“Where are you off to now?” Cary asked

“I have a gardening lesson. I’m trying to grow lilies, but they’re not doing well. As of right now, they may be dead by Easter.”

“I never pictured you as a gardener, Gen.”

“That’s the problem! I’m not.” She smiled.

Cary squeezed her hand. “How about I stop by later and check up on those lilies?”

“You sound like you’re talking in code.”

Pausing at her car door, he said, “Maybe I am. Maybe I want to do far more than check out your flowers.”

“Maybe I’ll let you stop by.”

The look in her blue eyes made him step a little closer, wrap his arms around her waist…and press his luck.

Gen looked around the high school parking lot. “You’re not thinking of kissing me here, are you? I’m in my uniform. That would—”

“—be a really good idea,” he said quickly.

After all, Cary Hudson might be Lane’s End High’s favorite teacher and he might have been known to have the patience of a saint. But he’d never been one to run from a challenge.

Dear Reader,

You may remember meeting Gen Slate in my October 2006 book Simple Gifts. From the time Gen realized that Keaton, the hero of that story, wasn’t going to be the man for her, I knew I wanted to give Gen a romance of her own. I hope you’ll agree that Cary Hudson is her perfect match.

What really prompted this book is my beagle, Phoebe. From the moment we brought her home as a puppy, my whole family has loved her sweet disposition, her oh-so-soft ears and her loving nature. But not her stomach!

Phoebe’s constantly on the search for food, and it’s gotten her into a lot of trouble. She’s eaten plates of Christmas cookies, jumped on tables for pizza, foraged in trash cans and has even been known to snatch sandwiches out of children’s hands.

But Phoebe’s claim to fame is the time she ate a good portion of a beautifully baked ham just minutes before a dinner party. Yep, when my husband called to say he—and the vice president of his company—were minutes from our home, I was staring at my ham on the ground and a very sick-looking beagle. If you’d like to hear the whole story, I hope you’ll visit my Web site. I’ve written all about The Dinner Party That Almost Wasn’t, and have a really cute picture of Phoebe there, as well.

I hope you’ll let me know your thoughts about A Small-Town Girl. I’d love to hear about your dog antics, too! Visit me at www.shelleygalloway.com or write to me at Shelley Galloway, 10663 Loveland-Madeira Rd., #132, Loveland, OH 45140.

Shelley Galloway

A Small-Town Girl

Shelley Galloway

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Shelley Galloway loves to get up early, drink too much coffee and write books. These pastimes come in handy during her day-to-day life in southern Ohio. Most days she can be found driving her kids to their activities, writing romances in her basement or trying to find a way to get ahead of her pile of laundry. She’s also been known to bug her husband to talk to her, since she spends an inordinate amount of time alone.

Shelley taught school for over a decade before turning to her first love—writing. She was thrilled to find out that Cinderella Christmas, her first novel with Harlequin Books, made the Waldenbooks bestseller list. Shelley also happens to spend a lot of time online. Please visit her Web site at www.shelleygalloway.com.

Books by Shelley Galloway

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

1090—CINDERELLA CHRISTMAS

1134—SIMPLE GIFT

To Penny and Susan E.

To Kim and Carrie and Theresa, too.

Teacher friends who will know just what I mean when I say that teaching school is a lot more fun with good friends.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter One

Twenty signs on Campbell Road screamed the words Lion Pride in bold, black letters. A large black-and-gold cardboard lion, its tail bobbing in the bitter February wind, crouched precariously above the intersection. Three teenagers bundled in black-and-gold hooded sweatshirts darted down the sidewalk. Golden balloons bounced against a parking meter.

Basketball fever had claimed everyone and anyone in Lane’s End, Ohio.

Everyone except for Gen Slate. She was trying to figure out how to navigate her Subaru Outback through the heavy traffic.

Drumming her fingers on her steering wheel, Gen wondered if she was ever going to get her errands done or ever get accustomed to life in her new hometown.

The past month had been interesting, to say the least. After resigning from her position at the Cincinnati Police Department, she’d signed on with Lane’s End PD, rented an apartment and tried to get used to living and working in a small town.

Again.

It was a love/hate thing. Seeing people she knew at the grocery store brought back memories of growing up in Beckley, West Virginia. There, everyone had had something to say about her tomboyish nature…and how she’d never measure up to her big sister, Margaret. It had been a true testament to both their characters that they’d gotten along so well.

Gen thought of her mother, who’d never understood why she’d rather run track than dance in the pep squad. Why she preferred to go hunting the day after Thanksgiving instead of into Charleston for shopping.

Lane’s End reminded Gen that lately she’d become fiercely independent, which was a real kind way of saying she was too standoffish.

Finally the light turned green. After turning down Cheyenne Boulevard, Gen counted another fifteen Lion Pride signs and spied two cars so thoroughly covered in white-shoe-polish peppiness it was a wonder the drivers could see at all.

As she edged her car along, she spotted a crowd of middle-aged men talking with a tall boy in a letter jacket. Team supporters slowed down their cars, honked and yelled out good wishes as they passed.

Gen wished the traffic would thin out. She really needed to get some dog food as soon as possible. If she didn’t get an industrial-strength bag of Mighty Munchies home soon, Sadie was gonna go nuts.

After an eternity, Gen ran into Two By Two Pet Store and purchased Sadie’s reason for living. She’d just hoisted the dog food out of her shopping cart to put it in her car when she heard a voice.

“Hey! You need a hand?”

Gen nearly dropped the fifty-pound bag on her foot. “Excuse me?” she asked, squinting against the bright sun as it descended in the west.

“Can I give you a hand?” the very masculine voice repeated. The man then stepped out of the glare and loped forward, loped being the operative word. His movements were so smooth and even Gen was sure the guy was a bicyclist or runner. “That’s a pretty hefty bag for a woman your size.”

The loper—or should she say interloper—had a lot of nerve. “I can get it.” She’d never been one to lean on a man—or anyone, for that matter. It was far easier simply to depend on herself. That way she wouldn’t be disappointed when things didn’t go as planned.

But, as if he didn’t hear her, the guy grabbed the sack out of her hands and tossed it into the back of her car. The action was impressive considering the guy didn’t look all that brawny.

“You should have asked Ted to give you a hand. I’m surprised he didn’t offer.”

The store owner had offered, not that it was anyone’s business.

The stranger’s uncalled-for concern made her feel off-kilter and more than a little unnerved. Boys back home knew better than to open Genevieve’s car door. The officers in Cincinnati had learned early on never to assume Gen couldn’t do anything. The men she worked with in Lane’s End were beginning to take the hint, too.

But this guy was treating her the way folks treated Margaret—with gentlemanly concern. Because Gen had never felt very ladylike, the gesture took her by surprise.

“I’m okay,” she answered. “Fine.”

His brown eyes narrowed as he backed away from her. “Hey, sorry, I thought I was helping you out.”

“No, I’m sorry. Thanks for the help,” she amended, feeling her cheeks heat. Oh, her mama would be rolling her eyes if she were there to witness Gen’s lack of manners. Even independent women should know when to say thank you.

“You’re welcome.” He paused. For a moment Gen thought he was going to say something else. Instead he shook his head and walked away.

Well, that prompted her to step forward. For some reason, she was uneasy about his assuming she had the grace of a bowling ball. Especially since her sergeant had just reminded her that morning about how police officers did more in Lane’s End than uphold the law. They interacted with the community. And hadn’t that been something she’d vowed to do better? “I appreciate your help. It’s been a long day—the traffic is a killer.”

“It is. There’s so many banners and signs in this town it’s hard to dodge them all.”

