by Ellie Hall
“Like the princess and the pea,” Harper said.
“So you’re not voting for me to downsize?” he asked, surprised after her ribbing about the big blue beast at pick up.
“Do I get to vote?” she asked. “Because if so, I need a little more information about the constituent. Such as your driving record, favorite color, and what exactly happened at this table during junior year.” Brynn smirked.
He gazed down into his nearly empty mug, forcing himself not to be charmed.
“Oh, that sounds like a good story. Can you also tell us about Grandma’s cocoa because I want you to get the recipe and make it at home. This is the best thing I’ve ever had.” Harper wore a chocolate mustache above her upper lip. “Ms. Powell, you have to try some.” She pushed the mug in front of her teacher.
She took a sip. “Yes, definitely the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had. By a landslide.”
“Daddy, your turn.”
He hedged, but then took a sip. Yup, exactly as he remembered it—rich and creamy with the slightest hint of salt, and topped by freshly whipped cream to smooth out the flavors. His heart dipped a moment.
“Daddy, you look sad.”
Brynn’s eyes were on him in question.
He quickly rearranged his features. Nadine used to say how hard he was to read. Like sometimes he wore a stone mask. He knew better than to let anyone see his emotions.
Harper reached her hand across the table to hold his and with her other, she brought Brynn’s hand to his. Somehow, his daughter always sensed how he was feeling though.
Maybe home wasn’t just a place, but people too.
Chapter 5
Brynn
Most days Brynn made it a point to get to work early so she could get the classroom and herself ready for the students. There was nothing worse than arriving at the last minute and trying to get into the right headspace to teach thirty kids between the ages of five and six, make sure they cooperated, got along, and fielded countless questions.
By eleven a.m. the day before, she’d already explained why the sky was blue, which led to Bertie telling a long story about visiting his grandparents and watching an old movie, then asking if when Brynn was a little girl if everything in real life was in black and white because it was in the olden days—surely, she wasn’t as old as Bertie’s grandparents. And surely the world had always existed in color.
But that morning, she felt like she was trying to ride a turkey or like a turkey trying to ride a bicycle through a puddle. No, a pool. Scratch that. The ocean. If she had to explain what that meant, she thought she might collapse because even she didn’t quite understand.
Brynn closed her eyes, wondering if she’d been spending too much time with kindergartners. Or with a certain police officer. Granted, the trip to the Beanery hadn’t been planned, but his afternoons as a room parent in the classroom were.
Over the course of the last week, the arrangement worked perfectly and Owen had become the highlight of the day... and not just for the students. He’d organized the supply closet, prepared the packets for an upcoming science unit, and demonstrated an incredible level of patience when working with some of the children that had difficulty reading. Not only that, but he’d written a perfect email to the students’ parents and caregivers, introducing himself, how he was honored to help in the classroom, and soliciting their involvement as well. It probably didn’t hurt that he included a photograph of himself and Harper. Brynn had already received several replies from moms offering to help out with one thing or another. She didn’t intend to use him as bait, but his good looks certainly didn’t hurt the cause.
Nope. Not one bit.
But they did interfere with her ability to concentrate.
The Hawk Ridge Hollow police station was small and he’d said that his schedule was still being finalized, but he’d had several days off that week so they decided to start having Brynn look after Harper in the evening starting the following week to make the transition a bit easier. Brynn couldn’t wait. It may have been the teacher in her, or something else, but she’d already planned activities, recipes to bake, movies to watch—Matilda was her favorite—a stack of books to read, and her excitement didn’t stop there.
As a teacher, she had to divide her attention across thirty children as well as educate them. But as a caregiver, as the mother she’d always wanted to be, she could give Harper her full attention—the one thing she’d always wanted as a kid.
She sighed as the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period. Her leftovers from the night before sat uneaten on her desk. She gobbled up the penne pasta, grabbed a mint to freshen her breath, and smoothed her skirt.
