by Megan Kelly
Scott outlined his job to the boys, who hung on his explanation as though he’d invented the internet. Shelby sighed dramatically, but then to her, he was just her father, not Mr. Wizard. Having a child interested in his work made a nice change.
“Ron,” she said, “you’ve got jelly on your shirt.”
“Oh.” The boy glanced down. “Where?”
Shelby sniggered. “Made you look.”
Scott shot her an admonishing glance, although the other children laughed, including Ron and Harry. The next time he came, he’d bring lunches for everyone. Would that be a problem with their parents? Did any of the kids have food allergies? He sighed. This parenting thing was harder than he’d imagined. Sharing lunch at school had been Sam’s job. Now every duty was his by default.
Still, he thought as Shelby hugged him goodbye, there were rewards.
He watched her run out to the playground, her earlier doldrums forgotten, although she hadn’t been pleased when he declined going outside for recess with her and her friends. Kickball or jump rope in under-forty-degree temperatures held no appeal for him. One last wave, then it was past time to get to work.
As Scott turned to the office to sign out, he noticed Ginger going into her classroom again. Awfully short lunch break. This might be the time to ask about volunteering. Perhaps she had a list of needs or a sign-up sheet.
He knocked twice, then opened her door. She raised her head, looking right at home behind the teacher’s desk. A born educator.
Spotting him, Ginger masked her irritation. She should have relocked her door until it was time for the kids to come back in. Her lunch “hour” was actually forty-five minutes. Spending time with a parent shouldn’t intrude, but a phone call or visit often interrupted. “Did you have a good lunch with Shelby?”
“It was very nice. Sorry.” He gestured toward her desk where her lunch wrappings remained. “I didn’t realize y’all were still eating.”
She snapped the lid on her sandwich carrier and slipped it into her thermal bag. “I’m almost done. Do you have a question?”
“I want to volunteer. In the classroom.”
Forcing her face to remain impassive, she nodded. Her fist clenched below the desk. Hadn’t meeting him again yesterday been enough punishment for whatever crimes fate held against her?
“Do you have anything coming up I could do?” he asked. “Maybe before or after lunch?”
And give her indigestion? “Not that I can think of, but I’ll keep you in mind.”
His eyes narrowed. “Nothing? Are you sure?”
She gave him her fake smile. “Nothing that’s of short duration. I’ll give you the numbers of the room parents planning the Valentine’s party next month.” Not that you’re good about calling when you’ve got someone’s number. She flipped open the cabinet drawer behind her and pulled out the party folder.
“Valentine’s Day? I can probably do that.” His shoulders hunched.
Would the romantic holiday be hard for him this year, being suddenly single after…however long he’d been married? So much she didn’t know about him, despite their night together.
“But I was hoping for something before then,” he said, “to help Shelby get settled here.”
“Perhaps finding her own way, without your presence, would be easier for her.” As it would be for me.
“What about Shelby’s birthday? What’s normally done? Should I try to come in that day for some kind of celebration?”
He had her there. “We usually have snacks at the end of the day, just before leaving. You can send something in the morning if you have to work.”
“Aren’t parents allowed to come in for the party?”
“Of course.” She gave a mental sigh and determined to do something kind for someone to realign her karma. “You can bring it in around two-thirty. That gives us time to sing, serve and clean up before the bell rings.”
She pulled open her desk drawer and dug out the file she needed. Extending a sheet of paper to him, she added, “Here’s the list of food allergies this year. Ron and Harry West’s mother will send in a special snack for them since they’re sensitive to so many foods. I’ll add Shelby’s birthday to the list Ms. West already has.”
He stepped closer and took the paper from her. His fingers brushed hers, causing her nerve endings to sizzle. Had he touched her on purpose?
Scott cleared his throat. “Food allergies. I’m glad I asked. I was thinking about bringing lunch for everyone at Shelby’s table sometime.”
