, she stepped off the porch and headed around the side of the building to a neat, but aging, modular home where Bill Diaz resided. The wooden deck creaked as she ascended the stairs and approached the metal-rimmed screen door. Red-and-black buffalo plaid curtains at the front windows looped aside to reveal a cozy, golden-hued interior. Meg glimpsed the owner reclining in an easy chair, the lantern-based lamp next to him illuminating an open newspaper gripped in his hands.

She knocked, and momentarily the door swung open.

“Grandpa, it’s Miss Meg!” Davy, incongruously dressed in cowboy-themed flannel pajamas and the brigand’s hat from earlier in the afternoon, hopped from one bare foot to the other as he opened the screen door. “She’s come to have pirate food with us.”

The scent of fresh coffee mingling with an acrid odor of burned food caught her attention. “Thank you, Davy, but I’m not here to eat. I need to see your grandpa a minute.”

Meg glimpsed the boy’s father in the adjoining kitchen, his unexpected frown directed right at her. She hadn’t thought to ask Sharon where the two younger Diaz males were staying, but she should have known they’d be at Bill’s. She lifted a hand in greeting, and he nodded a wary response. Great. He probably thought she was stalking him or something.

A newspaper crackled, and in a moment the stocky, mustached Bill Diaz appeared behind his grandson. Placing one hand on the boy’s shoulder, he held open the screen door with the other. Soft light glinted off salt-and-pepper hair, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on a hawklike nose. She could now see a resemblance to Joe through the eyes, but suspected his son might take more after his mother.

“Hey, Meg. What can I do for you?”

“Hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but the laundry room’s flooded again.”

Bill scrubbed at his face with his hand and reached for a ball cap lying on a table near the door. “I thought that was taken care of. Let me take a look at it.”

“Dad.” Joe’s disapproving voice cut in from the adjoining room. “It’s time to eat. Can’t that wait?”

“It can wait if you don’t care if your old man gets sued by a litigation-happy camper.” He turned to Meg with a grin. “Now step on in here, young lady. Get out of the cold while I turn off the water and lock up.”

“Thanks, but I need to get going. Besides, my shoes are sopping wet.”

Bill glanced down at her feet, illuminated in the light spilling from the open door. “Davy, run and get a pair of my socks. Clean ones. And a towel.”

“Dad—” Joe’s voice warned again.

“Can’t have her catching her death of cold right on my doorstep.” Bill cast an obstinate look in his son’s direction as he pried the laundry hamper from Meg’s fingers and set it inside the door. “Come in, come in.”

“No, really, I—”

“We’re having fish sticks,” Davy called as he paddy-footed to do his grandfather’s bidding. “You can have some. I’m only having one.”

“Thank you, but I—”

“Of course you can have some.” Bill reached for her hand and tugged her inside. “Unless you’ve already had dinner?”

She hadn’t eaten yet, but she doubted anything on the bachelor buccaneer menu would match her dietary restrictions. Her gaze collided once more with Joe’s across the room. “Thanks, but I’m not really hungry. Big lunch.”

“Nonsense. You’d blow away in a strong breeze.” Bill handed her the towel and socks Davy had retrieved. Motioning to the kitchen area of the open-planned house, he leaned over with a confiding whisper. “I’ll be right back. Keep Joe company. Make sure he doesn’t burn anything else.”

Joe shook his head and turned back to the stove, but not before she caught a twitch of a smile. Thank goodness. She’d barely towel dried her feet and pulled on Bill’s socks when Davy grasped her hand.

“Dad burned the potatoes.”

“Are you sure? I thought maybe that lovely aroma was his aftershave.”

Grinning, Davy pinched his wrinkled-up nose.

Joe glanced over at them. “Wash up, Davy. And ditch the hat, please.”

“But Dad—” The boy rolled his eyes and gave Meg’s hand a squeeze before releasing it to skip from the room, his enthusiasm at the prospect of her company apparent. An enthusiasm his father evidently didn’t share.

After a moment’s hesitation, Meg approached the tiny kitchen. Stuffing her hands into her sweatshirt pockets, she leaned against the counter. “I’m sorry for interrupting your dinner.”

