He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, praying all the while she wouldn’t.

He brushed his lips softly against hers, then kissed her lightly, only once, the small motion causing every nerve in him to stand on edge.

He wanted so much more, but he would have to be satisfied with this for the time being. Paige needed her space. When she was ready, she would have to make the next move.

But, for the first time in a long time, he felt confident enough, and ready, to try again with a woman. This woman. The frayed edges Callie had left behind seemed to have softened just a bit since he’d met Paige.

On the other hand, if this was what she could do to him after just a few days, he was in real trouble.

His Texas Forever Family

Amy Woods

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Although she’s wanted to be a writer since learning to read, AMY WOODS took the scenic route to her job as an author. She’s been a bookkeeper, a high school English teacher, a claims specialist and a call-center worker, but now that she’s tried making up stories for a living, she’s never giving it up. She grew up in Austin, Texas, and still lives there with her wonderfully goofy, supportive husband and a very spoiled rescue dog. Amy looks forward to getting to know her readers and can be reached on Facebook, Twitter or at her website, www.amywoodsbooks.com.

For Carly Silver,

editor extraordinaire, who believes in my writing and helped make a lifelong dream come true.

For J.R.—

the crazy guy who married me and taught me to believe that true love exists, and that finding happiness is worth taking risks.

For Mom,

whose unwavering love and support allow me to fly and offer a soft place to land when I fall.

For Maggie—

the rescue dog who stole my heart and has me wrapped around her little dewclaw.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Assistant Principal Graham,” the intercom spat, “please report to Art Room One. Your assistance is needed immediately.”

Paige Graham looked up from the two ten-year-olds she’d just separated from a scuffle and listened as the receptionist called her a second time over the school’s outside intercom.

What now?

“This time it’s just a warning, but if you two keep this up, we’re going to have a talk with your parents,” she told the boys.

“Yes, Ms. Graham,” the boys said obligingly in unison, though they glared at each other from where they stood on either side of her.

Paige ran a hand through the wind-twisted tangles of her hair and checked her watch. Only 9:00 a.m. and the day was shaping up to be an uphill battle. The first day of school was always hectic, which was to be expected with the kids still sun-gilded, full of summer energy and longing to catch up with their friends. Throughout her career as a school administrator, she’d had many chaotic first days, but this one took the cake so far—and the blissful sound of the last bell was still hours away.

Paige stepped out from between the boys and made her way from her post near the bus drop to the front of Peach Leaf Elementary School. Glancing back over her shoulder to make sure the boys’ brawl didn’t rekindle in her absence, she stepped inside the glass double doors.

She tossed hellos and welcome-backs to her colleagues as she passed familiar students on her way down the first-floor hallway to the art classroom.

Why couldn’t a teacher with a planning period look in on the class? Or heaven forbid, a prearranged substitute teacher?

Then again, it was the first day of school, so it was entirely possible that all the teachers’ aides were occupied helping out with their new classes and didn’t have a spare moment to assist with another. She could definitely relate.

It was only morning, but Paige already had a packed schedule—a meeting with her boss, Principal Matthews, in less than an hour, a few special-education plans to look over and sign before then...not to mention the new-teacher luncheon and two afternoon Individual Education Plan conferences. The nature of her job meant a steady stream of unpredictable adjustments and rearranged schedules, but the crammed day ahead left little room for taking over a class at the last minute

Paige cursed herself for wearing her new shoes on the first day of school. She should have worn her trusty low-heeled black pumps with the sensible insoles and not these cute but torturous, toe-pinching, three-inch-high sling-backs before having had a chance to break them in. Why was she trying to follow trends? She was much better off sticking with the black basics and clean lines she usually wore to prove that, despite being only thirty-one, she was indeed serious about her position as assistant principal.

Reaching the art room, Paige opened the door and pulled a deep breath into her lungs.

Although a few students were running around chasing each other, and several others had opened cabinets to pull out crayons and paper, a quick scan of the room indicated that at least nobody was bleeding or seriously injured, and the paints were lined up on a high windowsill in a tidy rainbow. And none of the kids had decided to give each other tattoos—yet.

Paige was surprised at the nervous fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. She’d had several years of teaching experience before she’d landed the coveted Assistant Principal job at Peach Leaf Elementary. She still adored working with kids, but there was no denying that a few years had passed since she’d been on the front line and she wasn’t exactly thrilled to be pitched back into it without warning on the first day of school.

Where was he?

Paige tried to recall the new instructor’s name. Something Camden, she thought—no—Campbell. That was it: Liam Campbell. He’d been hired by Principal Matthews at the last minute from a school in Abilene on very high recommendation from his former boss, although Paige wondered now why he’d moved if his last school had loved him so much.

“Hey, give that back!” The shout interrupted her thoughts and, squaring her shoulders, Paige stepped farther into the classroom and cleared her throat.

“All right, guys,” she said sternly, causing the kids to stop what they were doing and scurry to their desks. Maybe these new heels were a good idea after all. They did add a couple of inches to her petite frame, creating what she hoped was an authoritative presence.

The students paused and turned from each other to stare at Paige, their excited grins disappearing behind tightened lips at her warning tone.

“I see some familiar faces, but for those of you who are new, I’m Assistant Principal Graham.”

Paige couldn’t help but smile inwardly at the collective intake of breath. There was something cautionary about the word “Principal” that made kids think twice before acting out in her presence. When working with kids, Paige knew she was fair and gentle, but she could also draw a hard line when necessary. And she liked it that way.

