the way everybody in Newland lived. Simply. They had nice, quiet lives. Not like the hustle and bustle of work and entertainment—cocktail parties and picnics, Jet Skis and fund-raisers—he and his family lived with on the Gulf Coast.
He roared into the driveway and cut the engine. After tucking his helmet under his arm, he rummaged in his shirt pocket for his sunglasses. He slid them on, walked to the old-fashioned wooden garage door and yanked it open with a grunt. No lock or automatic garage door for his grandmother. Newland was safe as well as quiet. Another thing very different from where he currently lived. The safety of a small town. Knowing your neighbors. Liking your neighbors.
He missed that.
The stale scent of a closed-up garage wafted out to him, and he waved it away as he strode back to his bike.
“Hey, Mithter.”
He stopped, glanced around. Not seeing anybody, he headed to his bike again.
“Hey, Mithter.”
This time the voice was louder. When he stopped, he followed the sound of the little-boy lisp and found himself looking into the big brown eyes of a kid who couldn’t have been more than four years old. Standing in a small gap in the hedges, he grinned up at Wyatt.
“Hi.”
“Hey, kid.”
“Is that your bike?”
“Yeah.” Wyatt took the two steps over to the little boy and pulled back the hedge so he could see him. His light brown hair was cut short and spiked out in a few directions. Smudges of dirt stained his T-shirt. his pants hung on skinny hips.
He craned his head back and blinked up at Wyatt. “Can I have a wide?”
“A wide?”
He pointed at the bike. “A wide.”
“Oh, you mean ride.” He looked at his motorcycle. “Um.” He’d never taken a kid on his bike. Hell, he was barely ever around kids—except the children of his staff when they had company outings.
“O-wen…”
The lyrical voice floated over to Wyatt and his breath stalled.
Missy. Missy Johnson. Prettiest girl in his high school. Granddaughter of his gram’s next-door neighbor. The girl he’d coached through remedial algebra just for the chance to sit close to her.
“Owen! Honey? Where are you?”
Soft and melodious, her sweet voice went through Wyatt like the first breeze of spring.
He glanced down at the kid. “I take it you’re Owen.”
The little boy grinned up at him.
The hedge shuffled a bit and suddenly there she stood, her long yellow hair caught in a ponytail.
In the past fifteen years, he’d changed everything about himself, while she looked to have been frozen in time. Her blue-gray eyes sparkled beneath thick black lashes. Her full lips bowed upward as naturally as breathing. Her peaches and cream complexion glowed like a teenager’s even though she was thirty-three. A blue T-shirt and jeans shorts accented her small waist and round hips. The legs below her shorts were as perfect as they’d been when she was cheering for the Newland High football team.
Memories made his blood rush hot through his veins. They’d gotten to know each other because their grandmothers were next-door neighbors. And though she was prom queen, homecoming queen, snowball queen and head cheerleader and he was the king of the geeks, he’d wanted to kiss her from the time he was twelve.
Man, he’d had a crush on her.
She gave him a dubious look. “Can I help you?”
She didn’t know who he was?
He grinned. That was priceless. Perfect.
“You don’t remember me?”
“Should I?”
“Well, I was the reason you passed remedial algebra.”
Her eyes narrowed. She pondered for a second. Then she gasped. “Wyatt?”
He rocked back on his heels with a chuckle. “In the flesh.”
Her gaze fell to his black leather jacket and jeans, as well as the black helmet he held under his arm.
She frowned, as if unable to reconcile the sexy rebel he now dressed like with the geek she knew in high school. “Wyatt?”
Taking off his sunglasses so she could get a better look at his face, he laughed. “I’ve sort of changed.”
She gave him another quick once-over and everything inside of Wyatt responded. As if he were still the teenager with the monster crush on her, his gut tightened. His rushing blood heated to boiling. His natural instinct to pounce flared.
Then he glanced down at the little boy.
And back at Missy. “Yours?”
She ruffled Owen’s spiky hair. “Yep.”
“Mom! Mom!” A little blond girl ran over. Tapping on Missy’s knee, she whined, “Lainie hit me.”
A dark-haired little girl raced up behind her. “Did not!”
Wyatt’s eyebrows rose. Three kids?
Missy met his gaze. “These are my kids, Owen, Helaina and Claire.” She tapped each child’s head affectionately. “They’re triplets.”
Had he been chewing gum, he would have swallowed it. “Triplets?”
She ruffled Owen’s hair fondly. “Yep.”
Oh, man.
“You and your husband must be so…” terrified, overworked, tired “…proud.”
Missy Johnson Brooks turned all three kids in the direction of the house. “Go inside. I’ll be in in a second to make lunch.” Then she faced the tall, gorgeous guy across the hedge.
Wyatt McKenzie was about the best looking man she’d ever seen in real life. With his supershort black hair cut so close it looked more like a shadow on his head than hair, plus his broad shoulders and watchful brown eyes, he literally rivaled the men in movies.
Her heart rattled in her chest as she tried to pull herself together. It wasn’t just weird to see Wyatt McKenzie all grown up and sexy. He brought back some memories she would have preferred stay locked away.
Shielding her eyes from the noonday sun, she said, “My husband and I are divorced.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “That’s okay. How about you?”
His face twisted. “Divorced, too.”
