in her chair and slid a paper across the desk. “Here’s his contact information. I’m sure with all those nine-year-olds, you could always use a helping hand.”
The principal had found a box for Jenny. One she couldn’t escape. Not only did she gain tacit approval for her teaching methods, but also a helper for the busy class.
Nate. The one man she’d vowed never to see again. As if by keeping him out of sight, she could blight him from her heart. If the plan had involved anyone but Nate…
“Oh yes, this is going to be wonderful,” Jenny said. Almost as good as kissing the pig.
Nate Dole’s mother had been at it again. No one else would have left a newspaper on his front stoop, with a tin of cookies to boot. He loved her for trying, but he wasn’t ready to come out of his self-imposed cave. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He’d bought the small ranch house he was living in now six years ago as a rental property investment. It had been vacant for a few weeks—good timing for a man who’d needed a cave.
Nate had told his family he was on an extended leave and needed some time alone to rest. They’d believed the extended-leave story because he’d barely been home in years. He’d always been too busy fighting the bad guys to stop off in Mercy for some R and R. He’d lied to his family, but it was a lie that bought him a little space and some time to figure out the rest of his life. Or what was left of it now that he was down a knee.
He turned and hobbled back into the house, using the despicable cane to help keep the weight off his left leg. It made him feel ninety, not twenty-nine, and the minute he could get around without it, he was going to use it to start a bonfire.
When he’d shut the door, he reached for the cookies and pried off the lid. He paused, a chocolate chip cookie halfway to his mouth, and noticed the picture on the front page of the Sunday edition of the Mercy Daily News.
Jenny.
Not just Jenny, but Jenny kissing a pig, of all things. Nate laid the cookies on the hall table, then turned on a light so he could see the paper better. He blinked in the sudden brightness.
How long had it been since he’d had the lights on? That alone was a sign he’d spent too much time sleeping and not enough time—
No, he wasn’t going to go there. He rested his weight against the wall and traced the grainy outline of her face.
Jenny.
How many years had it been? Almost ten. He would have thought she’d be married, living anywhere but Mercy by now.
But, no, the caption said “Third-grade teacher Jenny Wright.” She was still single. Still his Jenny.
He shook his head. She hadn’t been his in such a long time. His brain, though, seemed to forget that fact.
He chuckled a little at the image of her down on her knees, puckered up with Reginald, the kissing pig. The sound of his own laughter startled him, like suddenly hearing a foreign language.
He knew what his mother was up to. Between the cookies and the picture of Jenny, she was hoping he’d come around. Go back to being the old Nate again.
The thing no one understood was that he couldn’t go back to being that Nate. No matter how much he wanted to. He’d left that man behind two weeks ago when he’d opted for an honorable discharge from the marines instead of spending the rest of his service years behind a desk—the only other option the doctors gave him.
The doorbell rang and Nate jumped, dropping the paper to the floor. It fluttered apart, dispersing like feathers. He ignored the cane and hopped the few steps to the door on one foot. Through the glass panel, he could see who it was before he even opened the oak door.
He rubbed at his eyes. Surely, this was too coincidental to be true. Maybe he had been alone too long. Now he was starting to hallucinate. Next, it would be pink elephants.
The bell rang again.
Okay, the sound was real. The person on his porch had to be real, too, not a dream come to life.
Nate turned the knob and opened the door. “Hello, Jenny,” he said, as if it had been ten minutes, not ten years, since he’d last seen her.
God, she looked beautiful. Even more so now with the sophistication of age. Her straight blond hair fell in a shimmering curtain against her neck and shoulders. She wore a suit of soft peach over a white silk blouse and matching pumps, as if she’d just come from church. Knowing Jenny, she probably had. Family and commitments had always been important to her, no matter the day of the week.
The nether parts of his body could care less how she was dressed. All he saw when he looked at her was a memory from ten years ago—Jenny lying on the back seat of his Grand Am, looking at him with a happy, satisfied smile and a love in her emerald eyes he’d thought would never die.
But that had been a long, long time ago. And he’d been wrong about the love part.
She tucked several strands of hair behind her ear. He knew the gesture well. She was nervous. For some reason, that made him feel better. “Hi, Nate.”
“Uh, you want to come in?”
She shook her head. “You’re probably busy.”
“Not especially. I could put on some coffee.” If he had any coffee. He wasn’t sure what was in his cabinets. He had cookies, though, and he could scrounge up something to drink to go with them.
“Okay, but only for a minute. I just wanted to stop by and discuss the game plan for next week.”
He opened the door and waved her in. “Next week?”
She stopped in the hall. “Yeah, that’s when you’re scheduled to come into my classroom and help out, remember?”
He hadn’t been in that deep of a fog, had he? “What are you talking about?”
“Dr. Davis told me you called the school and volunteered to help with my third-graders.”
He shut the door and leaned against the wall so she wouldn’t know how much his knee was hurting him. The last thing he wanted to do was drag out the cane in front of her. “Who’s Dr. Davis?”
“The principal.” Jenny put a hand to her mouth. “You mean…you never talked to her?”
“No.”
“Then how…” Her voice trailed off, confusion knitting her brows.
Nate glanced at the paper on the floor, the cookie tin on the hall table. It didn’t take a master puzzler to put the pieces together. “My mother is behind this. I’m sure of it.”
“Why would she do something like that?”
“She thinks I need something to keep me busy.”
“You?” Jenny let out a laugh. “You’re Type-A-plus. I can’t imagine you ever sitting around doing nothing.” Then she paused, as if her vision had finally adjusted to the darker interior. He saw her note the piles of dirty dishes in the kitchen behind him, the laundry he hadn’t