She looked out at the room of fifth graders, most of whom had found desks and straightened their spines reflexively against the backs of their chairs when she introduced herself.

“Mr. Campbell is running a little bit late, so we’re going to have to be patient until he gets here,” she said.

The kids looked around at each other and she caught a few wary glances between friends.

“Does anyone want to talk about what they did this summer?” Paige’s question was met with more than a few eye rolls. She had to admit it was a bit routine, but what else could she do when the lesson plan for the day wasn’t anywhere to be found? Paige could barely draw a stick figure, much less teach art.

“Somebody must’ve done something cool or exciting.” She looked at a familiar student grinning from the front row. “Katie, why don’t you tell us what you did this summer?” As the little girl described her week at the beach and then several other students chimed in with their adventures, the elusive Mr. Campbell finally decided to grace the class with his presence.

Paige released a small sigh of relief, thankful to have escaped the possibility of a boredom-induced mutiny.

“Good morning, class,” he said, surveying the room. “I’m your art teacher, Mr. Campbell.”

Even as he moved quickly, his posture remained somehow both easy and confident. His slacks and button-down shirt, the large camping backpack slung over one shoulder and the healthy ruddiness of his cheeks made him look like a graduate student back from some exotic archaeological dig rather than a new teacher at a Texas elementary school. Paige wondered again what he was doing in Peach Leaf and what prompted him to move to the small town.

She’d have to be blind not to notice how ruggedly gorgeous the new teacher was. He was so tall that his head had almost made contact with the doorway as he entered. His eyes, the color of pine needles, were set underneath longish, tousled ebony hair and eyebrows, which rose in what looked infuriatingly like humor. And when Liam spoke, those eyes grinned at her, the slightest crinkles at the corners revealing that there wasn’t much he took seriously.

Including, it seemed, being on time to the first day of a new position.

Paige was almost grateful for the angry burn rising up in her chest because it made it easier to stop focusing on Liam’s dark good looks.

“Well,” she said, moving to block him from heading straight to his desk. “Good morning, Mr. Campbell. So glad you’re able to finally join us.”

A few snickers broke the quiet that had settled upon his arrival.

She knew she should keep her annoyance to herself, especially in front of the kids, but Paige felt the hot itch of irritation in her chest as she watched the new teacher move casually into his new classroom, as though he hadn’t arrived late on his first day and wreaked havoc on her carefully planned morning.

“So sorry,” Liam said in the West Texas drawl almost everyone in Peach Leaf shared. Somehow, though, his accent was deeper and richer, and it sounded disturbingly warm to Paige.

“Never mind,” she told Liam, straightening her spine and pushing her shoulders back. “You’ve got plenty to do here, as your class is almost over and you’ve yet to even take attendance. We’ll discuss this later.”

“All right,” Liam said, “and again, my apologies. Perhaps if you knew the reason for my...”

“As I said,” Paige interrupted, crossing her arms tighter and glaring at him, “we’ll have to speak later. I’m due for a meeting and, well, you have a class to teach.”

She released one arm and raised a palm in the direction of the fifteen pairs of eyes staring from the desks. It crossed her mind briefly that she was being a bit hard on him. First days were rough on everyone. But she’d learned from being in charge of kids, including her own son, that it was always better to be firm at first and lay out expectations clearly. The warmth would come later, when they’d figured out it was in their best interest to follow the rules.

“Okay, then. Have it your way,” Liam said, one corner of his mouth turned up as though he might laugh at her. She wanted to reach up and knock the grin off his face. How dare he not take her seriously? What could possibly be funny about this situation?

“Good. I’ll expect you in my office after the last bell.”

Paige ignored the kids’ collective “ooh” that followed, but Liam silenced it with a single stern look and a raised hand, and she made a mental note of how he quickly established control in his classroom. He definitely had a strong presence. Maybe he’d make a good teacher yet. He just needed to know what was expected of him.

Especially when her little boy would be in his afternoon class.

Liam nodded and then stared at her for a moment, hands on hips, lips curved up at the corners in what could only be a mocking grin before Paige realized she was blocking the aisle. She took a step aside so he could make his way to his new desk, but Paige couldn’t help herself and reached out an arm.

“And Mr. Campbell?” she said, tapping his forearm as he passed.

“Yes,” Liam said, turning to look at her.

“Do try to be on time to our meeting.”

* * *

“Okay, class, that’s all for today,” Liam told his first graders that afternoon. “Don’t forget to bring an object from home tomorrow. We’re going to be telling stories about them, and then on Wednesday we’ll get to start painting pictures of them. So pick something you really, really like. You’ll be stuck with it for a few days so you don’t want to choose something you can’t stand to look at.”

The musical sound of the kids’ giggles filled the room as Liam scrunched up his face in mock disgust. He finished collecting the students’ drawings and, as they filed out, Liam wiped his face and sunk into his chair, setting his feet on the desktop.

After the unfortunate introduction to the Assistant Principal, he’d been flustered, and it took him a bit before he recalled the lesson he’d planned a few weeks ago. Before today, he’d only met with Principal Matthews, who had hired him. But Assistant Principal Graham was something else—a force to be reckoned with—and he supposed he’d just have to get used to her in time. But he didn’t appreciate the way she’d lit into him in front of his students without allowing him to get a word in edgewise in the way of explanation. He planned on telling her so at their meeting in a few minutes.

With her shoulder-length blond curls and her baby blue eyes, she had looked like the human version of a spring day. He loved that she wore so little makeup and he could see fully the fresh glow of her creamy skin—even underneath the red-hot anger that had covered her face. Liam chuckled to himself as he thought of how mad she’d been—so out of proportion to the circumstance. She’d acted for all the world like a fire-breathing dragon and there’d been something about her seriousness that had made him want to push her buttons even more.