“Hope you’re into packaged seafood.” He motioned with a spatula to the box of frozen fish sticks. “Not exactly fresh from the Pacific.”

“Catch of the day is highly overrated, don’t you think?”

Joe flashed a smile that once again sent Meg’s heart skittering, and it was with more than a little reluctance that she pulled her gaze away to take in her well-worn, rustically furnished surroundings. Black iron woodstove. Heavy oak pieces. Leather upholstery. A Navajo-patterned, throw-sized blanket tossed across the arm of the sofa. Masculine without a doubt, with no evidence of a woman’s touch. She knew Bill was divorced. Quite some time ago, if the house bore true testimony.

Her gaze continued around the room until, with a stab of recognition, she glimpsed teaching certification application forms spread out on the coffee table. With some effort, she turned to Joe. “This is nice. Cozy.”

He nodded as he scattered the fresh batch of cubed potatoes around the frying pan. “It’s home. Or used to be thirteen years ago.”

“Nice,” she repeated, then took a quick breath and lowered her voice. “Look, I want to apologize about this afternoon.”

Joe cocked his head. “And this would be for—?”

“For making that flippant comment about Davy’s mother. About her being relieved that you didn’t want to get the girl. I didn’t know—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Davy looked confused when I said that. I’m usually more careful about making assumptions.” She didn’t mention that the ring on his left hand contributed to the misunderstanding.

“No harm done. He hasn’t mentioned it. I didn’t think twice about it.”

“Nevertheless, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about the loss of your wife. Sharon Dixon told me.”

He kept his eyes on the stovetop. “Thanks.”

“Has it…been long? I mean, as Davy’s Sunday school assistant it might help if—”

“He doesn’t remember her.” Joe jabbed at the sizzling potatoes. “Not much, anyway. Except for what he’s been told. Photos. Videos. He wasn’t quite three when…you know.”

Meg nodded, not wanting to pry further, and was grateful when she heard the front door open as Bill returned. A gust of fresh, crisp air permeated the room.

“The laundry’s a mess all right. I’ll get someone out here on Monday to take a look at it.” He pulled off his shoes as Davy reentered the room. Together they set the table, and Meg caught the older man in a momentary pause as, lips pursed in concentration, he looked around in search of something. Then with a few quick steps to an overstuffed bookcase, he pushed aside a piece of native pottery and plucked up a vase filled with faded red silk flowers. Dusting them off with a sleeve, he returned to the dining area and plopped the container in the middle of the oak table with a satisfied grunt.

Davy’s eyes approved as he placed folded paper towels under mismatched silverware. “That’s cool, Grandpa.”

Bill patted the boy’s shoulder, his gaze meeting Meg’s. “We have a lady joining us tonight.”

Her heart warmed as he pulled out a chair for her. Within minutes Joe placed hot pads on the table, one for the skillet of browned potatoes and another for a pan of oven-baked fish. A chipped yellow Fiesta dinnerware bowl cradled canned green beans. Another, canned pears. Davy contributed a bottle of ketchup and stepped back to view his handiwork. He looked every bit as satisfied as his grandfather did upon locating the flowers.

No, the meal didn’t fit the dietitian’s recommendations, but one night wouldn’t hurt. Meg shared a smile with the excited boy.

Once seated at the oval table, across from Joe and between Davy and Bill, Meg bowed her head as Joe’s dad offered thanks. Then upon Davy’s hearty “Amen,” the boy leaned forward to address Bill.

“Grandpa, can I have a sleepover at Miss Meg’s?”

What? Stunned, she could only hope she hadn’t gasped aloud.

“Davy.” A coffee mug halfway to his lips, Joe’s appalled tone echoed through the room. He cast an apologetic glance at her.

“I’d say that would be up to her, young man,” Bill interceded on behalf of his grandson. “Did she invite you?”

Davy slumped for a moment in his chair, shaking his head. Then he perked up, turning a beaming smile on her.

“Will you invite me?”

“David William Diaz!” The timbre of Joe’s voice registered displeasure at his son’s chutzpah. “We don’t invite ourselves to other people’s houses.”