She shook her head. “Basketball. I like it as much as the next person, but this craziness is pretty extreme.”

The guy’s lips curved just as she noticed that he, too, was wearing a black-and-gold sweatshirt. “You’re not excited that Lane’s End High might make it to the play-offs?”

Chuckling, she said, “I’m new in town. I guess I haven’t caught on to the significance of it quite yet.”

“You will,” he said confidently. “This is the first time in twenty-eight years that Lane’s End will probably go all the way.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Still grinning, he said, “Sorry—I have a hard time forgetting that everyone isn’t fixated on the basketball team. At school it’s all we’ve been talking about.”

“School?”

“I teach algebra at LEHS.”

A teacher. A math teacher. He didn’t look like any math teacher she’d ever seen before. He was like Pierce Brosnan, Charlie Sheen and Clark Kent all rolled up into one. Gen had a sneaking suspicion that algebra was the most anticipated class at the local high school.

Because she was practically trapped under his dark-eyed gaze, she continued the conversation. “I bet you have a lot of interesting stories.”

“Hundreds.”

Gen knew this was the perfect time to tell him about her job. How she was the new police officer in town. How she hadn’t meant to sound gruff or standoffish, she’d just never mastered the art of conversation.

How her mother had given up nurturing Gen’s feminine side right around the time Gen had asked for a BB gun instead of a Barbie for her sixth birthday.

“So. You must have some dog,” he said, pointing to the food he’d dumped in her hatchback.

Gen couldn’t help but smile. “She is.”

“What is she? Great Dane? Mastiff?”

“Beagle.”

He laughed as he stepped forward again. “Some beagle. I’ve got one, too. Mine’s named Sludge.”

“Mine’s Sadie.” Forgetting all about not being good at chitchat, she said, “So I guess you know all about the trials of being a beagle owner?”

“Howling at night? Foraging for rabbits?” With a chuckle, he said, “I know it all.”

As Genevieve thought about Sadie’s penchant for snacks, pizza—anything off the dinner table—she had to agree. “Sadie once ate all the hidden eggs in a neighborhood Easter egg hunt.”

“How many?”

“At least a dozen. She ate each one in a single bite. The colored shells didn’t deter her the slightest.” Recalling Sadie’s bloated stomach and lingering aftereffects, Gen added, “I felt her pain for two days.”

Holding out his hand, he said, “I guess if I know about Sadie’s appetites, I’d better introduce myself. Cary Hudson.”

“Genevieve Slate,” she replied, shaking his hand.

“Genevieve. Pretty name.”

Her mother had thought so, too. “Actually, I go by Gen. So is that Cary as in Cary Grant?”

“Definitely. My mom was a huge fan of old movie stars. My brother’s name is Dean.”

She was intrigued. “Like Dean Martin?”

“Absolutely.” That infectious grin appeared again. “If you know of Dean Martin, you must be a movie fan, too.”

“I am.” Gen couldn’t believe they had something else besides beagles in common. She had all of Cary Grant’s movies on DVD and had watched the original Ocean’s Eleven just last week.

She was warming to Cary Hudson, the teacher. Cary, like Cary Grant. He was likable and attractive. Open and approachable.

The complete opposite of herself.

At least on the outside.

Cary probably enjoyed walks in the park, hanging out in front of the fire, reading—activities that a lot of the men in her line of work didn’t always admit doing. Sadie would love him.

Gen had the feeling she wouldn’t be too opposed to him, either.

If she was going to be in the market for a relationship.

Breaking the silence, Cary slapped his hands on his jeans. “Well, now that I’ve bored you, I’ll see you around.”

“I wasn’t bored. Thanks again for the help.”

“Anytime. Good luck with your beagle.”

“You, too! And don’t worry—Sadie’s docile as long as she’s well fed.”

“Aren’t we all?”

His comment was so true she burst out laughing. Cary joined in, then walked to his vehicle. Gen knew if she didn’t say a word, she’d never have a reason to speak with him again—unless he needed help from the police for some reason.

To her surprise, hurrying home to Sadie no longer seemed that important, even if Sadie was probably entertaining a thousand ways to make Gen pay for coming home late for dinner. “Hey,” she called out just as he was about to get into his car. “Do you drink coffee?”

“I do. Do you want to go sit down somewhere?”

Cary was obviously too much of a gentleman to make her ask him out. His manners made her regret skipping cotillion classes back in the eighth grade. “Yes. I mean, if you have time.” God, she was so bad at this!

“I have time. Do you know the Corner Café?”

“Sure. I’ll meet you there.”

Situated in an old yellow farmhouse, the café had already become one of Gen’s favorite spots. She liked checking out the antiques there on Sunday mornings. It brought back memories of her mother’s love of handmade crafts—and Gen’s desire to be just like her until it had become apparent that unlike her sister, Gen didn’t have a natural aptitude for anything handmade. After that, Gen had fostered her father’s admiration by trying to be the son he never had. Unfortunately that hadn’t really worked, either. Daddy had wanted a boy, not a girl who behaved like one.

That feeling of rejection still stung.

As Cary’s shiny black SUV pulled out of the parking lot, Genevieve felt yet another jab of awareness. And of isolation.

She was lonely. She was sick of dodging late-night memories of Keaton, her former partner with the Cincinnati police. Keaton had been her first true friend in a long while. So, true, she’d imagined he, too, had felt something special between the two of them. She’d been attracted to him from the moment they’d met, and had spent years waiting for him to notice her in a romantic way.

It had been embarrassing as hell when he’d fallen in love with someone else, never giving her a second thought. The incident had been uncomfortable enough for her to want to start over someplace new.

It had been her good fortune—or misfortune—that Lane’s End had been hiring. By the time she’d picked up and moved, Lane’s End reminded her too much of Beckley for close comfort.

Funny how sometimes even a small town could seem too big.

CARY SHIFTED HIS Explorer into fourth gear and wondered what in the world he was doing meeting Gen for coffee. Even if she did look like a sporty Demi Moore, his instincts told him he had no business even thinking about another relationship after his ex, Kate Daniels, had taken his heart and pulverized it by the time she’d been through with him.

Still, Cary supposed he should thank Kate for opening his eyes. He’d no longer assume anything in a relationship. I love you sometimes only meant “I want to go to bed with you.” I want a relationship didn’t necessarily mean love was on a woman’s mind. No, it might just mean “I want you…until someone better comes along.”

He’d spent the past three months volunteering on too many committees at Lane’s End High, helping his brother’s daughter, Melissa, and trying to forget he’d ever fallen in love with Kate.

So what was he doing meeting Genevieve at a coffee shop?

Because there’d been something in her eyes that broke his heart. She looked as if she needed a friend. That, he could do.

After they both arrived at the café, Cary guided her to an empty table and flagged over the waitress. She quickly took their orders, then disappeared.

As Gen slipped their menus back in the holder at the end of the table, she looked pretty pleased with herself.

Cary was intrigued. “What’s the joke?”

Her smile widened. “Oh, nothing, really. I’m just feeling pretty proud of myself for not ordering any of the pastries on the menu. Ordinarily, I’d have had an éclair or two.”

“You’ve got a sweet tooth?”

“One about the size of Alaska.”

He laughed. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman who wasn’t constantly worried about every morsel she ingested.”

“That sure isn’t me! I tend to worry about other things.” A shadow crossed her face. “Like this. I don’t usually ask men I’ve just met to coffee.”

“Then we’re even. I don’t usually get asked out at the pet store.” When her eyes widened, he added hastily, “Good thing it’s just coffee, huh?”

She relaxed visibly. “Yeah. Good thing.”