Not that he hadn’t been in the wrong. Liam never made it a practice to be late to work. In fact, he hated that he’d made a bad impression on his first day, which he’d have to work twice as hard to overcome. It was just that his morning art-therapy group at the hospital where he interned part-time could sometimes draw him in and he found it incredibly difficult to pull away from them, even though he knew the drive back to Peach Leaf would take an hour. Unlike the kids he would be teaching at the elementary school, the kids in the group he’d started as part of his dissertation research struggled with burdens that even their parents had trouble understanding—anything from minor speech impediments to serious emotional baggage caused by various types of trauma. It was Liam’s job to teach his patients various methods of expression that would allow them to begin working through their pain.

Helping kids uncover their deepest emotions was the first step to healing. Often art gave them a way to articulate their feelings about whatever distress had brought them to his practice. He could then converse with them about how to feel better. He’d seen all kinds of grief over his years as a certified art therapist and had witnessed the power that making art could have when it came to expression. Many times, his patients didn’t even realize what they were feeling until it revealed itself during the repetitive motions of painting or molding clay. It was an amazing thing to watch, and Liam hoped that someday soon, when he’d completed his doctorate, he could explore even further the potential of art in mending broken lives.

But he’d have to make sure to compartmentalize the two to keep from being late again. At least until he could make his dream of becoming a full-time therapist come true.

He did love teaching, especially the first graders who made up his last class of the day. They were still very young and, for the most part, sweet to their teachers and each other, but their minds were eager and fresh and were opening up to the world in ways that were exciting to watch. In the past hour, Liam had loved watching their creative brains at work as they’d begun their first drawings of the year. Seeing students learn about themselves through art was why he’d chosen to teach—at least before his master’s classes had introduced him to the captivating possibilities of art therapy. It was during those classes that he’d discovered how powerful self-expression through art could be in helping children understand difficult circumstances like death, illness or divorce—things that, without intervention, could cause enough disruption to stall learning during formative years.

As he walked to his meeting with Assistant Principal Graham, he vowed to make her understand that he loved and respected this job and that he wouldn’t be late again. He couldn’t risk losing his position if he wanted to stay in Peach Leaf, and he didn’t want to go back to his teaching job in Abilene.

At least not while Callie was still working at the school. Not after the way things had ended.

The city and his old job held too many memories. He needed a fresh start, a new beginning where no one knew his old family name, and where he didn’t connect moments with Callie to every landmark and street corner. In Peach Leaf, he hoped he could just be Liam Campbell, art teacher—not Liam Campbell, the divorced, black-sheep son of a famous oil tycoon.

When he departed Abilene, he’d left behind his broken heart and had no interest in ever seeing his father or Callie again. He had always wanted kids, but Callie had never taken to the idea. They’d gotten together in college and at that time, Liam hadn’t given it much thought because they’d been young. But as the years of their marriage had gone on and she’d resisted the conversation with more vehemence, Liam had eventually let it drop. And then she left him, and from where he sat now, following a messy divorce, he wasn’t sure that the possibility of children was anywhere in his future.

No, what he needed now was to look ahead and make his home here, away from the pain he’d left behind, and focus on his career. He refused to let any woman get close to him again—they had no place in his life. And after what had happened with his ex-wife, he was pretty sure they had no place for him either.

Which was why it was so frustrating that Assistant Principal Graham had gotten to him the way she had that morning.

As he neared the front office, Liam tried to push the thoughts of his failed relationship and the fiery assistant principal out of his mind. This past summer had been the roughest of his life, and he was ready for a new beginning. But something else was crowding his mind. He needed to talk to her about the interesting student in his last-period class. At first the kid hadn’t stood out to him at all; if anything, he’d blended in a little too well, being much quieter and far more reserved than a typical first grader.

But he did eventually stick out. The kid had been completely silent and hadn’t said a single word the entire class, while the others had been chatty little balls of energy. The students had all readily offered their names, wiggling in their seats as they’d raised their hands for a chance to talk and had interacted with him without any effort.

Except this one.

When Liam had taken attendance, the kids who seemed to be his friends told him the boy’s name—Owen. Liam hadn’t thought much of it—he knew firsthand from his group that some kids just took longer to come out of their shells, and pushing too hard could have a negative effect. But he’d make a point of talking to Owen tomorrow. And in the meantime, Liam would see if Ms. Graham knew anything about the little guy so Liam could give the boy extra resources if necessary. When he finished meeting with her, he’d go back to his classroom and check his student files to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

“Good afternoon,” Liam said as he approached the brunette at the desk in the front office.

The young woman removed her headset and grinned up at him.

“Good afternoon to you,” she said, her voice soft and kind, a complete contrast to the low, angry tone—practically a growl—that Assistant Principal Graham had greeted him with that morning. The voice he couldn’t get out of his head.

“And who are you?” He reached his own hand across the receptionist’s desk and shook the one she offered.

“I’m Liam Campbell. I have a meeting with Assistant Principal Graham at four o’clock...” Liam looked at the nameplate on the desk, “...Emma,” he added.

“Of course,” she said, checking her computer. “She’s got you down right here. I’ll just call her and let her know you’ll be in.” Emma smiled up at him as she picked up the phone.

“Go on in,” she said after a moment.

“She can be a little bit bristly, can’t she?” Liam said in a low voice, winking at Emma. Emma giggled and pointed to the short hallway behind her desk. Liam found the door marked “Paige Graham” and tapped softly on the wood.