“It’s not a house, Dad,” Davy whispered in an aside, as if embarrassed by his father’s misunderstanding of the situation. “It’s an RV.”

“It may not be a house, but it is Miss Meg’s home.”

All eyes turned to her for confirmation.

She wet her lips. Yes, as weird as it might seem to most people, the RV was her home. A retreat where she could be alone with her thoughts. A hideaway to shut out the world. A refuge when life’s realities became too overwhelming.

“A sleepover is—” She took an uncertain breath as she looked from father to grandfather to grandson. “Is…fine with me.”

What was she thinking? This was not a good idea.

Clutching his fork in a fist, Davy leaned in. “Please, Dad?”

“Come on, Joe.” Bill pinned his son with a meaningful look. “You could use a night off. Why not tonight?”

Tonight? Meg took a shaky sip from her water glass. What had she gotten herself into?

“Tonight?” Joe set down his coffee mug. “We’re talking about tonight?”

Meg focused steadily on Davy’s hope-filled eyes, and her insides melted. She hadn’t the heart to disappoint him. “Tonight’s okay with me.”

“All right!” Davy’s fist punched the air.

Staring at her, Joe picked up his fork, laid it down and then picked it up again.

As if reading his son’s mind, Bill spoke up. “I’ve known Meg for months. Love her to pieces. She not only babysits for your cousin Reyna’s kids, but she cleared the background check for school and the church.”

“What’s a background check?” Davy looked to his grandfather, but Meg responded.

“It means I’m a certified good person to be around kids.”

Davy considered that for a moment before turning to his father with a doubtful look. “Are you certified to be around kids, Dad?”

Bill chuckled, and she bit back a smile.

“Not yet. But I will be. Soon.” Joe cut into a fish stick. “And certification has nothing to do with being a mom or dad. It’s only for when you have a job with kids that aren’t your own.”

“Might not be a half-bad idea, though.” Bill sent a wink in Meg’s direction.

“So, can I go, Dad? Please? Because Miss Meg’s certified?”

Joe cleared his throat. “Let’s eat while I think about it.”

Davy wiggled in his seat, then dived into the pirate food with gusto.

Still baffled at her own willingness to host a sleepover for a child she hardly knew, Meg cast a furtive glance in Joe’s direction before turning her attention back to her meal.

Chapter Three

Joe didn’t like it. Not one bit. But with the three of them ganging up on him, what was he to do? It was clear Davy had his heart set on a sleepover. But even though his dad vouched for her, he didn’t want his kid imposing on Meg—or getting attached to her or any woman for that matter. Not right now. They needed more man-to-man bonding opportunities. Needed to make up for lost time.

He and Davy had been together only a few weeks, much of that time at the home of his wife’s parents in San Diego as he attempted to regain his land legs and get reacquainted with his son. They’d been in Canyon Springs but a week, and now the little guy was already making off with the cutest chick in town—and leaving Daddy in the dust without a backward glance.

Okay, so it wasn’t surprising his son would be drawn to her. Maybe he did miss his mom. His grandmother, too, with whom he’d lived the past two years while Joe was halfway around the world. But not long ago Davy’s grandmother contacted him with troubling news that the situation was about to change, and Joe needed to come home.

Immediately.

He closed his eyes for a moment as a fist gripped his heart, determined not to think about that tonight. About his sister-in-law’s scheming intentions to take Davy away from him. Yeah, there was plenty of time to get to know the neighbors later. He and Davy needed uninterrupted father-son time.

Listening to the chatter around the table, it struck him that Meg’s interest in everything Davy had to say seemed genuine. From the Pacific beach he loved to romp on, to the puppy he was convinced he needed, she talked to him like he was a grown-up, not a baby.

But he’d picked up mixed signals on the sleepover deal. When Davy made his bold suggestion, he didn’t miss the sudden stillness that came over her expression or the hand that froze as she reached for her glass. Did she want a little kid she didn’t know bunking with her? Once she recovered from Davy’s rude proposal, though, she seemed to support it. Women. Go figure.

