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
