a time when he’d have done anything for her touch. He gulped hard and hardened his heart against a walk down memory lane.
He wasn’t some kid anymore, holding his heart in his hands. He was a thirty-two-year-old adult male with a good brain between his ears. Or at least he’d thought he had a good brain.
“I did forget the past. A long time ago,” he assured her, his skin burning where her hand still lay. He wondered if she felt the way his pulse had started galloping at her touch. They stared at each other as seconds slipped by.
“Yes, of course you would have,” Jolie said at last, her hand squeezing his arm slightly before it slipped away. “But I was hoping there would be no hard feelings.”
His jaw jerked in reflex.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said. “It really wasn’t personal.”
“You broke our engagement, then headed off in search of better things. I think I had a right to take that personal.”
“That is not fair.”
Morgan was suddenly not at all comfortable with where this was heading.
“I wasn’t searching for better,” she said. “I couldn’t stay. You know I would have regretted it for the rest of my life.”
“Well,” he drawled icily, “that makes me feel a whole heap better.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her eyes shadowing. “Morgan, I’m so sorry for the way it ended that day. I’m sorry for letting us go so far. I never meant to hurt you. I never should have accepted the ring in the first place knowing my heart was torn.”
“On that we agree.” At least she hadn’t waited until the night before they were to walk down the aisle like Celia, the next woman he’d been fool enough to ask to marry him. Two in a row had made Morgan hang up any thoughts of ever popping the question again. Not that he ever should have started dating Celia in the first place.
“Look, Jolie, that was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter anymore. Right now my concern is for those boys. They got hung out to dry by their parents and then their teacher left them for something better at the last minute. They don’t need another person leaving. They need someone they can count on to be here for them.”
Slapping a hand on her hip, fire flashed in her eyes. “I intend to honor my contract for the semester, and I’m going to do my best to help each of the boys any way that I can.”
Morgan met her gaze with fire of his own. “I don’t like your being here, but it doesn’t matter—you are. I’ll just have to hope and pray it all turns out okay.”
Turning away he strode back toward the schoolhouse, leaving Jolie standing beneath the old oak. He used the walk to rein in his temper so he could finish setting up the classroom. The last thing he needed was for the boys to pick up on the bad vibes between him and Jolie—and if he wasn’t careful, they would, before he even made it in the door.
How, he wanted to know as the schoolhouse got closer and his temper just got worse, was he ever going to make this work?
* * *
Infuriating man, Jolie thought, stalking after Morgan. “Stop right where you are, bucko,” she demanded, sounding as if she was calling him out to a gunfight at the O.K. Corral. He swung around at the entrance to the schoolhouse, clearly startled. She marched straight up to him.
“You might not have any faith in me.” And my faith in myself might be shaken to the core. “But while I’m here, I’ll give these kids everything I have to give. No holding back.”
For the first time since the accident Jolie felt a familiar strength ease through her, and she liked it. She’d had moments since nearly drowning when she’d felt as weak as a newborn, but she still counted herself a strong woman. She prayed that throwing herself into helping the boys of Sunrise Ranch would be a win-win situation for all of them.
“Key words, Jolie—while you are here.”
“It doesn’t matter to you if I can do a good job, does it, Morgan? This is personal on your part.”
“You bet it’s personal. These boys are my personal responsibility.”
Stung by his words and breathless with fury, she glared up at him, trying to ignore the fact that the man smelled of pine and leather. His scent played havoc with her senses. Her eyes, traitors that they were, slid down to rest on his lips. She inhaled, but all the air in the world seemed to have gone missing.
Focus, Jolie. Focus.
“Think the worst of me, Morgan McDermott. However,” she said, her conviction ringing true in her own ears, “I will give these boys everything I have to give them.”
He stepped so close they were almost touching, and she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. “That’s exactly what I expect,” he said. “They deserve it.” His gaze fell to her lips and lingered for only a brief instant before meeting hers. Jolie’s heart skipped a beat, and Morgan’s eyes were nearly black with dark emotion—yearning? Fury? Jolie was rendered speechless by his scowl. What was going on in that mind of his?
He left her then, continuing toward the school.
As she followed him toward the back door, she was sure of one thing and one thing only: for the first time in weeks she was filled with a great sense of purpose. What God had in store for her and Morgan, she didn’t have a clue. But God had plans for her at the Sunrise Ranch school and she was determined to prove herself to Him.
It was probably going to be a lot easier than proving herself to Morgan.
Chapter Three
When Jolie reached the main classroom a few seconds after Morgan, she saw Joseph holding the front door open for Morgan’s grandmother, Ruby Ann “Nana” McDermott. Nana was the backbone of the ranch, a former barrel racer who ran the chow hall like a well-greased wagon wheel. Her vision had been essential in making Lydia McDermott’s dream come true, and her heart had been essential in making the place what it was today.
Jolie knew that since Lydia’s death, Nana had been just as much a mother to Morgan as she had been to the countless young ranchers who’d needed her love. Jolie had loved and adored Nana and the feeling had been mutual. In her sixties, Nana had deep blue, wide-set eyes, high cheekbones and a square jaw, and there was no denying that her son Randolph and her three grandsons, Morgan, Rowdy and Tucker, were from her gene pool. Before her thick ponytail had turned the color of pale steel, it had been jet-black like Morgan’s and Randolph’s—a long-ago gift of the Cherokee blood of Nana’s ancestors.
Yesterday Jolie had been welcomed by Nana with open arms—there was never any lack of hugs where Nana was concerned. Today Nana hustled into the room like a woman on a mission, her ponytail swinging as she brought cookies to her boys—and checked up on Morgan and “her girl,” as she always called Jolie.
She set the large tray down on a worktable beside the computer as the tantalizing scent of chocolate and cinnamon filled the room. Nana’s smile was just as warm and sweet as the cookies nestled on the tray.
“Y’all have sure been workin’ hard today, so I whipped up some