Hoping to set her at ease, Cary asked, “So, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a cop.”

“Yeah?” Taking in her form, Cary had to admit the occupation fit. Tall and athletic, her personality strong and assertive, Gen Slate looked born to the job. “I’ve never known a cop before. I mean, beyond the occasional parking or speeding ticket. What kind of cop are you? Traffic? Vice? Homicide?”

“You’ve been watching too many detective shows,” she said, her dark blue eyes brightening. “In a town like Lane’s End we do everything that’s needed. Luckily there isn’t much need for a homicide unit.”

After the server delivered their drinks, Gen sipped hers delicately. That purely feminine trait intrigued him. “So…” he prodded.

“I just joined the local police department. I was on patrol in Cincinnati for five years. Now I’m learning to adjust to small-town life. Again.”

“How’s it going?”

“So far, so good. I’m beginning to realize change is a good thing.”

He’d heard that, too, which made him wonder why he’d been so complacent for so long. Maybe it was time to think about other things besides dating women he’d known for years, work and family obligations.

Maybe it was time to shake things up a bit.

“Most of my day is spent handling regular stuff,” Gen said. “Domestic disputes. Kids drinking and driving. The occasional traffic stop.” Pausing, she added, “I bet I’ve unlocked more car doors and investigated more dog-barking violations in the past month than I did during the whole time in CPD.”

“I’m fascinated.”

“You’re nuts!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Being a cop is not fascinating. But I do love the job. I’d go crazy if I had to sit at a desk all day.”

“I feel the same way about my job. Teaching high school assures me that I’ll never have a dull moment.”

“I guess you can get pretty attached to your students.”

Cary nodded as he thought of the fine line he walked between confidant and authority figure at Lane’s End High. “I have gotten to know quite a few of them well. Some need another person who cares about their lives…others just need someone to listen. It comes with the territory.”

Genevieve relaxed and realized with some surprise that she was enjoying herself. Cary was interesting and easy to talk to. Maybe this little coffee date would lead to another date. And another.

Maybe then she’d forget all about Keaton.

Maybe—

The sharp ring of her cell phone broke through that little daydream. “Sorry, I’ve got to answer this,” she murmured when she saw it was the precinct calling. “Slate.”

“I know you’re off the clock, but we need some backup on east I-275. You anywhere near there?” Allison, the dispatcher on duty, asked.

With a frown, Gen mentally figured how far she was from the highway. “Five minutes. Eight tops.”

“Good.” With practiced, measured tones, Allison launched into details about the accident.

Gen processed the information quickly. “I’m on my way.”

“Problem?” Cary asked, standing up as she did.

“Yeah, sorry.” Quickly she fished for a five in her jeans pocket. “Here. I’ve got to—”

“Save your money. My treat.” When she looked at him in surprise, he added, “It’s just coffee, Slate. No big deal.”

Though she knew he was right, Gen felt her spirits deflate. Slate. Men who wanted to be only friends called women by their last names. For a brief moment she’d hoped they could have been more.

As she strode to her car, Gen realized she was glad she’d taken the time to get to know Cary Hudson. Even if they never saw each other again, it had been good to put herself out there and meet new people.

Gen also had a feeling that Sadie was probably worming her way out of her metal kennel at that very moment, irritated her Mighty Munchies were nowhere in sight.

As Gen imagined a hungry Sadie foraging in the kitchen unsupervised, she hoped she’d remembered to shut the pantry door.

Chapter Two

Cary wrote the last of the theorem on the whiteboard, then turned to face his class. “Don’t forget to refer to these notes when you do page one hundred fifty-six for homework.”

As expected, groans erupted across the room. There was a big pep rally planned for the afternoon as the basketball team was now two games away from making the district finals. Glancing at the clock, he feigned surprise. “Would you look at that? I must have miscalculated the time. We still have fifteen minutes of class. Some of you might be able to get the majority of the assignment done before the bell.”

Almost simultaneously, twenty pencils hit the desks. Well, twenty pencils except for the one belonging to Amy Blythe, the curly-haired blonde in the front row. “I don’t think you know how to miscalculate, Mr. Hudson.”

Because he was no actor, Cary merely smiled and motioned to the clock over the whiteboard. “There’s thirteen minutes left of class, Amy.”

Taking the hint, she, too, buried her face in the math book. Cary used the time to erase the board for the following day, then take a quick tour of the room to make sure everyone was on the right page. He’d learned his first year that just because he was on task it didn’t mean all his students were.

As he nodded, pointed to correct answers and high-fived the kids who finished, he thought again about something that was the complete opposite of math and equations—Genevieve Slate. The cop. Total brunette perfection. He’d been mesmerized the moment she’d tromped out of the pet store, full of determination.

She’d been all business and grit. Though not really. There’d been a flash of vulnerability in her blue eyes, as if someone had hurt her. He knew the feeling well.

Sitting on the edge of his desk, he waited for the last three minutes of class to tick by.

One of the boys near the front caught his eye. “Mr. Hudson, you going to the game?”

“Of course.”

In the back row, Ben Schultz raised his head. “I heard Jamestown’s pretty good. I hope we’ll have a chance.”

Cary hid a smile. Until recently, Ben had only paid attention to computers and science labs. It looked as if everyone—teachers, students and townsfolk—was rallying behind the Lions. “Brian McCullough’s pretty good, too,” he said, referring to their team’s star forward.

“He’s better than that, Mr. Hudson,” Amy chimed in. “College scouts have been to the last four games. I heard he’s about to get offered a scholarship to Ohio State.”

“You know more than I do. I hope he gets it.”

“Amy likes him,” Jeremy called out snidely. “Too bad he’s dating Melissa.”

Cary wisely said nothing. Amy lived down his street, and Melissa was his niece.

“Everyone likes Brian McCullough,” Amy retorted, though her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

A couple more books closed just as the bell rang.

“Thanks, Mr. Hudson,” a few kids called out as they ran out the door.

“No problem. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tonight,” Jeremy corrected with a grin.

“That’s right. I’ll see you tonight.”

One by one they filed out, leaving the room empty in seconds. Cary wandered back to his desk and sat down just as his best friend, Dave Fanning, strode in.

“Want to grab a burger before the game?”

“Sure, but I have to run home first and take care of Sludge.”

Dave scowled. “How is that crazed dog?”

“Great.”

“He tore up my new pair of loafers last time I was at your place.”

“You’ve been warned. All shoes are fair game if they’re not on someone’s feet.”

“Why didn’t you get a Lab like most normal people? I’ve never heard of a Labrador having a wool-and-shoe fetish.”

“No Labs at the pound.”

“Just psycho beagles.”

“He’s only three-quarters beagle. The rest is a mystery.”

“I’d bet money he’s one-fourth rottweiler.” After nodding to another teacher who walked by, Dave directed a look Cary’s way. “So have you signed next year’s contract yet?”

“Nope.”

“It’s due by next Friday.”

“I’ll make my decision by then.”

Dave leaned against the doorjamb. A parade of noisy kids passed behind him. “Why are you waiting? Is it because of Kate? She’s moved on, you know. What was between you two is history.”

“This next contract is for three years. I just want to make sure this is where I want to be.”

“You’ve lived here all your life. Where else would you want to be?”

Nowhere, but was he ready to decide that there was no other place he wanted to be than Lane’s End? “I’ll probably sign it. I’m just not in a hurry this year. And, Dave, I don’t care that Kate is dating Michael Kent.” The ass.

“He deserves her,” Dave scoffed, making no effort to hide his feelings for either of them. “But, for your information, Michael has just had his second interview in Lakota.”

