you in a few minutes.”
“Miss Bradshaw!” Erin yelled from the back seat, taking advantage of the open car door. “It’s us, Erin and Megan Lennox! You look very pretty and I’m glad we didn’t run you over.”
Nicole shielded her eyes and laughed. “Well, hello there, Erin and Megan. I’m glad you didn’t run me over, too.” Looking at Parker, she said, “You’re their father, I take it?”
“I am.”
“Nice to meet you, Parker-who-is-Megan-and-Erin’s-father.” She put on his coat, which was large enough on her frame to cover her wings, and zipped it to her chin. And darn if that halo of hers didn’t droop a little more, increasing her adorable quotient by two. Or three.
“Likewise.” Waving, he got into the driver’s seat and buckled his seat belt, his interest and curiosity about Nicole already sky-high, and said to his girls, “Okay, no harm and no foul. Let’s get out of the road and into the school, before anything else crazy happens.”
“Yeah. No more crazy stuff!” Megan said. “Just fun stuff!”
In a matter of seconds, the girls were once again talking about the play and the possibility of both of them being angels. As they did, Parker watched Nicole cross to the other side of the street without incident and, even through his closed window, could hear her shouting “Roscoe!”
He grinned at the sight of a disheveled angel searching for her dog, and hoping she’d find him quickly, he turned off the car’s emergency lights and veered into the proper lane. Less than a minute later, they were in the elementary school’s parking lot. The girls were chattering in their normal manner as they left the car, and Parker tossed in a teasing comment or two.
But his thoughts were wholly focused on Nicole Bradshaw and the sizzle of electricity that had sped through his bloodstream as they talked, as he took in her crooked halo and—to him, anyway—ethereal features. He recognized the sizzle well enough, even though years had passed since he’d last experienced the sensation.
Because until just a few minutes ago, Bridget was the only other woman Parker had ever looked at and felt that same pop of awareness, of innate chemistry and bone-deep attraction. It happened on the very first day he set eyes on Bridget Delaney, later to become Bridget Lennox, and every precious day they had together thereafter.
She was the woman he’d loved with every part of his heart and soul. The woman he’d had every intention of creating a long life and growing old with. The woman he still missed and longed for on a consistent, if not daily, basis. His daughters’ mother. His wife. His Bridget.
Frankly, Parker did not know what to think of having the same—and up until now, unique—initial response to Nicole that he’d had with Bridget. But he sure as hell planned on exploring that reaction and discovering if lightning really could strike twice.
Gosh darn it, where was that dog? Nicole swallowed the thick lump of fear in her throat and called out, “Roscoe! Come here, boy! Want a treat? Here, Roscoe!”
Nothing. Not a bark or a whine or a yelp of happiness.
Trudging forward, her eyes peeled as she yelled Roscoe’s name every few feet, Nicole silently admitted that bringing her dog had been an error in judgment. Oh, he’d done well at the other school events she’d taken him to—a few ball games last spring, right after accepting the music teacher position, and the outdoor fair last month—and he loved children, but she should’ve known better. Her dog had a serious case of wanderlust.
He loved nothing better than running off to explore and always took any chance given to escape. Due to this tendency, Nicole had learned to remain vigilant when she had Roscoe out of the house or her fenced-in backyard. Typically, she could keep his high-energy excitement under control. Tonight, in fact, was the first time in a long while that he’d managed to break free.
And no doubt about it, his getaway was her fault.
They had gone for a quick walk and had returned to the school about fifteen minutes before the tryouts were supposed to start, and no, she had not been paying close enough attention. They were in the auditorium, and she’d just finagled those stupid costume horns on Roscoe’s head. At the exact second she unclipped his leash, the janitor cracked open the outside door. The dog instantly lunged forward, out of her grasp and racing with the wind.
So here she was, anxiously searching for her dog while dressed as an angel, which made her decision to bring Roscoe tonight seem naive. The idea of doing so hadn’t even occurred to her until yesterday, and when she checked in with the school’s principal this morning—who’d met the happy and affectionate Roscoe several times—he’d given his consent.
She’d hoped the sight of her large, funny-looking mixed-breed mutt, with stuffed reindeer horns on his head, would make the kids laugh, helping them to relax and have fun. And if all had actually gone as planned, his presence would’ve provided Nicole with a much-needed surge of confidence and eased her nerves. Mainly because she hadn’t quite found her place in Steamboat Springs yet, or solid footing as the elementary school’s new music teacher.
The position became available only when the prior music teacher, Mrs. Engle, retired after forty years of devoted service. Everyone—the other teachers, the students and the parents—adored Mrs. Engle, and stepping into such beloved shoes was not a simple task. Especially since Mrs. Engle had always been in charge of the school’s music and drama productions.
A responsibility that now fell on Nicole’s shoulders, which was the primary cause for her anxiety. Oh, she’d directed many a recital in the past, while working and living in a suburb of Denver, and would do so again here without blinking an eye. But she’d never taken on the performance of an actual drama, and this one didn’t include so much as a note of music. To add to her nerves, she’d chosen to skip the school’s traditional presentation of the nativity story in favor of a lovely fairy-tale take on Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol.
The kids didn’t know this yet, and since she’d heard a few of her students talking about how they wanted to play Mary, one of the three Wise Men or an angel, she worried they would be disappointed when they learned the roles now up for grabs were fairy-tale characters such as Rumpelstiltskin in place of Ebenezer Scrooge and Pinocchio for Bob Cratchit.
Or they might love the change. Unfortunately, since she wasn’t in the auditorium—where, at this moment, children and parents were waiting for her, likely impatient and wondering if they were wasting their time by sticking around—she wouldn’t know one way or the other until she found her darned dog. And who knew how long that would take?
Nicole hollered Roscoe’s name again, and then again. Still nothing. Wrapping her arms around herself, she shivered and tried to think rationally. Or, she supposed, like a dog.
Okay. Knowing Roscoe’s proclivity for attention, he could have already made friends with a family who lived in one of these houses, and could now be curled up—exhausted from his mad dash—on someone’s kitchen floor. Oh, Lord. She prayed that was the case. Because the possibility, however remote, of her dog being safe and sound in someone’s home alleviated the sharpest edge of her fears. Roscoe’s dog tags had all of the information anyone would require to locate her, including her name, the veterinarian’s and their individual phone numbers.
Sticking her hands into the pockets