Okay. He could handle this. It was only one night, right? Tomorrow, in private, he’d deal with Davy—and his own interfering dad—about putting people on the spot. He stood to clear the table, taking a deep breath as he prepared to give the sleepover his reluctant blessing.

“You know what I think we ought to do, Davy?” Meg leaned forward, her gentle eyes on his son.

“What?”

“Instead of a sleepover, I think you should come to my place for dessert tonight. Then you and your dad can decide when you can stay overnight another time. Maybe when you can stay longer.”

Joe’s grateful eyes met Meg’s.

“But I want to come tonight.” Davy’s lower lip drooped.

“I know, but it’s already getting late. Probably almost your bedtime, right, Dad?” She glanced up at Joe. “If you stay tonight, all you’ll do is sleep, and we won’t get to play.”

“How about it, bud?” Joe prodded. “I bet Miss Meg makes a mean dessert.”

A frowning Davy pushed back in his chair and focused a challenging glare on his father. Joe braced himself.

Meg leaned forward as if oblivious to the father-son standoff, her tone playful. “Guess what I have, Davy.”

Eyes still clouded with disappointment, the boy turned. “What?”

“I have a blue fish named Skooter.”

“Blue?” Davy’s eyes brightened. “Is it real?”

“Yep.” She glanced down at her watch. “And I bet he’s getting hungry right about now. Should we go feed him?”

Davy turned back to his father, this time with a smile. “She has a blue fish.”

“You can see it if you go get your shoes,” Joe instructed, relieved the issue could be so easily resolved. No arguments. No tears. No tantrums.

On either of their parts.

The boy slid out of his chair, then with a bouncing gait headed to the hallway.

Joe focused again on Meg. “Now you’re sure you’re okay with this? If it’s not convenient—I mean, it is Saturday night. You probably have plans.”

“Hot date?” Bill teased.

Joe frowned.

Meg shook her head. “I was going to do laundry, but that can wait until tomorrow.”

“Okay. But I don’t like him inviting himself like that.” Joe cut a look at his father. “Or third parties aiding and abetting.”

Bill pushed back from the table and waved him away. “He’s five years old. If he was eighteen and invited himself to a sleepover at Meg’s, then you could have a serious talk.”

Joe responded with a sneer but couldn’t ignore the gut-punched sensation in his midsection. He didn’t want to think about Davy turning eighteen.

“An RV’s kind of an exciting place to a kid,” Meg pointed out. “Like a tree house or a tent. A dessert night will let him get a taste of adventure.”

He looked down at her. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“She’s sure, Joe, or she wouldn’t have suggested it.”

Davy appeared in the room again, arms laden with a huge stuffed bear.

“Hey, mister, you don’t need to take that thing.”

Davy clutched the plush creature. “He’s not a thing. He’s Bear.”

Joe took a step toward Davy, intending to confiscate the animal, but his son clasped the fuzzy critter tighter and spun away.

“Excuse me.” He held up his hands in defeat. “Fine. Whatever.”

Meg rose. “Let me help clean up. That’s the least I can do to thank you for inviting me to join you.”

“Thanks, but we might want to get going. I can tell someone’s getting cranky.”

Meg moved to the door to reclaim her shoes and laundry, but not before Joe glimpsed a quickly suppressed smile. Was she laughing at him? Implying he was the one getting cranky?

“Let’s go, bud.” He grabbed the throw blanket from the sofa, wrapped Davy up and swept boy and Bear into his arms.

Outside, Meg led the way through the moonlit RV park, weaving among the massive-trunked pines casting dense shadows on the threesome. Dried needles and leaves crunched under their feet. Crisp, faintly wood-smoked air assailed Joe’s senses, bringing back long-buried memories of his growing-up years in Canyon Springs. How odd to be here. The last place on earth he ever thought to be again. And certainly not as a single dad.

“This is it.”

Meg stepped under the lighted, striped canvas awning of what he knew to be a Class-C motor home. About a 20-footer from stem to stern, the midsized kind that fit over the top of a small pickup cab. She unlocked and opened the door, then flipped a switch. Welcoming light illuminated the compact interior. Joe set Davy down over the threshold, released him from his woolen cocoon and tossed the Navajo throw over his own shoulder.