After a moment, Paige opened the door. Liam cursed himself for the heat that rushed up his spine when he saw her. It must just be my nerves. After all, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to being chastised again like a troublesome kid. He’d already gotten the point.

She was a prickly one, but dang if she wasn’t lovely, too. Her skin glowed in the afternoon light filtering in through the large office windows, and she’d taken off her suit jacket, revealing long, slender arms. As he met the harried expression on her face, Liam found himself thinking that maybe he’d just have to get through a few of her cactus spines before he could find the soft flesh underneath....

Liam stepped past Paige and she closed the door, motioning for him to sit in one of the chairs in front of her desk.

“Is something amusing, Mr. Campbell?” she asked.

He cut short his study of her as she spoke. “Of course not,” he said. He hadn’t even known he was smiling until she’d caught him. Where was his usual controlled nonchalance?

“Good,” she said, briefly returning her attention to the papers spread out on the solemn-looking oak desk.

The desk suits her, Liam thought as he sat and folded his hands on his lap, waiting for her to finish sorting the work that was obviously more important than him.

“Now, Mr. Campbell,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. “I won’t take too much of your time as I’m sure you have plenty to do,” she said, lacing her fingers in front of her. Liam got the strong sensation that he was just another item to check off her To-Deal-With list.

“But,” she continued, “I just wanted to make it absolutely clear that tardiness will not be tolerated at this school.”

Liam winced at the word. Tardy? He wasn’t one of her students and certainly didn’t appreciate being treated with such disdain. He had a master’s degree in art education, thank you very much, and was well on his way to a Ph.D., so who was she to talk to him so condescendingly? Sure, she was in a position of authority, but that didn’t give her the right to berate him for one mistake. He was the one doing the school a favor by filling an open position at the last minute, not the other way around.

Liam set his mouth to keep from saying something he’d regret. Forcing a polite smile, he met her cornflower eyes and addressed her, matching her less than friendly tone with his own.

“As I said this morning, Mrs. Graham, I’m very sorry that I was late. It will not happen again. But there’s a good reason...”

“It’s Ms., not Mrs., Graham,” she interrupted.

He couldn’t believe that she wouldn’t let him talk for one minute... Wait a second—why was he relieved at the correction? And anyway, what was he doing thinking about her like that? Even if he was interested in letting another woman into his life, which he wasn’t, it sure wouldn’t be someone as uptight as Paige Graham.

Liam said nothing, concentrating his effort on stopping the cascade of disconcerting thoughts. She’d have to learn to listen before he’d waste another breath trying to talk to her. He was patient, but a man had only so much courtesy, and she was pushing it.

Paige’s face softened slightly. “Look, Mr. Campbell, there’s something else I want to say.” She raised a hand to rub her temples and closed her eyes for a few seconds. The brief gesture caused an unwelcome softness to swell in his chest. He saw for the first time how stressed she seemed to be and noticed the pale purple half-moons under her otherwise pretty—more than pretty, beautiful, if he was honest—eyes. After all, she looked barely twenty-five, although Liam assumed she had to be older than that to have worked her way up to her position. She certainly behaved like someone older.

What in her life could possibly account for that air of severity hovering around her?

* * *

After a few minutes, Paige opened her eyes and met Liam’s, which, despite everything, weren’t filled with the irritation she’d expected. She hadn’t meant to be so hard on him that morning, and honestly, she owed him an apology. She resisted the urge to explain herself, not wanting to bring up Owen or the challenging time she’d had getting him to school that morning.

It had been her husband’s job to get Owen to school most mornings because Paige had to be there so much earlier than her son. It was hard enough on both of them now, with her working at her own child’s school, but it had been a lot less stressful when Owen’s dad had taken care of getting him there.

A lot of things had been easier when Mark had been around. When he’d been alive.

The past six months had stretched Paige’s nerves as thin as they could go. But no matter how hard things had gotten, and no matter how many days and nights she worried how her son would fare growing up without his father, she knew it was always a thousand times worse for Owen. Her heart ached for her little boy, and as she worried about him for the millionth time that day, she had to fight the tears that crowded behind her eyes and threatened to make her look even more off-kilter than she must have already that morning.

But Liam Campbell didn’t need to know any of that.

She only needed to reestablish her authority as his superior, and then hopefully she could refer him to Principal Matthews if any issues came up in the future.

She met Liam’s eyes, the rich, heady green of them hitting her all over again.

“What I wanted to say is that I’m very sorry for the way things happened this morning.”

Paige looked down at her hands. She felt the entire day sitting heavily on her shoulders, and the startling thought invaded her mind of how great a massage would be. How wonderful Liam’s large hands would feel, kneading the tension from her tight muscles, melting away the weight of all the hats she wore—assistant principal, mother and father. She felt heat rush to her cheeks.

What is wrong with you? Get it together, Paige. You’re the man’s boss, for goodness’ sake.

“Even though it was unprofessional and inconvenient of you to arrive late on your first day, I shouldn’t have reprimanded you in front of the kids, and I do apologize.”

Despite her intention, it didn’t sound like much of an apology, even to her own ears. She hoped he would accept it anyway. What was it about him that set her off so easily, that made her want to keep him at a safe distance from the rush of confusion in her body, yet also draw him nearer?

“That’s fine,” Liam said, offering her a gentle smile that Paige hoped was as sincere as she’d meant her words to sound. The last thing she needed was to be at odds with one of her staff. Their opinions of her meant more than most of them probably knew, especially with the possibility of a promotion coming up.