“You’ll need to keep that with you, then. It would be best to send home a note with the boys and ask Ms. West to call you. She’s also in charge of the Valentine’s party.”
“Thanks.”
He continued to stare, but she refused to fidget. He was too close, too tempting.
“Was there something else?”
Scott’s lips firmed. “I guess not.”
He left, taking the tension with him. Ginger retrieved Shelby’s thin file, checking for her birthday. She closed her eyes. January twenty-first. Fifteen days. Not nearly enough time to prepare to see Scott again.
Curiosity conquered her better intentions, and she scanned the student information form Scott had filled out when he registered his daughter. Sole custody. No info filled in on the mother, but nothing flagged her as a potential threat, either. At least not as far as kidnapping Shelby went. The threat to Ginger was harder to gauge. Memories could be more difficult to fight than a flesh-and-blood, fallible woman.
After school, Ginger went home, glad she didn’t have papers to grade for once. She had lessons to prepare, of course, and reading to do—that was a given. Maybe after, she could stretch out in front of the fireplace with a novel for some escapism. What a luxury. Papers had to be reviewed for the upcoming evaluation reports, but those could wait another night.
A glance into her refrigerator reminded her of another thing she’d put off for “another night.” That Scarlett O’Hara character was a bad influence. With a sigh, Ginger dragged out some questionable lettuce, a squishy pink tomato that made her long for summer, and a limp cucumber. Disgusted that she’d even consider making this into a salad, she pitched it all into the trash. Tonight, she’d take her recreational reading to a corner booth at the Panera restaurant, sitting with her back to the room so she might pass unnoticed, then force herself to the grocery store.
SCOTT PULLED INTO A SPACE in the lot at the Piggly Wiggly. Both his girls were keyed up after their first full day at school. Serena hadn’t stopped chattering about Miss Tara, Dylan’s wife, or Miss Betty, Rena’s teacher, who was also Dylan’s mom. She’d placed Serena in her class. He felt better about leaving her at the Wee Care, since he knew someone who’d been raised by the woman spending so much time with Serena. Having his boss’s wife there helped, too. Not that he hadn’t called the day care’s references and the school district and checked into both thoroughly in December before enrolling his girls. But he appreciated the personal touch and peace of mind Dylan’s family provided.
Dark had fallen two hours before, but he insisted they shop for food before going home.
Then he saw Ginger lifting a canvas tote bag full of groceries into her trunk. His stomach dropped. He couldn’t make his hand turn off the engine. Seeing her today had been ridiculous. He wanted to touch her, stroke her hand, kiss her lips. Call her for a date—a real date, going out first to dinner or a movie or both.
First. He closed his eyes. That was the clincher. He wanted her under him, surrounding him, loving him. And then he felt sick. While he still regarded being with another woman as a betrayal of his vows to Samantha, he couldn’t start a relationship.
But he couldn’t seem to stay away from Ginger, either. And in a town with a population under three thousand, it was more than likely he’d run into her on occasion.
“Aren’t we going in the store?” Shelby asked from the backseat.
Ginger rammed the metal shopping buggy into the cart corral and rushed
back to her car, head bent against the bitter wind.
“No.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s wait till tomorrow. We’ll drive through and get food tonight.” So much for not resorting to fast food too often.
“Goody,” Serena said. “I’m hungry.”
“Wow,” Shelby breathed. “Twice in one day?”
Scott grimaced. Great example I’m providing. “Let’s see if this town knows how to do barbecue like home.”
He pulled out after Ginger’s silver Honda, smiling at her license plate: EDUK8. Her car would be easy to locate in a parking lot, except maybe at school. She turned left, and he swung in behind her.
A glance in the rearview mirror assured him neither girl noticed the wrong turn he’d taken. And why would they? Not only was this a strange place for them, they weren’t old enough to know all the routes around town. Only his guilt had him checking for their reaction. Thoughts of Samantha rode shotgun.