The door opened and instead of the flurry of hyped-up kindergartners—with a few stragglers at the back, in need of a nap—in walked a tall, muscular man with scruff along his jaw and dark brown eyes that had a bright, attentive quality, like he was really there, present, paying attention.
Those very eyes swept over her. “Good afternoon, Ms. Powell.”
“It’s Brynn.” Her name came out like a high-pitched gobble-squeak like she was shouting while underwater. “I don’t usually speak turkey,” she blurted, instantly wondering what had come over her. Sure, she had to get on the level of the children, but Owen was an adult and to his ears that probably made zero sense.
His eyebrows twitched and he nodded. “When I’m in your classroom, I want to set an example.”
Hearing him say Ms, almost with an emphasis was a reminder of what she’d lost, of her loneliness, heartbreak. Yet his presence made her pulse quicken, causing her to wonder if her heart had somehow mended itself.
“Thank you for that and for all your help. I love having you here.” Her cheeks heated. What was it about him that made her feel so, so turned inside out?
She’d learned at a young age to conceal her feelings, not to let anyone see how she felt so alone, inadequate, and like a discarded doll. John had helped her work past that and be more open, but since his passing, she felt like she was reverting to her old ways. It was safer than putting her emotions on the line. And yet, Owen Hawkins drew something out of her that she’d have preferred to have left in Chicago.
For the rest of the afternoon, Brynn felt like she was bobbing over waves. Over, under, over under.
She’d spot Owen out the corner of her eye, tying someone’s shoe or helping them sound out a word and she’d slide under.
She’d come up for air only to see him rescuing Thomas who’d somehow climbed onto the sink to pump the soap, kicked away the stool, and was afraid to get down. Under.
During a history project, she’d snap back into focus. Over.
Then she caught him pretending to be a turkey, making turkey gobbling noises. Under.
He was so well suited to the role, softening his otherwise rough edges. She could hardly resist thoughts of him.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, she convinced herself that if she was going to survive the year with him in her classroom, she had to swim. Preferably gracefully and smoothly like a dolphin, but she’d doggy paddle if she had to. Could turkeys swim?
She’d speak to Owen like the adult she was and not let him distract her.
After she said goodbye to the kids, wishing them a great weekend, she straightened up the classroom. Harper and Daisy were by their cubbies. Owen lingered near the door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. Those rock-hard muscles strained against the cotton of his shirt. She sensed his gaze on her. She returned books to the shelves, put pencils in the jar, and tossed crumbs in the trash.
Still, he stood there.
Finally, she looked up.
He made the turkey noise.
She froze, staring at the straight-laced cop, wondering what had come over him.
He smirked.
She understood that he was joking around—maybe about what she’d said earlier about turkeys—and made a gobble sound in response.
They both dissolved into lau
ghter.
The two girls, absorbed in their own little world didn’t seem to notice. But Brynn noticed how deeply the laughter shifted Owen’s expression from steely to easeful. His shoulders relaxed, his stance was less ready for duty.
“I used to go hunting with my father. We’d practice our animal calls. When I was goofing around with the kids earlier, it escaped. That was only slightly embarrassing.” He shrugged away the explanation.
At the mention of him being embarrassed, she recalled when his face had turned pink at the Beanery when Harper had brought their hands together. She turned as red as the apple on her desk at the faint and pleasant burn in her palm remained from when they’d held hands.
Trying to recover, she said, “I think we have a new lead role for the Thanksgiving play.” The words came out almost in a series of squeaks and clucks. At least it sounded like that to her. But she was resolved. She wouldn’t let whatever it was about Owen Hawkins reduce her to a turkey bird. “I wish I could say that I used to—” She cut herself off, not having anything to say about what she and her father used to do. She was really sticking her foot in her mouth—or talon, claw, or whatever it was that birds had at the end of their legs.
She was nervous around Owen. That’s what it was, but it wasn’t because he was a cop and she’d parked illegally—only that one time when she forgot her cellphone in her office, but it was after school.