She’d been a teacher herself after graduating from college until she finished her master’s degree and became a supervisor two years before, so Paige knew exactly what instructors went through each day on the job and how tough it could be sometimes. She made a point to visit her staff in action regularly and talk with them so that she didn’t lose touch with what it felt like to be in the classroom.

“So, then,” she said, feeling relieved. “Can we start fresh? Consider this our first meeting?”

Paige hoped she didn’t sound too desperate. Something about this man just put her on edge. Liam looked at her, his eyes still narrowed a little—trying to read her, she supposed—and then seemed to decide it was safe to agree to a truce. He reached a large hand across her desk. She noticed the colors underneath his fingernails and caught the pleasant, familiar scent of crayon wax from his skin and thought of how much Owen loved art. She resisted the strong compulsion to ask how Liam’s first day of class had gone, and whether or not he’d noticed her son’s disability.

“Done,” he said. Paige shook his hand and started at how wonderful it felt, firm and warm around her own small, cool one. She hoped he didn’t notice her slight jump at his touch and was grateful when he quickly pulled away from her and rose to leave. He made it to the door and turned back around to retrace his steps, and her heart did a small flip.

“I wanted to ask you about one more thing,” he said, sitting back in the chair and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Of course.”

“There’s a young man in my last class, the first graders, who I noticed has a bit of an issue. With all the first-day stuff, the period went by fast, so it could be nothing, but I wanted to make sure. I thought you might know if there’s a history.”

A lump rose quickly in Paige’s throat, and she could feel her neck turning crimson with heat. She knew instantly he was talking about Owen and was thankful Liam hadn’t made the connection. After all, Graham was a fairly common surname, and the new teacher had so many new names to commit to memory that he’d likely overlooked it.

She looked up to see his brows knit with concern—concern for her child.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, leaning forward to place a hand on her desk.

“Yes,” she lied.

Paige willed herself to maintain composure. She was an assistant principal and every kid should be her priority. She couldn’t think of Owen any differently.

But he was different. He was her own. And things were obviously still not okay, even after everything they’d tried over the past six months to get him talking again. She’d known she’d been senselessly optimistic by hoping that Owen’s first day of first grade would miraculously cure his selective mutism, but her heart had jumped ahead anyway and she hadn’t been able to stop herself from hoping he might speak to his friends or his new teachers.

Despite the rocky time they’d had getting to school that morning, Paige had been hoping that they could both start fresh this year.

That the Owen she knew would recover and resume communicating with the rest of the world.

But nothing had changed, and Paige had to admit they were running out of options.

She snapped back to her office. Liam was staring at her, his green eyes full of curiosity.

She would have to find the right way to bring up Owen. As a parent of one of his students, she knew there would come a time soon enough when Liam would find out about Owen’s disability, but Paige didn’t want him to think her incapable of objectivity by focusing all of her attention on her own son at their first one-on-one meeting. As assistant principal, all of the students were her responsibility, not just her own little guy.

“What is it?”

“Well, it could just be that it’s the beginning of the year, and the boy is shy, but...” Liam hesitated.

“But...” Paige prompted.

“But he didn’t speak during the whole period. I mean, he didn’t say a single word. And, like I said, maybe it’s just first-day jitters. We’ve all had that, including me, but...”

Paige ignored the reference to their morning run-in.

“Even with all of that, most first graders I know have plenty to say, and well, this kid didn’t say anything. It seemed like more than just shyness. I think there might be something more serious going on.”

Paige forced herself to swallow the fist-sized lump in her throat before working up the courage to speak, and she sent up a silent wish that her voice would come out sounding as normal as possible.

“I’m just curious, so that I can look into finding extra help for him if it comes to that, but may I ask something?” Paige said.

Liam nodded.

Paige measured her words carefully, wanting desperately to know every single detail about what had gone on during the class, every minute piece of information possible but knowing too that it was her job to give Owen the chance to be a normal kid. To let his actions, rather than her overprotective nature, speak for him. She knew he would hate it if he found out that she’d been talking to Mr. Campbell. And she couldn’t stand feeling that she’d betrayed her son.

“Did the other kids make fun of him or tease him in any way? Did they seem to think there was something...wrong...with him?” If Liam picked up on her hesitation to be frank with him, his face gave nothing away. He seemed to simply weigh her question carefully before answering with equal mindfulness.

“No, nothing like that. And actually, Owen seems to have quite a few buddies in the class. But when I tried to get him to talk to me, even to introduce himself, he wouldn’t interact at all. Some of the others even spoke up for him, which is kind, but, in reality, can sometimes make situations like his even worse.”

“Situations like his?” Paige asked. Had Liam met other children with something like Owen’s condition? In her years of teaching, she’d seen similar conditions a couple of times, but for those kids it had always passed as the school year went on and they made friends. For Owen, it didn’t seem to be improving despite six months of behavioral therapy. Even though Dr. Roberts knew the cause, he hadn’t yet been able to get Owen to talk to anyone besides his mother.

“Well, yes. I’ve seen it a few times actually. Both in my teaching experience and in...”

Liam was interrupted as Paige’s office door opened and a small, sandy-haired boy burst in, stopping just inside as his blue eyes shot back and forth between the two adults who had turned to stare at him.

“Well, hi there,” Liam said, smiling at the child.

“Hi, sweetie,” Paige said, unfreezing her limbs and rising quickly from her chair. “Come on in.”

“Mr. Campbell,” she said, “I think you’ve already met my son, Owen.”