Lakota was a large and steadily growing district to the west.

That was news. “Really?”

“He wants a principalship. No way is he going to get one around here anytime soon.”

Cary knew that to be true. Lane’s End had just two elementary schools, one junior high and one high school. It was small town all the way. The only time administrators left their positions was when they died or retired, and Evan Miller, the principal of Lane’s End, was years away from either. “When’s he supposed to hear something?”

“Any day.”

“Thanks for the update.”

“So…food?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you at the Cheyenne Shack in about an hour.”

Dave grinned. “Good.” He looked as though he was about to say more when Melissa stuck her head in.

“Uncle Cary, you still going to the game tonight?”

“Yep. You cheering tonight?”

Melissa laughed. “Of course. See you there.”

Cary raised a hand in goodbye as she flashed him a smile before disappearing.

“You’ve got to stay at LEHS,” Dave said when they were alone again. “The whole student body loves you. You’re the most popular teacher on campus.”

“Pretty impressive for a math geek, huh?”

Since he and Dave had known each other since their own high school days and had even roomed together in college, his friend rolled his eyes. “Too impressive for you,” he retorted. “See you at the Shack.”

“GIVE ME AN L! GIVE me an A! Give me an N!” a peppy blonde with the loudest voice in the world screamed to the filled-to-capacity gymnasium. Obediently the crowd called out the letters in unison, most waving black-and-gold pom-poms.

“This is giving me a headache,” Gen told Sam Clark as they passed the exuberant cheerleaders and made their way up the stands. “I can’t believe you conned me into coming.”

“Conned you? This is the biggest thing going tonight. Lane’s End’s basketball team hasn’t done this well in years. If we win tonight and the next game, we’re in the play-offs.”

“I know. I’m excited for the kids, too. And the whole town. It’s just a little overwhelming.”

“For you?” Sam looked surprised. “And here I thought our newest member of the force was invincible.”

Gen laughed at Sam’s exaggeration. Sam was one of the few members of the force who hadn’t closed ranks against the new female officer. Instead he’d done his best to be available for all of her questions. They’d hit it off so well, when he’d asked if she wanted a lift to the game, she’d said yes. Sam’s girlfriend, Meagan, lived in Dayton, so he was a perfect date for Gen—a friend who wasn’t interested in anything more.

Sliding down the bleacher, Gen said, “I have to admit I would have been perfectly okay hearing all about it in the paper tomorrow.”

“Not half as fun. Besides, think of this as your civic duty. Half the town is here,” Sam said as they claimed one of the last empty spots. “It’s a great time to meet new people and socialize. Before you know it, you’ll feel like you’re a part of the community.”

Gen doubted it would be easy. She’d always felt a little apart from everyone, but the distance was almost comfortable. It was a lot easier to depend on herself than on other people.

As a cheerleader dressed in a furry Lions costume appeared and everyone went nuts, Gen figured Sam had been right. It did seem as if half the populace was crammed into the high school gym. As she scanned the crowd, Gen recognized a few of the faces. There was the chief of police. The mayor. Her new vet. Cary Hudson.

Her pulse sped up as she spied him smiling at a mom and two toddlers.

Surprised at her reaction, Gen tamped it down with effort. Of course Cary was there. Hadn’t he admitted how excited he was about the play-offs? Besides, some of his students were probably on the team.

Narrowing her eyes, she had to admit he looked just as handsome from across a gym floor as he had sitting across a table from her. A sharp feeling of regret stabbed deep as Gen realized she should’ve asked for his number or passed on her e-mail address.

Though by the looks of things, it didn’t seem as if he needed another friend. No, the guy was swamped with attention, talking to five or six people at the same time. Two men about his age sat on one side of him; high school kids flanked his right side. Genevieve couldn’t resist grinning. Dressed in a black long-sleeved T-shirt, he looked relaxed and happy.

She was just about to turn away when he glanced across the sea of people and caught her eye. When he raised a hand in greeting, she did the same.

“Who are you waving at?” Sam asked.

“The guy in the long-sleeved black shirt. Cary Hudson. He’s a math teacher here.”

“I know Cary,” Sam said.

“How do you know him?”

Sam shrugged. “This is Lane’s End, remember? My sister used to date his brother. Cary’s a nice guy.”

“He sure looks popular.”

“He is, I guess. Cary’s one of those people who just seems content, you know? Never seen him flustered.” Sam nodded to a couple sitting two rows down before continuing. “His dad was a minister. Did you know that?”

“No. I just met him the other day.”

“Well, Paul Hudson was pastor at the Church of Christ for almost three decades before he passed away. Cary’s brother, Dean, is a financial advisor. He and his daughter, Melissa, live right next door to Cary in their parents’ old house.”

“That’s pretty unusual, two brothers living side by side.”

Sam nodded. “From what I’ve been told, it works out well. Dean’s wife took off when Melissa was just a baby, so Cary watched her during summer breaks.”

Gen wished she had that kind of close relationship with Margaret. But more distanced them than miles. For most of her life, Gen had been career-oriented, doing her best to achieve recognition as a cop, while Meg was a wife and mother to three kids. It was what Meg had always wanted since getting her first doll. Those goals had seemed to divide them. Gen wondered if they could ever find common ground.

Gen peeked over at Cary again, but he was gone. Curious, she scanned the crowd, but it was hard to find anything in the sea of black and gold.

Then she spied him walking toward her up the narrow passage in between the rows of bleachers. As he approached, her stomach clenched. The feeling was awkwardly familiar—she’d felt the same way standing outside her captain’s office.

Cary, on the other hand, looked as though he had no such qualms at all. He was working the crowd like a seasoned politician, greeting everyone by name, shaking hands, joking with a crowd of boys who’d sprayed their hair bright yellow for the game.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Sam murmured.

“Yeah. Speak of the devil.”

“Hey, Sam. Hey, Gen.” Pointing to the Lane’s End Lions sweatshirt Sam had given her, he said, “Looks like you’ve finally caught the fever, too.”

“I’ve caught something,” she murmured just as Sam trotted down the bleachers to “socialize,” leaving his spot to Cary.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Not at all.” Eyeing some kids eating candy bars two rows down, she said, “I was just sitting here, wondering if I needed to get myself a Snickers bar.”

He laughed as he sat down next to her. “I’d offer you one, but all I’ve got is a pack of Big Red.”

“You offering?”

Pulling out a stick of gum, he placed it in her hand. “Of course. I’d never refuse a cop.”

The light flirtation made Gen smile. That it centered around her penchant for junk food kept things nice and easy. “I knew you were as smart as you looked,” she teased.

“I’m smarter,” he countered, unwrapping a piece for himself.

As the crowd roared again, Gen popped the gum in her mouth and told herself that there was nothing brewing between her and Cary Hudson. Nothing more than friendship.

Yeah, right.

Chapter Three

“Go, Lions!” the cheerleaders yelled in unison. “Go, Lane’s End!”

The crowd roared to life as the team came on the court. Hoots and hollers abounded as everyone leaped to their feet. But though he’d been looking forward to the game, suddenly all Cary wanted to do was stare at Gen Slate. She looked cute in a sweatshirt and jeans, her long black hair tied in a ponytail.

“How’s Sadie?”

“Rotten,” she said with a grin. “The day I saw you, she escaped from her kennel, nudged open the pantry door and ate two boxes of cereal before I came home. What about Sludge?”

“He’s the same as always. Last night he attacked the football I was throwing and howled at the mail carrier.”

Recalling how harried Gen had looked when she’d left the café, he said, “Was everything okay after your call? You left in a hurry.”