The boy looked around. “Where’s Skooter?”

Meg remained outside but leaned in to point. “On top of the counter. Introduce yourself. We’ll feed him in a minute.”

Permission didn’t have to be offered twice. Davy abandoned Bear to scramble up on a built-in, upholstered seat for a closer look at the contents of the round fishbowl.

“Wow. He is blue!”

Meg turned a bright smile on Joe, and a curious tightness wrapped around his chest. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice.

“Thanks for bailing me out back there. You know, with the f-i-s-h ploy?”

“No problem. I could tell you weren’t comfortable with the sleepover idea. I shouldn’t have agreed to it without your okay, but I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

“Believe me, I can sure relate to that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But please don’t take my reluctance personally. It’s just that Davy and I—”

Meg held up a palm. “No need to explain. But if you do ever want to let him come for a sleepover, I’m fine with it. Experienced with nieces and a nephew.”

“Battle-hardened?”

“You could say that.” Her gaze lingered. “I’ll bring Davy home in—what?—an hour?”

Joe took a step back and shoved his hands into his back pockets. “An hour’s good. But I’ll come get him. You don’t need to be out by yourself in the dark.”

“Dad. Look at me.” Davy waved from where he kneeled on the seat, his forearms on the counter by the fishbowl. “Isn’t this RV cool?”

“Like a pirate ship’s cabin.”

“Yeah. A pirate ship.” Smiling, the boy turned again to the colorful aquatic creature as it whipped around the bowl in apparent delight at having company.

Meg lifted the hamper into the RV, then stepped up inside. “Guess we’ll see you in a bit.”

Joe shifted his weight and stretched out an arm to lean against the RV as he looked up at Meg. “I still can’t believe Davy invited himself like that. Diaz men do not go around begging favors from women.”

“Listen to you!” Meg hunched her shoulders, gave a little swagger and lowered her voice to a respectable bass. “Diaz men don’t—”

She broke out laughing.

“Okay, okay.” He hung his head for a brief moment, but couldn’t suppress a grin. “Just make fun of me.”

Laughter lit Meg’s eyes. “I’m committed to never pass up the opportunity.”

No kidding. He hadn’t missed her earlier comments about his aftershave and the burned potatoes. He narrowed his eyes. “I can see this is already getting to be a bad habit.”

Their smiling gazes met for a long moment, and then he sobered. “Thanks for letting Davy visit tonight. But if he gives you any trouble, just—”

“I won’t be trouble, Dad.” Now standing on the upholstered seat, Davy leaned in to creep his forearms closer to the fishbowl.

Joe snapped his fingers and pointed at his son in light reprimand. “Hey, you, no eavesdropping. And don’t stand on Miss Meg’s furniture.”

Davy dropped again to his knees.

Meg remained in the doorway, and Joe searched for another topic of conversation. It seemed she was lingering for a chat and his spirits lifted at the prospect. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to relax into a comfortable conversation with an attractive, single woman. No, he wasn’t looking for an entanglement. But he enjoyed her company, and she didn’t seem opposed to his. What would it hurt?

Meg tilted her head and her eyebrows rose as if in question.

Then it dawned on him that he blocked her from pulling the door shut. He stepped back, and she reached for the handle.

“Be good,” he said loud enough for Davy to hear.

Meg’s eyes twinkled. “We will be. See you soon.”

She pulled the door shut. A lock clicked into place. The exterior light went out.

So much for prolonged conversation. He’d sure misread those signals. Dimwit. Shouldn’t be playing with fire anyway.

He’d barely moved away when the outside light came on again and the door swung open. He turned to see Meg as she leaned out, holding the door open with one hand and Bear with the other.

“Joe?” she called into the darkness.

“Yeah?” He moved back to the door. Maybe his instincts weren’t off base after all. Could there be a little chemistry going on here?

“Forgot to ask. Any allergies?”

