I what?”
“Miss…people?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “A lot of them.”
“Miss Wright?” A little boy in the second-to-last row raised his hand.
She got to her feet and left her desk, as if she were grateful for the change of subject. “Yes, Lionel?”
“How do you spell grenade launcher?”
“Why? There weren’t any weapons in the story.”
“I know. I’m writing about Sergeant Dole instead. He’s cool. I even got a picture of him killing the—”
“Lionel, that wasn’t your assignment.”
“Yeah, but, I’m writing a story.” He raised his paper as proof. All of the lines were filled in with neat, tight script. “And didn’t you always say it’s not so important what we read and write about, but that we’re reading and writing?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“This is what I want to write about.” He turned and replaced his paper on his desk, pencil at the ready. “So can you tell me how to spell grenade launcher?”
“Some interesting reading material for today?”
Nate saw Jenny pivot toward the woman who’d entered the room. “Dr. Davis!” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Apparently not.” She looked down her glasses, surveyed the classroom, then crooked a finger in Jenny’s direction. Jenny crossed the room and met the principal at the door. “What were you reading to these children today?” Dr. Davis asked.
“This is heroes’ week. Our first book was about a firefighter who rescued a family.” Jenny withdrew the novel from the shelf and handed it to the principal. The two of them moved into the hall, leaving the door ajar.
Dr. Davis flipped through the pages and harrumphed. “Then why are the children writing stories about war weapons?”
“They’re not—”
“Jenny is an excellent teacher,” Nate interjected in a soft tone, joining them. “She gets these students motivated and hasn’t taught them anything inappropriate. The grenade-launcher thing came about because the kids heard I was in the marines and one boy decided to write a story about me instead of the assignment.”
“I was about to explain the right way to do their worksheet,” Jenny said.
“I hope you don’t think it would be fun,” on this word, Dr. Davis directed a pointed glance at Jenny, “to share war escapades with these impressionable minds.”
“No, ma’am, I did not,” Nate replied. “Miss Wright, in fact, kept everything away from that focus.”
“Well,” Dr. Davis said after a moment. “That’s a relief.” She handed the book back to Jenny, then left.
Jenny poked her head back into the room. “Class, continue working on your assignment, doing it the way I told you to.” She gave Lionel a pointed glance. “I need to talk to Master Sergeant Dole in the hall.”
A few voices uttered the fatal “Uh-oh” as Jenny shut the door a little more to block prying eyes and ears.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”
“Against Dr. Dragon Lady?” he said. “I think you could use all the allies you can get.”
Another teacher came striding down the hall. Jenny lowered her voice. “Nate, don’t come marching in here and try to fix my life like it’s old times. I don’t need you to take charge anymore. I’m a big girl now.”
“I wasn’t trying to do that.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He took a step closer to her, invading her space, putting a chink in the wall of invulnerability she had built up in the years since they’d broken up. “Yeah.”
With that one word, the air between them hushed. For a moment, she was lost in the depths of his eyes, her heart racing like a hummingbird. He grinned at her, the same easy grin that had always made her melt. The smile reached his eyes, softening the hard lines put there by his years in the military. For a moment, he became the Nate she remembered. The Nate she couldn’t say no to.
The Nate she’d—
Jenny heard the click-click of heels against linoleum and looked away. Dr. Davis was coming back around the corner, heading down the hallway toward her classroom.
Oh, no.
She considered grabbing Nate and ducking back into the room before the principal reached them—until she glimpsed a familiar pair of overalls coming toward her from the opposite direction.
Oh, God. The Animals Where You Want ’Em guy. He’d probably come to collect on his payment after all.
But no, he had something with him. Something smaller than a pig. And furrier, too. In fact, it looked a lot like—
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