“More or less. A semi had collided with a car on I-275 and the department needed some support.” Eyes clouding, Gen shook her head. “It was touch and go for a while, but everyone involved ended up okay.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Gen gestured to Sam. “I heard you and Sam know each other.”

“We do.” Cary laughed. “I think everyone here pretty much knows each other. And their mothers, fathers and grade-school teachers.”

“He said your father was with the church.”

“Yeah. A minister.” Interested in finding out why she was asking, he said, “Are you looking for a church or something?”

“Oh my gosh, no.”

Her tone took him off guard. “Okay,” he answered, drawing out the word.

“Sorry, I guess that came out wrong. I meant to say I’ve never had time for that kind of stuff.”

Though her tone was light, Cary caught the edge of steel in it. “I see.”

She glanced his way again, all big blue eyes and wariness. “Hey, I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“Not at all.” He wasn’t offended…just disappointed. Gen Slate seemed covered in a hard shell, giving him little idea about what she was really like.

Did he really want to become involved with another woman who wasn’t honest about her feelings?

As he spied Dave and saw that his brother was now sitting with him, Cary stood. “Well, it was good to see you. I’m going to head on back and let Sam reclaim his seat.”

“Oh. All right.”

Cary’s heart softened as he noticed that same touch of confusion in her eyes he’d spied at the pet store. “Hey, be careful on patrol, Gen.”

A flash of humor—and vulnerability?—crossed her face before she tamped it down. “Don’t worry, Cary. I never let work stress me out.”

He was about to ask if she ever took time off when the crowd around them grumbled again.

“Mr. Hudson! You’re six feet two. Go play or move!” Kyle West called out from three rows up.

“Wish you cared as much about independent variables as this game, Kyle,” Cary retorted. “You blew yesterday’s quiz.”

Kyle paled. “Don’t tell my mom.”

As the crowd around them laughed and a wad of paper flew toward the freckle-faced junior, Cary made his way down the stands. Catching Mrs. West’s eye, he couldn’t resist winking at her. “I’m guessing she already knows,” he murmured, just as the referee called another time-out.

A WEEK LATER, Melissa rapped two times on his door before barging in. “Uncle Cary? You home?”

Cary glanced at his watch. It was seven o’clock. Usually Melissa was either doing homework or talking on the phone at this time of night. “You okay?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m so glad you’re home. Dad’s working late and Brian’s still at practice.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly concerned. Melissa looked to be on the verge of tears.

“Come see my car,” she said, her lip trembling. “Someone ruined all my tires! I don’t know how it could have happened.”

“Let’s go see.”

“It’s bad,” she said. “I don’t know how it could have happened.”

Grabbing a jacket and a cell phone, Cary followed her down his walkway and out to her trusty blue Civic, practically lying on the curb in front of her house, its tires completely flat. “Those tires are ruined all right.”

As if relieved that he finally believed her, her light-blue eyes filled with tears. “I was about to go out when I found it like this!”

Though his knee-jerk reaction was to ask where she’d been headed, he focused on the car. “Did you drive through a new neighborhood or something?” he asked, even though he knew a few stray nails wouldn’t cause this much damage.

“No, I drove straight home from school.”

After checking the tires for nails or other debris, he finally saw a jagged cut near the rim of one. “These have been slashed.”

“Dad’s going to be so mad.”

With his thumb, Cary wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “No, he won’t.”

She hiccuped. “You think?”

“I know. He’s my brother, remember? Have you called him yet?”

“Not yet.”

Pointing to the cement curb bordering her lawn, he said, “Let’s have a seat. Missy, I think we ought to call the police. Slashing tires is serious stuff, so we should report this. It could just be someone’s idea of a prank, but we should be careful in any case.”

Because she still looked worried she’d get in trouble, he added, “Your dad’s going to want to contact the insurance agency, and they’ll likely want the police to look at the damage, anyway.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “It’s okay. Your dad will know this wasn’t your fault.”

Her cell phone rang. “Brian! Oh my gosh!” she said as soon as she clicked on in that dramatic way of hers that Cary knew so well. Cary stretched his legs as Melissa quickly summarized to her boyfriend what was happening.

A much calmer Melissa turned to him after she clicked off. “Brian said you should call the police.”

“I guess we’d better then,” he said, his sarcasm completely wasted on his niece. Funny how teenagers never changed. Cary vividly remembered always putting his friends’ advice in the forefront years ago, too.

After dialing Information, he called the police station. Recognizing the voice, he said, “Hey, Amanda, this is Cary Hudson. Any chance you could send Gary or Sam out this way? Melissa has a slight problem here.” After telling her about the tires, he turned to his niece. “Someone will be here shortly.”

Next he called his brother and filled him in. Luckily Dean was already on his way home.

Within minutes, a stream of cars approached.

Out of the first vehicle flew Brian, who rushed toward Melissa. Next came half the basketball team, three girls from Missy’s cheer squad and assorted other seniors who were looking for a party.

Cary waved hello to everyone but stayed seated. He’d known most of the kids for years and had taught nearly every one of them. They were good kids and were doing their best to give Melissa emotional support. Already his petite niece was standing a little straighter now that her hand was firmly encased in Brian’s.

Finally a police cruiser appeared.

Cary stood motionless when he saw who’d come to help them out.

Officer Gen Slate.

THE SCENE THAT greeted Gen was oddly familiar. Here in Lane’s End—just as it had been in Beckley—everyone’s business was cause for discussion. A whole crowd of kids gathered in front of a row of fifties-style ranch houses. Cary, a diminutive blonde and a really tall kid in sweats were in the middle of it all. Everyone looked to be talking at once.

Just as she was about to approach them, yet another car pulled up. An attractive man in a button-down shirt, jeans and the same dark-brown eyes as Cary’s got out of his sedan. After hugging the girl, as well, he slapped the tall kid on the shoulder. Then, they all turned to Gen.

“Glad you’re here, Officer,” the man—likely Cary’s brother considering the resemblance—said after examining the Civic. “Someone really did a number on my daughter’s tires.”

“It definitely looks that way,” Gen said as she quickly jotted down a record of her first impressions. “Any idea why someone would deliberately do this?”

The girl glanced at her friends before turning to Gen. “No.”

Just as Gen was wondering how to send the kids home without alienating the lot of them, Cary stepped forward.

“Guys, if you don’t have information to contribute, you all better get on home.”

“I’m not leaving,” the tall kid—Brian—said.

“I can stay, too,” a freckle-faced boy added, casting an almost wistful look toward Melissa.

Gen watched Cary’s niece meet the boy’s gaze before turning her head away, pink staining her cheeks.

“Go on home, Jimmy,” Brian said. “Melissa’s fine with me.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Listen—”

Just as Gen was going to step in, Cary took control. “Brian, go ahead and stay. Melissa needs you. Everyone else, why don’t you let Melissa call you later?”

Miraculously most of the kids listened and, with a few parting words to Melissa, went on their way.

Gen tapped her pen again. “Let’s start from the top. I’ll take your statements and some pictures. If I need anything else, I’ll stop by tomorrow. It’s getting late and I’m sure everyone’s ready to go inside.”

As Gen had hoped, her calm, direct manner soothed the girl’s nerves. Melissa stepped away from Brian and answered Gen’s questions, only pausing once or twice for her dad to add information.

There wasn’t much to go on. Genevieve suspected Melissa’s Civic was just a victim of a random prank, but she would look into it.

Within the hour, Brian went home, Melissa and her dad headed inside and Gen and Cary were left alone.

“Thanks for coming out,” he said as she started toward her car. “Melissa was pretty upset.”