Chapter Two

Paige took a deep breath, put a hand on her son’s shoulder and squeezed it gently.

“Owen, say hello to Mr. Campbell. He’s the new art teacher. You met this afternoon in class.”

Owen said nothing but looked up at Liam and reached out a small hand. He seemed to know instinctively that the adults had been talking about him, and Paige resisted the urge to reassure him that he wasn’t in trouble. It was important, the therapist had told her at their weekly meetings, to try to let Owen make his own decisions about interactions, to let him be uncomfortable at times, that the silence would at some point naturally urge him to speak. Paige had her doubts about that, but what else was there to do? If Dr. Roberts, who came highly recommended by people Paige trusted, couldn’t help Owen, then who could?

“Hi there, Owen,” said Liam. He offered a gentle grin and, rising from his chair, reached out to shake Owen’s suddenly trembling hand.

“That was some dragon you started this afternoon.” Liam’s eyebrows rose in admiration. The corner of Owen’s lips turned up, ever so slightly, at his new teacher’s compliment. “I’ve never seen such a great dragon before, and I can’t wait until it’s finished.”

Paige glanced at Liam over her son’s head as tender gratefulness filled her. Instead of pushing Owen to talk, or asking incessant questions despite the child’s silence, Liam simply treated him like a normal kid. Usually Owen was wary around new people, but somehow this man had caused her child to give a hint of a smile. But Paige told herself to stop thinking down that line. She should know by now not to wish for miracles for Owen.

Owen let go of Liam’s hand. He looked up at his mother as if asking her what he was supposed to do next, the familiar nervousness and desire to retreat into himself returning to his eyes. Paige squeezed his shoulder again and knelt down so she could look directly at him.

“Owen, why don’t you go out to see Emma and keep her company while I finish talking to Mr. Campbell? I won’t be long, and she has some new coloring books in her bottom drawer for you.” Owen’s shoulders relaxed with relief as he gripped the straps of his small red backpack. Paige put a hand on his back and nudged him out the door. She pressed the intercom and asked Emma to watch her son for a few moments.

Liam, still standing, lifted his hands, palms up. In his green eyes Paige saw the pity she found over and over in people’s faces when they discovered what Owen was going through. It never got any easier to stomach.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Liam asked.

A million conflicting emotions flooded through her. So he had noticed Owen’s silence, and seemed aware that it wasn’t just shyness or first-day nerves. Part of her admired Liam for that. A less observant teacher might have overlooked it completely, but this one had caught it on the first day in only an hour’s time. He must have more substance to him than his actions thus far had indicated.

On the other hand, she struggled to separate “mom” from “assistant principal,” though she knew she’d have to in order to talk about her son with his new teacher.

Paige shook her head and crossed her arms. The comfort she’d felt only a few moments ago vanished completely and she struggled for the right words to describe the complexity that was Owen’s selective mutism. Most people had trouble understanding how and why a child who had always been verbal could just stop talking, and their comments, though well meaning, could be hurtful.

“I would, actually—yes—but I don’t want you to treat Owen any differently from any other child just because he’s my son.”

Paige hesitated, alternating between feeling a desire to unburden herself and wanting Liam to take his sympathy and leave. “Mr. Campbell...”

“Liam,” he corrected.

“...Liam. It takes time for most teachers—and most people, for that matter—to even notice that Owen doesn’t speak to anyone but me. He tends to keep to himself and blend in. I admire that you were able to pick up on it so quickly. No doubt I judged you, and your teaching abilities, too quickly, but I’d appreciate if you’d think of Owen no more or less than any other child in your classes.”

“I get it,” he said, moving toward the door. “It’s the first day of school and it’s understandable.”

The kind concern left his eyes and for some reason he seemed to bristle at her words. His body visibly tensed, as though he felt insulted.

“I can assure you that Owen will receive no special treatment from me on account of who his mother is.”

Paige nodded. Each time she’d interacted with Liam, awkward tension seemed to arise, and she wished she could erase it. “But,” he said, the words lilting softly with his gentle West Texas drawl, “it’s mighty important to me that you know that my tardiness this morning will not be a regular thing, and I apologize. I’m very much looking forward to working with the kids and I want you to know that I take this job seriously.”

He hesitated as he watched her face closely, his green eyes searching hers. He took a step closer to her, and though he remained at a respectable distance, a strange shiver ran up Paige’s spine.

“And you can trust me,” he added

Despite his kindness toward Owen, Paige didn’t want to trust Liam Campbell. Even trustworthy men, like Mark, could be taken from you at the drop of a hat. She stepped forward and opened the door for him.

As he walked out, Liam met her eyes. Paige wondered if she would ever be able to look at him without her silly heart skipping over his incredible handsomeness. It would be pretty inconvenient if not.

“Listen,” he said. “About Owen...if you ever need to talk about what’s going on with him—strictly teacher to assistant principal, of course—I’d be glad to discuss it further with you. I have some experience in childhood therapy, and I’d be happy to share it with you.”

Paige shook her head. “That’s kind of you, but unless Owen has a problem in class or he’s not getting work done that he needs to, I think I’ve got it under control. He has a therapist who we’re both working with and, well, the man’s supposedly the best there is.”

But the best hadn’t been good enough to help her son so far. At what point was she going to admit that Owen might never speak to anyone besides her again? What if her nightmare came true and he caved further into himself and stopped speaking altogether, even to her? When would she be able to admit, to herself and to everyone else, that he just wasn’t getting better?

Paige didn’t want to think about that now.