He followed the Honda for three more turns, letting distance slide between them as the traffic thinned. He’d prefer not to be recognized in his orange Jeep Patriot, nor did he want to scare her, but his need to find out where she lived overrode any notion of abandoning the pursuit.
What a head case. Couldn’t ask her out, couldn’t leave her alone.
The Honda’s brake lights shone, and then Ginger pulled into a driveway on the left. Black numbers, 927, gleamed from her white mailbox. Now, he mocked himself, if only he’d paid attention to what street this was on. Her house was a vinyl-sided two-story, about forty years old, with big front windows and a brick chimney. Nothing special. Not a princess’s castle or a harem’s quarters. Just a house where an intriguing, sexy woman lived.
A woman he wanted with a hunger that was as intense as fire burning down a forest.
HE WENT BACK TO GINGER’S HOUSE Saturday night. He should have been enjoying a rare few hours of peace with the girls gone, but instead he sat in his car. Staring at Ginger’s empty house, wondering where she was, who she was with, and, worse, what they were doing. It was neither an enjoyable nor a peaceful way to spend Saturday night.
Shelby had gone on her first sleepover with Maria, a sweet girl from school, who’d become Shelby’s best friend. He’d talked on the phone with Maria’s mother and felt as confident as he could be about the overnight. Serena had been a last-minute addition to a classmate’s birthday at a tumbling party and was due to be picked up in half an hour. He’d stupidly thought he’d swing by and talk to Ginger, try to come to a decision about her one way or the other. Do her, or leave her alone.
Do her? He slapped the steering wheel with his palm. For God’s sakes.
Since it was only—he checked his phone—seven-thirty, he doubted she’d be home soon. With a shake of his head, he turned on the ignition, letting the car warm. He’d leave now, go to the TumbleBee and watch Serena do whatever for thirty minutes, then take her home where they both belonged.
Via a detour back down Willow Lane.
He shook his head. Pathetic.
Less than an hour later, with Serena sleeping in her car seat behind him, he pulled to a stop down the street from Ginger’s house and watched as she emerged from a dark pickup truck in her driveway. Watched some jerk get out from the driver’s side.
Scott’s hands tightened on the wheel. Ginger had gone out on a date. Bitter acid filled his mouth as she flipped on an inside light and led the guy into her house. The door shut against the dark night.
He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to imagine what they’d do next. Maybe it was her brother or her cousin or her pastor. Could be another teacher discussing some school problem.
Yeah, right.
He had no hold on her. If she wanted to date other guys—hell, even have sex with other guys—he had no right to be…what?
Angry? Jealous? Hurt?
All of the above.
Chapter Four
As a treat, Scott took his daughters to the movies late the next afternoon. While the girls were gone the previous evening, he’d cleaned, organized and finished unpacking. When he wasn’t stalking Ginger’s house.
Scott sighed and pulled into the movie theater parking lot. He still had quite a few to-do’s on his list before he’d consider his family settled in Howard. Shelby wanted to sign up for gymnastics and dance classes. Serena needed to learn to swim. He didn’t know how he’d manage transportation, let alone have any idea where to send them for instruction. He didn’t want either girl subjected to a drill sergeant who would suck all the fun out of the activities. Samantha had told him horror stories of her childhood dance teachers. He couldn’t imagine Shelby putting up with an instructor like that. For once, he was glad Ginger was her teacher. She wouldn’t rule with too heavy a hand.
“This is so great, Dad.” Shelby helped unbuckle her younger sister. “Everybody in school was talking about seeing Whisker Puss this weekend, but I didn’t think I would get to.”
“Why not?” He helped Serena down from the Jeep then shut the door.
“We haven’t done much fun things lately.”
Ouch. He nodded, taking Serena’s hand. “We’ll have to see about changing that. Right, Rena?” Starting with classes where his girls could make friends. He’d call Harry and Ron’s mom for starters. Maybe she wouldn’t know about dance classes, having the twin boys, but she might know where to sign up for swimming. Having friends would help the girls feel at home here. The sleepover and tumbling party the evening before had been a good start.