Odd question. He cleared his throat as his mind conducted a search. “Not since I was a kid. Got stung by a bee. Nothing too serious, though.”

He sensed her smile rather than saw it, and a hot wave washed over him. “You meant Davy.”

“Yeah.” Amusement colored her voice, but she didn’t outright laugh at him this time. “Any food allergies? Like to peaches? I’m big on fresh fruit as dessert.”

He dredged his memory. His mother-in-law hadn’t mentioned allergies when she gave him Davy’s medical records. She would have, wouldn’t she? “No, no food allergies that I know of.”

“Great.” A smile playing on her lips, she tilted her head. “Does it seem strange to be back? In Canyon Springs, I mean?”

Drawing the conversation out again. Good sign. He stepped closer.

“Kinda weird. A lot of things have changed, but at the same time they haven’t, you know? Some of it’s good, some of it’s not so good.” Joe laughed. “That made a lot of sense, didn’t it?”

“Actually, it did. It’s not as if you’ve been gone a lifetime. But you wouldn’t have been much more than a kid when you left and still seeing it through a kid’s eyes. Now you’re seeing the town and the people from an adult perspective.”

He nodded. “True. But I sure didn’t expect to feel ten years old again when I temporarily moved back in with Dad.”

Meg laughed. “Culture shock?”

“No foolin’.” He grinned. “I mean, I’m a father now, right? Yet Dad and I still butt heads like we used to when I was growing up, even over what’s best for Davy.”

“I’m sure it’s an adjustment for Bill, too.”

“Probably. But hopefully that science teacher will make up her mind about the job soon. Then Davy and I can establish our own household. That should help keep the peace.”

Meg glanced momentarily away, running her finger along the door’s framework. “So you taught high school science prior to joining the Navy?”

So she was curious about him.

“Two years in Flagstaff. I’d just started my second year when 9/11 hit. I was under contract, of course, so I didn’t join up until the school year was over.”

“Why the Navy?”

“Family tradition. Dad served and so did my Grandpa Diaz.”

“Interesting. So you’ve been in the Navy all these years?” She coaxed him with a smile that bumped his respiratory rate up a notch. “And you’re now returning to your first love—teaching?”

“Well, not exactly.” He chuckled, then sidestepped toward her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Confession time—but remember, if I tell you and you tell anyone else, I’ll have to kill you.”

She rubbed her hands together in mock anticipation. “Oooh, sounds highly classified.”

He looked around with exaggerated secretiveness, then lowered his voice. “Can I trust you?”

She pantomimed zipping her lips.

He grinned, then sobered. “To be honest, teaching didn’t pump me that much, if you know what I mean. But Davy’s my number one priority now. I’ll do whatever it takes to do what’s best for him, like separating from the Navy and moving back to the old hometown.”

“So did you do some kind of teaching in the military?”

“No. When I taught school I was an EMT on the side, then a Corpsman in the Navy. You know, medic stuff. But regular hours and summers off make a whole lot of sense now that I’m doing the single dad thing.”

She raised a brow, and he hastened on. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I hated teaching, it just may not be my gift.”

With a quick, tight smile she reached out to the door handle. “Well, I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thanks.”

Davy appeared at her side. “Bye, Dad.”

He lifted a hand in farewell, but didn’t catch Meg’s eye again before the door shut. With a pang of unexpected disappointment, he nevertheless whistled all the way back to the house.

“I thought you’d sworn off women.” Bill flipped the switch on the dishwasher, then walked to the living room and eased into his oversized leather chair.

Joe looked up from the Phoenix paper he’d spread across the dining table. “What are you talking about?”

“Meg.”

“You’re the one who invited her to dinner. You and Davy. Not me.”

“Yeah, and you’ve bombarded me with questions about her for the past twenty minutes.”

Joe shook his head as he stared at the red silk flowers still adorning the table. “Dad, it’s called good parenting. I need to know what kind of person you want to let my son hang out with. You can’t tell me that when I was Davy’s age you’d have let me go off with some stranger you didn’t know anything about.”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Yeah, right.” Joe stood and moved to the front window to scrutinize the recreational vehicle sheltering his son. “Not a good idea, Dad, for Davy to get attached to someone who won’t be around for long.”