It was something else about him that ruffled her feathers but in a good way.
With a tilt of his head, he gave her a sidelong glance. “If you’re a member of the mighty avian species, I suppose then we have to work on your mating calls—” He abruptly stopped talking and pressed his lips together.
“Well, I guess that makes us a pair of turkeys.” If her cheeks were able to go a deeper shade of red, they would have.
He chuckled. “No, I suppose we’re just silly.”
“Who’s silly?” Harper asked.
Owen scooped up his daughter and gave her a little tickle. “You are.” He made the turkey noise.
“Again, again.” She squealed with laughter as they exited the room.
He glanced over his shoulder and winked at Brynn. Then he was gone.
Before it was just her stomach doing cartwheels. Now it was her heart too. She longed for what they had—the closeness, the love, whatever glue held parent and child together. But a secret part of her wanted something more...something with Owen.
As she left school, Phoebe was on the phone in the office and held up her hand, signaling for Brynn to wait a second. But for all the goofiness she’d shared with Owen, she was no longer in a jovial mood.
Instead, the loneliness crept back in. She snuck out to her car, heading home to the big empty house, by herself. She’d never have what she wanted. Experience taught her that cruel lesson.
From the kitchen window of the farmhouse, dusk settled over the mountains in the distance, casting them in a purplish hue. Even the peaks had partners—six of them, all in a line. Brynn decided that she shouldn’t have ignored Phoebe.
Just because she felt alone, didn’t mean she ought to be alone. That was the solution, right? Be around more people. But she knew it wasn’t that simple. Growing up, she was most often in a houseful of people, but even sometimes being surrounded by people didn’t abate the loneliness. In fact, it had the power to intensify when she saw the connection some people shared while she didn’t. At least not until John had come along.
But she was moving on and the only way she’d have the opportunity to get the connection that she longed for was if she got out and met new people.
She’d heard that the Hawk and Whistle restaurant had live music on Friday nights and was the place locals went for dinner. She got in the truck and drove to town.
The parking lot was packed and she had to circle twice until a spot opened up. She maneuvered the Beast, that’s what John had called the truck, into a spot. When she’d decided to move to the mountains, she opted to keep the vehicle because it had four-wheel drive and had proven itself worthy in rough weather. When Phoebe had seen her pull up after her first week at work, she later told Brynn that was what had sealed the deal, making her certain they’d be friends. She’d said, “Any girl that can handle a truck like that is my kind of girl.”
As it turned out, they were opposites in almost every way. Where Phoebe was loud and outspoken, Brynn was quieter and reserved. Where Phoebe wore flashy, statement clothing and was heavy with the accessories, Brynn was more conservative. In fact, she was still wearing her work clothing, consisting of wide-legged trousers that had a stylish fit, heels, and a peplum jacket along with her usual thin, gold necklace—the cross John had given to her when they’d married. And where Phoebe was very upfront about how she felt about everything, Brynn had been told she was closed off and slow to warm up.
Her phone beeped with a message. Sure enough, Phoebe’s name blinked on the screen. Why’d you blow me off? Hot date?
Brynn quickly typed back. I’m sorry. Long day and I know how you can be long-winded on the phone. She inserted a winking smiley face. But I’ll make it up to you. Meet me at the Hawk and Whistle for dinner. I hear there’s music. My treat.
Phoebe instantly replied. I’d love to, but speaking of dates. I have one. Heading out to go bowling. Wish me luck.
Bowling or with the date?
Very funny. I come from a long line of expert bowlers. In fact, my nan made it into the PBA championships—women’s division.
In that case, I should be wishing your date good luck. Let me know how it goes.
As she exited the truck, another pulled into the spot opposite. Owen stepped down and went around to help Harper out.
The little girl spotted Brynn, looked both ways, and then rushed toward her with a hug, and practically toppled her over.
Her heart lifted. “Nice seeing you too,” she said with a laugh.