“Okay, then,” said Liam. “I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

“Thank you,” she said, trying to smile reassuringly. Most of the time there seemed enough of her to go around, but only just. Paige’s mother had raised Paige and her sister alone when their father had left. So Paige could manage, too. She’d have to, after the loss of Mark.

She had to admit, though, that she was curious about what experience Liam might have with Owen’s disorder. On any other day, she would have allowed Liam to speak more about it. But right now, Paige wanted nothing more than to simply rest her muscles in a boiling hot bath, then curl up on the couch with Owen—and maybe a glass of red wine, which was an indulgence she rarely allowed herself, but one she could sure use today.

Paige collected Owen, agreeing to let him take home one of the coloring books that Emma kept for family conferences. Owen grabbed the book and his backpack, and they made their way out to Paige’s old blue pickup.

“Hey, Owen, want to stop at Barb’s for dinner?” she asked, as they stepped out of the air-conditioned school and the warm summer afternoon wrapped itself around them.

Owen’s blue eyes widened and he nodded his head vigorously at the name of their favorite diner. Once settled in the car, they headed toward Main Street, the August heat dancing in shimmery waves across the asphalt. They both averted their eyes when they passed their old house, which Paige and Owen had shared with Mark as a family. She tried to ignore the urge to pull into the driveway and settle back into her old life. As much as she might wish it, Mark would not be in the backyard, grilling burgers on his day off, or waiting in the kitchen for her with a glass of wine, ready to listen to her talk about her day at work. That life was gone now.

She and Owen had done their best to remain in the house for as long as possible after Mark’s death. Paige had been concerned that if they moved, any remaining stability that Owen had in his tumultuous life at that time would have vanished just like his father, so she’d kept the house and had kept Owen from knowing how tight the walls felt around her. She’d kept to herself how hard it was for her to live there. But eventually, to her relief, Owen had asked Paige if they could leave the house and she’d agreed.

The house was large and beautiful, almost as old as the town of Peach Leaf itself, and had been in Mark’s family for years. It had been a gift from his grandmother when she and Mark had married, and they’d accepted it with the starry, hopeful eyes of newlyweds before they’d realized what went into maintaining such a place. Paige had grown tired of cleaning it, refusing to hire a housekeeper for something she was perfectly capable of doing on her own, but it had been home, and they’d loved it like the family member it was.

At least until Mark’s death.

Paige could still recall the way her heart had dropped straight to the bottom of her chest that night. The doorbell had chimed as she’d finished clearing the dinner dishes and she’d opened it to find Fire Chief Garcia and one of Mark’s colleagues standing on her front porch. She’d barely been able to focus on the chief’s words as he’d gone over the details of the incident and Mark’s success at retrieving an infant, before he died of smoke inhalation.

She shuddered at the memory.

When she and Owen decided to move away from the house, she’d walked through each room, lingering for long moments to store the place in her memory. And now each time they passed, she wondered if they’d ever be free of their loss. If they would ever be able to rebuild as a family.

After dinner, which consisted of Barb’s incredible fried chicken and a dessert of homemade vanilla ice cream, made even sweeter by the red vinyl bar stools and black-and-white checkered tiles that Owen loved so much, they headed home, or at least what had passed for home for the past six months.

As Paige drove, Owen chatted about his first day, and her heart did an unwelcome little flip when he mentioned his new art teacher. It seemed Liam Campbell had occupied both their minds all day, whether she liked it or not.

They arrived home to their condo, which was just outside of town and close enough to work that when the weather was nice, they could bike to school together. Paige did the best she could to spend as much time as possible with her son. Though she often wondered if her career was too stressful at this time in her life, she enjoyed her position and especially loved being around the kids. It was a good job and it allowed Owen to have what he needed. She just wasn’t sure anymore what exactly it was that he did need, and, the longer he went without speaking to others, she was losing hope in her ability to provide it.

Her thoughts wandered again to Liam as she got ready for bed, and she tried not to dwell on his offer to discuss Owen. She didn’t need another person to make promises and offer new ideas or treatments. They’d all had enough, and it was getting to the point where Paige was beginning to accept that this was just going to be their life.

* * *

The next day at school, Paige avoided Liam. All they’d had was a simple, professional exchange...there was no need to deal with him any further today, unless something came up with Owen.

So why, then, could she not stop thinking about him? There was the part about him being incredibly good-looking. But what was it that kept him on her brain through her morning conferences, through phone calls with parents and through her break? Unfortunately, she had the teacher meeting at three that afternoon, just after school let out. She would have to be chatty with everyone, Liam included.

When Paige arrived at the assembly, the cafeteria was pulsing with teachers milling about, sharing stories from their summer just like the kids had the day before. Paige wondered if anyone else had heard the rumors swirling that Principal Matthews was thinking of retiring

There had been a time when Paige would have loved to take over the position, but after Mark’s death, when she’d suddenly turned into a single parent, she had put the thought of becoming principal out of her mind. Besides, she probably didn’t have enough experience to get Principal Matthews’s job, and there were plenty of teachers who had been working at the school far longer than she. Still, Paige couldn’t help mentally crossing her fingers on the off-chance that she had a shot.

Sure, it would be difficult. For one, it would mean even longer hours and less time with Owen. But, on the other hand, it would mean that Owen could get better care if it was available. Dr. Roberts regularly suggested an after-school therapy group of kids Owen’s age at their Wednesday meetings. Paige had been seriously considering it but adding more therapy was costly, and the additional hours were not covered by Owen’s medical insurance.