“Don’t thank me—it’s my job,” she quipped before she realized just how unfeeling she sounded.

His mouth tightened into a fine line. “Oh. Well. I guess it is.”

“Well, um, like I said, I’ll file this report and call back if I find out anything.” She opened her car door, feeling stupid for being so uptight.

“Call Dean. He’s her father.”

“I…I was planning on it.”

She was about to add more, anything to recreate the warmth in his gaze from the coffee shop. A howl directed her attention to Cary’s fence, where a tricolor beagle, almost the exact replica of Sadie, watched them both.

She stepped forward. “Is that Sludge?”

After a second, Cary grinned. “Yep.”

Sludge howled again.

Gen was charmed. Beagles, she could relate to. Approaching the fence, she held out her hand. “Hi, Sludge.” When Sludge tilted his head to one side and watched her, Gen knelt down, the edges of her long scarf grazing the grass below her.

Sludge eyed the wool with interest.

“I wouldn’t—” Cary called out.

But it was too late.

In a lightning-fast move, Sludge chomped down on the wool and pulled hard.

Gen landed on the grass just as a good three-inch square was ingested by Sludge. “Sludge! Cary, my scarf—”

“Is ruined,” Cary muttered in disapproval as Sludge chewed his prize without a bit of shame. “Sorry, he’s a menace.”

“He certainly is.” Bending down to pet the dog, Gen scratched his ears. “Be careful, Sludge, or you’re going to get my reputation for eating anything and everything that’s unhealthy for you.”

Cary’s lips twitched before pointing to the frayed, wet wool she now held in her hand. “Sorry about your scarf.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, wiping the grass from her thighs as she strode to her car. “Sadie’s done crazy things, too.”

“Thanks again for coming out.”

“No problem. Remember, it’s why I’m here.” Gen tried to lighten her words with a smile, but neither came out the way she’d intended. Though she’d spoken the truth, she’d also been genuinely glad to try to help. “Please tell your brother I’ll call him soon.”

After a few parting words, Cary went inside and Gen got in her car.

As she backed out, she shook her head in dismay. Someone had slapped a Lion Pride sticker smack-dab in the middle of her rear windshield while she’d been taking Melissa’s statement. Looked as though basketball fever was going to catch her whether she wanted to be caught or not.

Chapter Four

“It’s contract day, Cary,” Christy Pardue said from Cary’s doorway. “As your department head, I’ve been informed to tell you to either sign the thing and turn it in or write a letter of resignation and let us hire someone else.”

“Glad to feel so needed.”

“Any time. It’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

Cary laughed. “So…I’ve got make a decision, huh?”

“Yep. The school board is crunching numbers. Since Michael just announced he’s leaving to take that job at Lakota, Evan’s going crazy. He wants to know how many of us are coming back, pronto.”

Looking at the contract that had been sitting in a folder on his desk for a month, he sighed. “Tell Evan he’ll have my answer by two.”

Christy’s playful expression sobered. “Oh my gosh, Cary. You aren’t really thinking of leaving, are you? You were going to help me teach that continuing-ed class this summer and give me a hand ordering new textbooks. You can’t leave me with just Dave and Linda.”

“Dave’s easy and Linda is…okay.”

“Linda’s twenty-two years old—I could be her mother. Please sign your contract.” Her eyes narrowed. “You are going to sign it, right?”

“I’ll let you know by two.”

Christy turned on her heel, leaving Cary to stare at his contract again.

Why was committing another three years such a big deal? He loved teaching at Lane’s End. Surely he hadn’t gotten so hurt by Kate that he was willing to change his whole life just to avoid her?

No, it was more than that.

Signing meant accepting how his life was. As long as he held off committing to the job, Cary could play with the idea of moving somewhere different, of doing something different.

Growing and changing. Taking a risk. As Gen had said at the café, change was a good thing.

That stopped him in his tracks.

Now there was a person who obviously didn’t mind starting over. She was as independent a woman as he’d ever come across, giving off “I’m self-sufficient” vibes like nobody’s business. He admired her for that.

At the moment, he was stuck in Drive and his road was straight farm country. Nothing of interest for miles and miles. He’d taken it a hundred times.

But yet…

Closing his eyes, Cary thought of Dean and Melissa. Everyone at church. The guys he went running with. Dave. Christy.

Lane’s End. This was where he belonged. Cary knew it the way he knew Sludge would eat his Nikes if given the chance.

Deciding not to put the inevitable off a moment longer, Cary signed the contract and placed it in the folder to take down to the principal.

ON SATURDAY MORNING, Gen knew something had to be done. She’d tossed and turned all night, plagued by dreams of basketballs and lions and kids screaming like banshees.

Her first thought when she awoke had been about work. Again. Obviously she needed some balance in her life, stat. But how?

Padding to the bathroom, she flipped on the light and grabbed her brush. As Gen fixed her hair, she examined herself in the mirror. She looked the same as ever. Boyish figure. Lean and muscular, thanks to the frequent workouts at the gym. Her long, dark hair had always served her well. It was easy to pull back and was her best feature, in her opinion. Of course, not even really good hair could keep a man’s attention.

Thinking once again of her former partner, she wondered what had gone wrong. Why weren’t she and Keaton together, as she’d hoped? Was it because she wasn’t girlie enough? Chatty enough? Interesting? They’d gotten along well and had been good friends, but obviously he’d wanted something—someone—else.

Remembering their frequent meals together, all she could remember Keaton commenting on was her love of junk food. That wasn’t good. Maybe she’d been too aloof and afraid of showing him who she really was. She was already repeating that behavior with Cary, after all.

She remembered their meeting the other day. She hadn’t felt so tongue-tied around a man since Keaton. Could she actually pursue another man after that fiasco? Did she even know how? Gen had to admit she’d never been good in the romance department.

Quickly she braided her hair, then padded into the kitchen, getting a bowl of Froot Loops as she poured another cup of coffee.

The only truly feminine person she knew was her sister. Margaret had also never been one to shy away from giving advice—and she’d had no trouble winning over her husband.

Before Gen chickened out, she picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hey, Genevieve! This is a surprise.”

Gen was caught off guard by the exuberant greeting. “Hey, Meg. How are you?”

“I’m good. Oh—hold on a minute,” she said as Gen heard cereal rattle on a tray. “So did I surprise you, me knowing it was you right away? Shane got me caller ID.”

Gen grinned. Some things made their way more slowly than others to Beckley, West Virginia. “I’m glad you finally have it. How are Will, Jackson and Emily?”

“Happy. Crying. Driving me crazy. The usual.” Her tone turned thoughtful. “So why are you calling? Have you been injured again? Are you in the hospital?”

It was humbling to realize the only time she reached out to her family was on holidays or during medical emergencies. The last time Gen had called her sister out of the blue was after she’d sustained a knife wound during a gang altercation.

“I’m fine, Meg,” she hastily replied. “Actually, I called because I need some advice.”

“What’s going on?”

Gen opened her mouth but couldn’t say it. How could she admit to her beautiful, oh-so-together sister that she didn’t know how to step out of her shell? “I need a hobby.” She winced at the lame excuse for the call.

“Huh?”

“Okay. I know to a mother of three kids under five it sounds silly, but…got any ideas?”

“I thought you had that awful dog.”

“Sadie’s still around,” Gen admitted, nodding to Sadie as she thumped her tail.

“And don’t you work out like crazy?”

“Not as much as I used to. I was thinking I need some variety in my life. Maybe something a little more crafty.” Gen closed her eyes as she heard what she was saying. Really, could she sound any more backward?

But Margaret wasn’t laughing at all. “What? Like knitting? Crochet?”