Should he encourage Shelby to have friends stay overnight? He suppressed an inward shudder, imagining high-pitched voices, sticky crafts and pink everything. Then there was Rena; could he handle even two more four-year-olds for an overnight? Would a mother let her little girl sleep at a home with a single dad?
He bought their tickets, then headed for the concession stand. The prices of popcorn and three bottled waters made him cringe. Adding the cost of admission and treats to eating out twice this week, their budget was going to need some adjustment. “Let’s go find seats.”
A nudge on his arm almost made him spill the tub of popcorn.
“Look,” Shelby whispered. “It’s Ms. Winchester.”
He jerked, his gaze flying to where Shelby stared.
“No, Dad! Don’t look.”
Scott spotted Ginger immediately, her apricot hair a dead giveaway. She ran her gaze around the lobby, coming back to him, then the girls. Her shoulders drooped infinitesimally before she nodded a hello.
“We have to go over, Shel. She’s seen us.”
“Daaad.”
“It would be rude not to say hello.”
As they neared, Ginger smiled but her stiff posture didn’t appear welcoming. Or maybe she just didn’t care to see him.
“Ms. Winchester.”
“Mr. Matthews, Shelby.” She turned to Serena. “Hi, I’m Shelby’s teacher, Ms. Winchester. What’s your name?”
Serena stared with wide, milk-chocolate eyes, like her mother’s.
“This is Serena,” Scott said. “She’s—” He didn’t want to label her as shy when Rena could hear. “She’s four.”
“And a half,” the girl corrected.
He flashed a grin at her. “Sorry. Four and a half. She goes to the Wee Care.”
“I haf school there, plus playtime. It’s fun.”
It seemed her shyness had disappeared. Usually, she never talked to adults she knew, let alone strangers. Must be the similarities between Ginger and Samantha easing Rena’s shyness.
“I’ve heard that’s a very nice place,” Ginger said. “I’m acquainted with Miss Betty. Her son is a friend.”
Serena’s eyes grew larger and her plump mouth formed an O. Scott wondered how much of a friend Dylan had been to Ginger before his recent marriage, then slammed that door shut. None of his business, and he had to work with the man. Still, the tightening of his gut warned him the concern lingered, ready to flare if not contained.
“Yeah,” Shelby cut in, “I got to g
o there, too, after school. After real school. And I get to take the bus.”
Scott frowned at his daughter’s self-important tone, then checked Serena, who didn’t seem to register her sister’s put-down. Seeking a distraction, he asked Ginger, “What are you seeing?”
She raised an eyebrow, and he realized the idiocy of the question. The Howard Cine only boasted two theaters. The other show was The Butcher’s Back in Town, a gore fest whose commercial trailer on TV had made him slightly nauseous.
“Whisker Puss,” she said. “I have to keep current so I know what the kids are talking about in class.”
Scott glanced at her skeptically. “Right.”
She grinned. “Okay, you got me. I like cartoons.”
“It’s an animated feature.” Shelby scowled. “Only babies like cartoons.”
“I’m not a baby,” Serena insisted.
Just as Scott opened his mouth, Ginger spoke. “Well, Shelby, obviously that’s not true, since I like cartoons and I’m certainly not a child. And an animated feature is often a cartoon, although the description includes other forms of animation, as well.” She broke off with a yawn and covered her mouth. “Excuse me.”
“Late night?” Scott heard the edge to his tone. He’d bet she was tired, after having been out—or in—with that guy. How late had he stayed? All night?
“I graded papers last night so I could free up tonight for the movie.”
“Graded papers. Right. The way you were grading papers with me over Christmas break?”
Ginger narrowed her eyes and stepped backward a few paces, beckoning with her stare. He followed to ensure the girls couldn’t hear.
“What is the matter with you?” Ginger demanded, her color high.
“I happened to drive past your house last night. I saw you go in to ‘grade papers’ with that guy.”