“Daddy, I didn’t know we were having dinner with Ms. Brynn.” Harper had been good about calling her Ms. Powell in the classroom, but anytime they weren’t there, she’d used Ms. Brynn.
“I say it’s a happy coincidence,” Owen said. “How are you this evening, Ms. Powell?”
She playfully rolled her eyes at his instance at using the formal name. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” Harper said. “Daddy, can she eat with us?”
He turned to her, wearing an inviting smile. “Sure.”
Harper took her hand and started chattering away. “Have you been here before? Daddy and I come a few times a week. He doesn’t cook and we don’t have a regular kitchen right now. In the morning they have cinnamon sugar Bannock bread and at dinnertime, it’s covered in cheese. I can’t pick a favorite so you’ll have to tell me what you think.”
Brynn stole a glance over her shoulder to see if Owen was keeping up, but he stood by the tailgate of her truck, staring at the rear window.
“Daddy, are you coming?”
He shook his head, as though pulling himself out of a stupor and jogged over to meet them. He was good at concealing his emotions—a trait she knew John had required for his job, though he’d take off the mask the second he’d return home.
She wondered why Owen’s eyebrows bunched together and the corners of his lips turned down but couldn’t get a read on him.
The relaxed yet lively strains of country music filtered out of the restaurant as they entered. A couple was ahead of them waiting for a table.
The hostess craned her head around the podium and the waiting couple. She waved at Harper. “I have a new coloring book for you.” She winked.
Harper smiled.
“So she wasn’t joking. You do come here often,” Brynn said.
“I’m not much of a cook.” Owen wrinkled his nose.
“No, but Mr. Bowen is. He’s our chef.” Harper smiled.
Brynn’s eyebrow shot up.
The woman ahead of them in line crowed. “Owen Hawkins. I’d recognize that face anywhere.” She greeted him with
a big hug while her husband stood stiffly beside her.
“This must be your daughter and your wife. It’s so lovely to meet you both. I’m Georgette Welk and of course, you must know Ken.”
If Owen had a mask as John did, he put it on then. His face turned rock hard, almost angry.
“Actually, Mrs. Welk, my mom died, but if Ms. Brynn wants to be my new mommy, I’ll give her the job. She’s really good at making me laugh and she gives good hugs.”
Despite the music in the background, the space surrounding them seemed to go silent.
Brynn blinked back tears—at once sad and touched by Harper’s comment.
Owen reached for his daughter’s hand as though to pacify her.
Georgette made to apologize for her blunder but words seemed to stick in her throat.
“Then I suspect you’ll soon put a ring on her finger. Though, I doubt that’s what your father intended in his will. Marry for convenience so the money and executive roles can transfer to you and your brothers.” Ken Welk laughed darkly. He’d broken the silence, but his comment only made it more awkward.
A vein in Owen’s neck twitched. “On the contrary, the way you operate the resort was not at all what my father had in mind.” He met Ken’s eyes with stone in his.
“Well, I don’t think this is the kind of conversation to have here. I’m sorry, Owen.” Mrs. Welk nodded at Brynn with an apology in her eyes.
As the hostess ushered them away, Brynn heard Ken say, “I told you I didn’t want to come here. You never know who we’ll run into.”
Their table was ready too and fortunately not near where the Welks were seated.
Brynn was torn between sweet Harper, sympathy for the loss the family had suffered, and curiosity about what Ken Welk had said about putting a ring on her finger along with Owen’s father’s will.
Chapter 6
Owen
Being around Brynn had Owen flustered alright. The conversation with Ken Welk, that wily and wicked member of the board at the resort, had him rattled. Not only that, but he was surprised to see Brynn drove a truck. He expected her to have a sensible sedan that was good on gas or a cute, girly car like a Mini-Cooper. Also, the sticker on the back window of the thin blue line had him wondering about her past. She’d said she was Ms. not Mrs. Powell, but that was all he knew. Perhaps her father was a police officer—the symbol usually was used by law enforcement and their families as a sign of support.