Inwardly, Joe cringed. Good going. He left the door wide open for a well-deserved chastisement. Neither of them had brought up the issue, and some days it hung like an invisible barrier between them.

The leather chair squeaked. “Who says she won’t be around?”

Relieved at his father’s benign response, Joe motioned at the campground. “Pretty clear, don’t you think? Part-time jobs. Living in an RV.”

“Meg McGuire is a good girl. A little down on her luck.”

Joe turned to his father. “What’s that mean? She was evasive when I asked why she lived in an RV.”

“Transitioning. Trying to make a fresh start.”

“From what? Rehab? The state pen?”

Bill peered at his son over the top of his glasses. “Show a little faith in me, Joe. Davy is my grandson.”

He shifted. “Sorry. It’s just that—”

“Look, besides your own cousin’s recommendation, Sharon Dixon also vouches for her. Says Meg roomed with her daughter at ASU. You remember Kara don’t you?”

“Vaguely.” The name sounded familiar. Couldn’t put it to a face. “So what constitutes down on her luck?”

“Nobody tells me anything around here. But I’m picking up that like most people these days, there’s a broken relationship wedged in Meg’s not-too-distant past. I’m guessing she’s attempting to put some miles in between.” Bill turned off the lamp, rose from his chair and then stepped to the window. “You gotta remember, not everyone is as fortunate to have what you and Selena had.”

Joe’s jaw tightened. “Don’t encourage Davy in this, okay?”

“Come on. A kid needs a woman in his life. You know that better than anyone.” When Joe didn’t respond, his dad continued. “And it’s good for a kid to have more than one adult to relate to.”

Since when did his father become the all-knowing expert at parenting? “I’d rather we didn’t pick someone off the street for my son to bond with.”

Bill laid a hand on his shoulder, gripping it hard. “There’s nothing to worry about, kiddo. I’ve seen Meg with the kids at church, and they love her. Everybody around here loves her. And the RV sits not two-hundred steps off my front deck. If you let Davy sleep over, you can stay up all night with your binoculars trained on the place. Or call every half hour—I have her cell number.”

The hand gripped his shoulder harder before he stepped away, avoiding his son’s gaze.

“What? Something about her is bothering you.”

His father’s expression contorted with indecision. “Probably not for me to say.”

“Come on, Dad.”

The older man grimaced. “She’s a teacher, too.”

“So? She told me she subs around here.”

“Did it occur to you that she subs because she’s waiting for a permanent opening—teaching science?”

Joe’s heart stilled. No way. Not thirty minutes ago, lapping up her attention, he’d dropped his guard and spilled his guts about teaching. Said it didn’t pump him.

Oh, man. Right into the hands of the competition?

“What makes you think that? She didn’t say anything to me, and I mentioned the job when I first met her. We even discussed it again tonight.”

“Put two and two together, that’s all.”

He let out a breath of pent-up air. “But you don’t know it for a fact, right? She didn’t tell you that.”

“No. But I got thinking about it at dinner tonight. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Meg’s been here since last spring. Subbing. Like she’s waiting for something.”

Joe scowled, irritation rising. “Why are you telling me this? So I can—what? Not apply so she can have it? Get a job waiting tables down at Kit’s?”

“Of course not.”

“Dad, I don’t have to tell you there are few jobs in this town for a man to earn a decent living. This is my hometown. Not Meg’s. I have a kid to support. I want to raise him right here in Canyon Springs. I thought you wanted that, too.”

“I do. I just wanted you to know, that’s all. Meg’s become a favorite around here in the short time she’s called this town home. You may face some opposition. Ben Cameron may back you, but he doesn’t run the school district.”

“So it’s Little Red Riding Hood versus the Big Bad Wolf?”

With an exasperated shake of his head, his father turned away and started down the hall to his room. Agitated, Joe remained where he was for several moments before moving to flip off the overhead light. Returning to the window, he stood in the darkened room gazing at Meg’s dimly lit RV.

Great. Just great.

