not, stupid. It’s too big to fit in His mouth,” Pete said around a mouthful of his own sticky treat.
“It isn’t polite to call people ‘stupid,’” Angie scolded.
Dara had spent only two weeks with the class, but her students had spent three months with Angie. They rolled their eyes at her admonition.
Angie could pretend to be older and wiser than the rest of the kids in class, but Dara had seen her eyes light up at the prospect of digging her fingers into the gooey mess that would become the peanut butter balls. And despite her best attempts to appear above it all, her “cookies” were just as lopsided as everyone else’s.
The children left class, chattering happily—around mouthfuls of the treat they’d made with their own two hands—about what they’d do once the snow started. Dara went about the business of cleaning up what Donny had referred to as “Our Genesis Mess.”
Humming, she dropped sticky bowls and wrinkled sheets of waxed paper into the wastebasket, then began packing up the leftover ingredients and paper products. Dara had but one regret about teaching this class: not one of the students was her son or daughter. She loved everything about children—from cradle to cap and gown—their effervescent exuberance to their brighteyed view of the world was contagious. Someday, she hoped, the Lord would see fit to answer her prayer and send a good Christian man into her life.
One like Dad, she thought, gritting her teeth with grim determination. She would prove he hadn’t committed that awful crime if it was the last thing she ever did!
He’d earned her faith in him, her loyalty, because he’d been a wonderful father, a wonderful husband! Dara recalled how well he’d always taken care of her mother, how much more devoted and compassionate he became when she got sick. Dara wanted a love like that, a man like that, with whom she could build a home, a family, a future—
“May I have a word with you, Miss Mackenzie?”
The suddenness of the deep baritone startled her, and Dara dropped the paper bag she’d been holding.
“Sorry,” he said, a crooked smile slanting his tawny mustache, “didn’t mean to frighten you.”
She stooped to retrieve the paper towels and foam bowls that had rolled under her desk. “No problem. I just didn’t see you there, that’s all.” Dara jammed the articles back into the bag, stood it near the door. “Now then,” she said, dusting her hands in front of her, “what can I do for you, Mr. Lucas?”
He didn’t answer right away, a fact that gave Dara an overall uneasy feeling. She was about to ask what he was looking at when he said, “I’d like to thank you.”
“Thank me?” His intense scrutiny had unnerved her, and a jittery giggle popped from her lips. “Whatever for?”
“For attempting to comfort my daughter last week. Bobby told me what you said…and did.”
Dara frowned, trying to remember specifically what he might be referring to. The hug? That little peck on the temple? She shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t—”
“I’m the one who’s afraid, Miss Mackenzie,” he interrupted. “Since my wife passed away, the children haven’t had much in the way of female nurturing. I try,” he added, shoulders up and palms extended, “but I make a better dad than a mom.”
Dara took note of his broad shoulders, his muscular legs, the big fingers that repeatedly combed through his shining blond hair. I’ll say, she thought, grinning inwardly. “Well, no one expects you to be a superhero,” she said, “least of all, Bobby and Angie.”
“Maybe not,” he said in a quiet voice, “but they deserve the best, and I’m a far cry from it.”
This was a side of Noah Lucas that Dara never would have guessed existed.
“I just wanted to thank you is all, for your kindness.”
Coming from anyone else, the words would have been taken at face value, and she would have said, “Just doin’ my job.” But from a man like Noah Lucas—reserved, private, stoic—they took on a whole new meaning, because Dara had a feeling he didn’t make a practice of saying such things.
“You can be very proud of Bobby and Angie,” she admitted. “They are two of the best-behaved children I’ve ever met” Grinning, she held a finger in the air to add, “And I’ll have you know this isn’t my first encounter with children.”
“So I’ve heard.”
So he had checked her out! The question was, had he done it because of the funny-money business down at Pinnacle? Or because she’d be spending an hour each week with his precious children? It had to be one or the other, because it was a sure bet he wasn’t interested in her as a woman, Dara thought. More than likely, he believed that adage that the acorn didn’t fall far from the tree, and intended to keep a very close eye on her for the duration of the Sunday-school class.
People are not what they appear to be.
If her father had said it once, he’d said it a hundred times. Where Noah Lucas was concerned, the statement seemed more prophetic than ever.
Had she misjudged him when she’d jumped to the conclusion that he was cold and heartless? Had she been wrong when she’d assumed Bobby and Angie behaved the way they did because he encouraged it?
“What was that, ah, that stuff they were eating when they walked out of here?” he asked, interrupting her reverie.
“Peanut butter balls.”
“You taught them to make—”
She gave a proud nod. “Yup.”
“How did you know it was safe?”
Dara tucked in one corner of her mouth. “Safe?”
“When I was a boy, I knew a girl who was allergic to peanuts. One whiff of anything made from them and she’d go into anaphylactic shock. More than once, she was carted off to the hospital in an ambulance, fighting for her life.” He raised a brow. “I admire the extra effort it took on your part to ensure none of your students would have such a reaction.”
Was he…was he smirking?
Well, that sure isn’t a smile on his face!
Noah Lucas had her dead to rights, and he knew it. She had made no such “check” to find out if any of the children might be allergic to peanuts, and the shame of it made her cheeks hot. It had been only by the grace of God that none of her first graders was allergic to peanuts. Later, she’d say a heartfelt prayer of thanks for the Almighty’s protection. Right now, all Dara wanted to do was get rid of Noah Lucas.
She’d been right about him after all. He was a smug, patronizing know-it-all. And more than likely, he had been responsible for the way his children behaved. “If there’s nothing else, Mr. Lucas,” she said, clipping her words, “I have…I have a very busy day ahead of me.”
“Of course. Forgive me. It was never my intention to make you late for—” the smirk became a grin “—for your very busy day.”
Somehow,