Gen would rather stab someone with a knitting needle than try to figure out how to use one. “No.”

“Hold on.” Once again Gen heard her sister talking to all three kids, followed by another onslaught of cereal being poured. “I’m not fooled by this hobby talk for a second, Genevieve Slate. What’s really going on?”

It was scary how Margaret could sound just like their mother. “Nothing.”

“It is so something. It’s a man. Right?”

It was more like a lack of one. But who was she to split hairs? “Kind of.”

“Gen…just tell me.”

“This morning it occurred to me that all I’ve been doing is working and taking care of Sadie. Maybe I need something to get me out more, give myself a reason to put on some lipstick and just relax once in a while.”

“I get it.”

“I doubt it. I don’t think you’ve ever had to worry about being seen as just a friend by any guy.” Although Gen said this with horror, she had always been impressed—and a bit jealous—that boys had always loved Margaret.

“Stop that talk,” Margaret admonished. “Momma never gave you credit, Gen. Just because you weren’t interested in prom dresses or lip gloss didn’t mean you weren’t attractive. You are, you know. You’re beautiful.”

Margaret’s words were like a soothing balm, coating over a lifetime of old hurts and imagined slights. Once again Gen wondered if maybe the world hadn’t pushed her away as much as she’d been pushing.

After her sister settled yet another argument with her children, she came back on the line. “Gen, I’ve got the perfect hobby. It’s not quite crafty, but it’s more your speed. Gardening.”

Didn’t that involve plants? Keeping things alive? “Seriously?”

“Gardening would be perfect. It’s physical and you’ll get to sweat. I know how you like to do that,” she teased.

Now wait a minute! “Margaret—”

But all her sister did was speak a little louder. “You’ll get to nurture something. Be outside. Be around other people.”

“I’m around a lot of people with my job.”

“Giving them tickets! That’ll make you a lot of friends! Gardening is different. It’s calm.”

Calm did sound good. “How is gardening going to improve my love life?”

“Everyone who gardens talks about gardening. Maybe you could join a club,” Margaret continued. The way she was rushing her words told Gen she was getting more and more excited by the suggestion.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said sarcastically.

As the kids started going crazy in the background, Margaret said, “Ugh, these three are driving me batty today. I’ve gotta go. Did I help at all?”

She sounded so enthusiastic Gen couldn’t say no. Although Gen wasn’t great at asking Meg for help, she wanted a better relationship with her sister. Perhaps the gap wasn’t quite as one-sided as Gen had always thought it to be and Meg had just been waiting for Gen to make the first step. Maybe—just maybe—one day they could be a whole lot closer. “Some,” she said.

“Easter’s coming. Grow a lily. It might be fun.”

One plant. She could do that. “Maybe I will. Oh! I almost forgot to tell you—I won’t be coming home for Easter. I’ve gotta work.”

“I kinda figured that since you’ve never been able to make it home for many holidays.” Will, Meg’s baby, was now crying hard enough to wake the dead. “Shoot. I really gotta go. Bye!”

After Gen hung up, she turned to Sadie. “I have a plan. One day soon I’m going to grow lilies and think about something else besides work, Cary Hudson or industrial-size bags of peanut M&M’s.”

Sadie rolled to her side and groaned just as Gen’s cell phone rang. “Slate.”

“Gen, I’ve got a problem,” Sam said. “I can’t find the report about Mrs. Bodwell’s car break-in. Any idea where you put it?”

“Yep.” As Gen told Sam where she filed her paperwork before going off duty, then volunteered to help him find it, Sadie opened one eye and blinked.

Gen had a pretty good idea what the beagle was thinking. Her new hobby might not come about quite as quickly as she hoped.

“I’M ON TRAFFIC DUTY?” Gen asked late Monday afternoon. “Again? It’s raining.” Directing traffic in the rain meant wet feet and annoyed drivers. She’d be soaked to the skin in minutes.

Gen didn’t really mind the duty, but since she’d been asked to direct traffic the last two times it rained, the assignment felt like a game of “let’s haze the rookie.”

She’d already gone through this ritual with the Cincinnati Police Department and she wasn’t eager to do it again. “Who decided the new girl needed this job?” she said out loud to the nearly empty rec room.

“This old guy,” Sergeant John Conrad called from the far corner, and her heart jumped into her throat. “I thought you could take a shift,” he said in his trademark scratchy voice. “You know, do your part?” As he stepped out of the shadows, he added, “Unless you got a problem with that, Slate?”

She stood at attention. “No, sir. I have no problem with the assignment. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you over by the coffeemaker.”

“I figured as much.” Sergeant Conrad grinned, causing the creases around his eyes to deepen. “At ease, Gen.”

She attempted to backtrack. “I didn’t mean to complain. It was more like good-natured griping.”

“I hear ya. I do the same thing about the bran flakes my wife makes me eat every morning.” He cleared his throat. “Since we’re chatting and all, the lieutenant asked me to check in with you.” Conrad sat down, gingerly resting his back against the back of the plastic chair. “So, you, uh, doing okay in Lane’s End? Getting used to the place? Getting used to the department?”

“I am.” Gen sat down across from him, noticing Sam Clark sitting nearby reading a magazine.

“Good. Good. Things are different here than in the CPD. Our community expects you to take time to get to know them.” Tapping a beat-up ballpoint pen on his clipboard, he added, “It makes your job easier, by the way, if you’re familiar with everyone.”

Gen knew what he was trying to say. It had been hard to get used to the new department’s way of doing things. In Lane’s End, the cops worked together, not competitively as they had in Cincinnati.

Gen had also been trying to choose her words more carefully, since she’d been fool enough to let all the cops in her old department witness her jealousy of Keaton’s new girlfriend. But as Gen realized she’d just been openly complaining about traffic duty, she knew she needed to work on that.

“I did go to a basketball game,” she said, eager to at least prove that she’d been trying to get out in the community more.

Sam snorted from his seat, showing he wasn’t that engrossed in his reading, after all—and reminded Gen that she’d fought the excursion to the school last week tooth and nail.

Sergeant Conrad nodded. “That’s the way. I thought I’d heard you went to the Lions game the other night. I missed it—grandkids.”

“It’s too bad you didn’t make it.” As she recalled the way the Lions had fought after slipping by six points, she added, “It was pretty exciting. Half the town was there.” Including Cary Hudson.

“Lieutenant Banks recommended we assign additional officers for the next game. If the Lions keep winning, things could get out of hand.”

Recalling how loud and vibrant the place had been, Gen attempted to imagine it even more jam-packed.

“I heard through the grapevine that the high school wants to do a parade if we go to state,” Sam interjected, his magazine now closed.

“That’ll be fun,” the sergeant said, sarcasm coating his voice. “A third of the town’s going to be in the parade, another third is going to want to watch the thing and the last third is going to raise enough Cain about the traffic and congestion that we’ll wish the game of basketball had never been invented.”

Gen laughed. After getting caught up in downtown’s traffic, she had a feeling she knew which third she would be a part of.

The sergeant tapped his watch. “Speaking of traffic, half of Lane’s End is going to be heading through downtown right about now. If you haven’t figured it out yet, families here take their soccer practices seriously.”

“Even in the rain?”

“Especially in the rain. Better get a move on, Slate. And don’t forget your slicker.”

“I won’t.”

She darted a look toward Sam as she exited the room. As if lying in wait, he brushed at the perfect crease along the sleeve of his crisp oxford. “Shame about the rain, Gen,” he said. “It’s not supposed to let up before nightfall.”

“Thanks for the update.”