But despite his irritation—and yes, he could admit it, fear—the image of her wide, expressive eyes and teasing smile flashed through his mind. It was no wonder that his father insisted everyone loved her. Friendly. Pretty. Bright.

But what kind of woman lived in a portable house by choice? Weren’t women supposed to be into that setting down roots, white picket fence thing? Kids. Cat. Dog. Camping out in an RV park didn’t smack of a desire to settle down and hold a permanent job. Dad was wrong.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

She’d been openly curious about his background tonight. Flat out asked him if teaching was his first love. He’d basked in the attention, eaten it all up, took it as personal interest. But could it be professional?

He swallowed hard as he stared out at the RV. Could the winsome little woman be camouflaging underhanded motives with a beckoning smile and flattering lips? Didn’t the Good Book warn men of that?

No, Dad had to be wrong. He had to be because his foolhardy son got caught up in feminine wiles and handed over damaging evidence that even Ben Cameron might not be willing to overlook. He’d sunk his own ship before he’d even hoisted anchor.

He took a deep breath. This called for a little preemptive chat with Ben, just to be on the safe side. No way was that pretty little thing going to walk away with his job.

He’s pirating away my dream job and he doesn’t even like teaching? Come on, God, how fair is that? Meg tossed and turned in her cab-over bed long after Joe picked up his sleepy son and the two adults had engaged in a hushed, minimal exchange. It hadn’t escaped her that his previous friendly flirtatiousness morphed into all business on his return visit. But she was too tired to figure that one out and chalked it up to “men!”

But his absolute confidence in acing the job continued to trouble her.

During their hour together, she and Davy had fed Skooter, split a peach and read books from the supply she kept on hand for Sunday school lessons.

They talked about pirates. Puppies.

And Davy’s dad.

His dad, who ran fast, loved the Phoenix Suns and hummed when he brushed his teeth.

Meg punched her pillow and tried to get more comfortable. It was evident Davy’s father had been uneasy about leaving him with her, but she couldn’t blame him. Even though she knew Bill, she and Joe had just met.

Davy, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the prospect of berthing in on the “pirate ship” of his newfound friend. What was it, though, with the underlying tension she sensed between Joe and his father? The older Diaz seemed to think Davy needed time away from Joe and vice versa, and an overnight outing at her place fit the bill.

Brushing back her hair, she relived the lightning bolt sensation that hit when Davy voiced his innocent inquiry at the dinner table. Not that she was a stranger to kid sleepovers. As she’d mentioned to Davy’s apprehensive father, she’d been a willing participant in plenty of those with young family members. But no one here needed to know that the condo she’d shared with roommates in Phoenix had also been a frequent stopover for her ex-fiancé’s twin daughters. Two charming auburn-haired girls, Myra and Grace, now not much older than Davy.

It had been over a year since she’d seen them, except from a distance. Did they even remember her?

From the moment Todd introduced them, her heart had been won. It overflowed with compassion and love for the two precious siblings whose mother had walked out of their lives—and that of their father—and into the arms of another man.

Then a year later, Todd walked out on her.

She squeezed her eyes shut as a familiar pain stabbed her heart. Losing Todd was bad enough, but the girls…. Hadn’t she believed with all her heart that God had brought them into her life to love and watch over? That she’d be their mother forever and always? She hadn’t hesitated, had no second thoughts. She’d swept them into her life—only to have them pried away without warning, leaving a gaping wound in her heart that had yet to heal.

She stared up at the low ceiling. Davy. What a sweetheart. But being around him awakened too many memories of cuddling and hugs and soft childish kisses. And heartache.

She liked Joe. She could admit that. Under different circumstances it would be easy to fall into a hopeful, Heavenward, what-about-him petition. But the man showed signs of unresolved issues—the wedding band still on his finger spelled that out plainly enough. Keep your distance. No trespassing. Which was fine with her. No way was she getting involved with another man who had a kid.

She wouldn’t, couldn’t, risk that kind of loss again.

Nor would she, as Todd had so bluntly pointed out regarding his daughters, put Davy at risk of losing another mother figure.

No doubt about it, melanoma stunk.

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