Hastily Gen grabbed a headset, pulled out a bright yellow slicker from her locker, then strode to her cruiser. Thank goodness she’d already inspected the car when she’d come on shift so she wouldn’t have to do the lengthy once-over in the rain. Finally she radioed that she was leaving the premises and pulled out of the parking lot.

Today’s assignment was yet another taste of life as a small-town cop. Every day involved doing whatever was necessary to maintain peace and tranquility in town and chipping in as a team to do just that. Being a team player was a hard way to go in one respect since she was so used to trying to prove herself and competing for recognition.

But as she parked the car in the main intersection, donned the rain gear and stepped out into the drizzle, she felt the weighty responsibility she’d always carried with pride. Someone needed to do the jobs others didn’t want to. Someone needed to step up and take responsibility.

And though she might complain about getting wet, she’d never been one to dodge duty.

Chapter Five

As Sergeant Conrad had predicted, the traffic was heavy. With practiced ease, Gen motioned cars through the intersection, giving grumblers her best stony glare and nodding her thanks to friendlier drivers. To Gen’s surprise, two high school kids even smiled shyly when she waved them on through.

Despite her concerns about the rain, the slicker had kept Gen relatively dry. She just wished it were summer—the damp chill kept the job from being completely bearable.

After her shift, Gen clocked out and raced home to her rooms on the top floor of a sixty-year-old white clapboard house at the corner of Plymouth and Third Avenue. Consisting of a bedroom, small bath, galley kitchen and comfortable living area, the place had more than enough space for her and Sadie.

The old oak floors and thick rag rugs her landlady had made years ago made Gen smile, and suited her low-maintenance lifestyle to a T. Sadie barked a greeting from her kennel the minute Gen opened the front door.

“Hey, girl,” Gen said as she placed her purse on the kitchen table. “Let’s get you some fresh air.” Sadie whined as Gen clipped on her leash and led her outside.

As expected, the dog balked about doing her business in the rain, but Gen wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was glad she still had her slicker on as the dog combed the perimeter.

“Hi, Gen!” Bonnie Walker, her landlady, shouted from the back porch. “You picking up after that dog?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As Sadie trotted back and forth, smelling every bush in sight, Bonnie called out again. “It’s taking Sadie a while.”

“It always does.”

As Sadie inspected a tree, seeming to forget all about her disdain for rain, Bonnie pointed to Gen’s hair. “You’re getting soaked.”

Her landlady had a flair for the obvious. “Yes, ma’am.”

“When Sadie’s done, come on in and have some cookies. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee, too.”

The hot liquid sounded heavenly, but she was a mess, and Bonnie was a meticulous housekeeper. There was no way Gen wanted to offend her by dripping water on her rugs. “Thanks, but maybe some other time.”

“No, you don’t. You take off your rain gear and join me in the kitchen.”

Even Sadie’s ears looked muddy. “Sadie—”

“She’s just a bit wet. Come on in and I’ll pull out a towel for her.” Bonnie paused. “Truth is, I could sure use some company.”

Gen couldn’t refuse that. “I’ll be right there.”

As soon as Sadie was finished, Gen dutifully led her to Bonnie’s back door, wiped down her paws, then slipped out of her own dripping slicker and shoes. Immediately a curtain of warmth enveloped her.

Though Bonnie was old enough to be her mother, she always made Gen feel comfortable, thanks to her frank way of speaking and easy smiles.

“So tell me how your day directing traffic went,” Bonnie said as she placed two mugs of piping-hot coffee and a plate of chocolate-chip cookies on the table.

“It was about what you’d expect—wet and long.” Realizing even she hadn’t known she was going to be out in the rain until a few hours ago, Gen stared at Bonnie. “How did you know what I was doing today?”

“Two women from church saw you on their way to visit me. They said you did a good job, like a real pro.” Bonnie cackled. “They said you were giving a couple of dads in minivans a good dressing-down when they tried to cut off the other drivers. How’d you learn to do all those hand gestures and such?”

“My ex-partner taught me,” Gen said aloud, recalling Keaton’s advice. “Directing traffic’s no fun in the rain, but it’s not hard. Just takes some getting used to.”

Bonnie nodded sagely. “Like arthritis. My hands certainly aren’t what they used to be.”

Gen glanced at Bonnie’s hand, saw her swollen knuckles and how the fingers were bent at uncomfortable angles. “Ouch.”

“I’m okay. I could take more medicine, but it makes me sleepy.” She pushed the plate closer to Gen. “Have another cookie.”

Gen couldn’t refuse, especially since Bonnie had put out a rawhide chew for Sadie and it was clear her dog wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon. “Thank you.”

Gen stayed with Bonnie a full hour before saying goodbye. Bonnie looked tired and Gen had things to do, not to mention that no amount of rawhide would hold over Sadie at dinnertime.

Once at home, she turned on the stereo and poured a generous amount of Mighty Munchies for Sadie. Although she was now dry, Gen took a hot shower, but not before popping a frozen pizza into the oven for herself.

Finally settled, Gen leaned back on the couch, work crossing her mind once again. Who had damaged Melissa Hudson’s car?

Though she’d spoken to Dean on the phone earlier this morning, Gen had decided to go ahead and meet with Melissa again anyway. While her gut told her the vandal had randomly chosen Melissa’s Civic, experience said it was better to be a little overzealous than remiss, especially since she was new to Lane’s End. The townspeople would want to know what had happened so the culprit could be punished.

For an instant she considered talking to Sam, to see how he would recommend handling the case, then rejected that idea. She’d only look weak if she asked for help. And while she might admit her personal faults to her sister, admitting professional ones would never do, especially if she wanted to fit in and be accepted.

CARY DRUMMED HIS fingers on his binder while Evan droned on about the state of Ohio’s new graduation requirements. Usually Cary enjoyed the opportunity to see his coworkers and interact with other adults for an hour, but today’s topic was beyond boring. It also didn’t help that he could see Kate every time he looked at Evan, reminding Cary once again that he’d been the proverbial fool in love. To avoid catching Kate’s eye, he stared at his binder.

Christy, on the other hand, relieved her boredom by passing notes just like the kids in his class.

Kate’s now seeing Andrew Richards’s dad. What do you think of that?

Cary fought to keep his expression neutral. That was news. Through the grapevine, he’d heard Michael had dropped Kate as soon as he’d accepted Lakota’s offer. Discovering Kate had already moved on was a true surprise. Especially when her new “someone” was as fake as city councilman Clay Richards.

Kate was obviously putting her cool blond charm to good use. How could Cary have been so gullible to think that she’d been in love with him?

Maybe she’ll become a lady of leisure soon, he wrote back. He winked when Christy opened the note and grinned.

“Hudson, you have a question about our topic?”

Busted. “No, Evan,” he said.

“No questions about the new credit requirements?”

“No. I’ve read the information carefully. But I’ll do it again just to make sure I haven’t missed something,” he said, deliberately ignoring Dave’s laugh, which he hadn’t quite hidden behind his cough.

“Good.” Evan stepped from behind the podium. “Before we wrap up, we couldn’t end this staff meeting without acknowledging Brad. As everyone knows, Coach Jackson has done a tremendous job this season. Because tomorrow night’s game is crucial, on Wednesday we’ll be going to our short schedule and hosting a pep rally at one o’clock. Tickets for the game will go on sale at lunch.”

Spontaneous applause broke out for the likable basketball coach.

Evan tapped the podium. “First bell rings in four minutes. Have a good day.”

Echoing their students’ enthusiasm at the end of class, the teachers eagerly filed out of the staff room. In the commotion, Cary bumped into Kate. “Sorry,” he said, his voice catching in his throat.

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