She found a seat at an empty table as the last of the staff began to file into the cafeteria. Paige had always struggled to socialize with her employees at gatherings like these, feeling as insecure as a student again. She was expected to behave a certain way as an assistant principal, and she should maintain a certain distance between herself and the faculty, although she’d spent years teaching with many of them.

Despite her position, Paige still considered them equals, and many of them would always be her friends. But she’d made the decision when she’d first accepted this position that it was better to remain distant from all of them at such events rather than to have anyone thinking that she favored certain individuals.

It was better to be alone.

* * *

The cafeteria was full of staff when Liam arrived that afternoon, but he didn’t recognize a single face. He really did need to make an effort to leave his classroom more and at least make an attempt to get out of his shell to make friends with his new colleagues. He and Callie had had a wide social circle in Abilene, and he missed getting together with friends. He guessed he would just have to make new ones...eventually.

Another unpleasant side effect of their painful divorce.

His eyes scanned the crowd for anyone he might have met, even briefly. He’d been hired late in the summer, but even in the few summer professional development days he’d attended, he had been too interested in learning the workings of a new environment to do more than share a few words with anyone.

Just as he decided to be the first to occupy one of the empty tables at the back, he caught the enchanting sunny glow of Paige’s headful of curls. Liam knew he was acting like a damn fool as he gravitated toward her, but by the time he could do anything about it, she’d caught him coming and it was too late to turn around.

“Hi there,” he said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table at the far end—where there was no way she’d get the wrong impression. He had no intention of bothering her. Plus, he didn’t think he could stand to hear her inform him yet again how little she needed his help.

In his career, he had seen many parents who wrestled with the idea of alternative therapy like the kind in which he specialized. Generally, he dealt with them at the stage in which they were open to such an idea. Paige wasn’t there yet, but against his better judgment, he was finding it awfully hard to resist the urge to persist and recommend that she bring Owen to his hospital sessions. He knew it was selfish, but helping Owen would inevitably equal more time with Paige, a thought that became more appealing each time he caught sight of her. He hadn’t wanted it, but he couldn’t ignore his growing attraction to the woman.

She greeted him with a tense smile, her eyes working to focus on him as though she’d been distracted.

“Hi, Mr. Campbell,” Paige said, moving quickly to pick up her pen. She busied herself flipping through the packet of papers in front of her.

Liam didn’t correct her this time. He’d figured out that she preferred the distance of last names when it came to addressing faculty. If he had to guess, it probably made her feel like less of the teacher she’d likely been before she moved to her current position and more like a boss. He’d had plenty of administrators like her in his time, but, for some reason, this one didn’t make him want to run in the other direction. In fact, she had the opposite effect, which he wasn’t keen to admit. He had no business circling the assistant principal like a bee to honey.

Yet, there he was, at her table in a cafeteria filled with empty ones.

“I don’t really know anyone yet, so I guess you’re the unlucky tablemate of the new kid,” he said as he slid down the table toward her.

Liam was surprised when Paige laughed, the melodic sound tickling his ears and spine. She looked up from her notes and the violet-blue of her eyes glittered at him. It was the first time he’d seen this softer side of her, and he wanted more. What would it take to get her to smile at him like that again and again? Whatever it was, he would do it in a heartbeat.

“I don’t mind much. No matter how long I’ve been here, I always still feel a little like a newbie,” she said.

Liam returned her smile. “I would think that in your job, you’d know everyone.”

Paige looked down at her papers again and Liam instantly wanted her eyes back on him.

“I suppose in a way I do, but it’s difficult being in my position. It puts certain...expectations...on my interactions with other teachers.”

Immediately after speaking, Paige bit her full bottom lip, as though she’d said too much. She shook her head a little and put on what looked like an attempt at a confident grin.

“But I love my job. I really do. It’s just that...well...” She shook her head and looked up at him again. “I guess every position has its rough spots, doesn’t it?”

Liam nodded, hoping he could reassure her. He realized once again that he’d go pretty far to get her to smile at him again, to see those berry lips part one more time and her eyes crinkle around the corners.

With force, he pulled his gaze away from her mouth and met her eyes.

“That it does,” he said. “But I love my job, too. It’s one of the hardest jobs in the world but also...”

“The best,” Paige filled in.

Liam laughed. “Yes, it is pretty great. I’ve wanted to work with kids in some capacity since I was one myself, and I’ve always loved art.”

Paige grinned and Liam noticed a hint of mischief this time.

“So were you like me, then, with dolls circled around your bedroom waiting with eagerness to hear every word you had to say?”

She was teasing him, he realized, though it felt strange coming from the person who’d been so tense just the previous afternoon. But she was also irresistible.

“Not dolls. Army men,” he said.

Paige laughed again. This time, her mouth opened fully and, before he could stop himself, his mind wandered into the dangerous territory of what it would feel like to have his lips against hers.

He really needed to make some friends—male ones. He was way out of line thinking this way about anyone right now, especially about his boss.

“Ah, I see. Army men, then. Same thing.”

“Not the same,” Liam retorted, frowning in mock seriousness.

Maybe there was more to the dragon lady than met the eye. Maybe she did have a soft underbelly.

Maybe he could get her to show him more of it.

“Did you always want to be a teacher, then?” she asked.

Liam nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Although grad school’s opened up some new doors, and now I’m working toward a doctorate in art therapy while I teach.”

Though his father had laid it on thick from the beginning that he disapproved of Liam’s career choice. It had interfered with the man’s plans for his only son—plans that existed prior to Liam’s birth and about which Liam had never had a say. His dad had always wanted Liam to go into the family oil business, and Liam’s open disinterest in the company had done nothing to dissuade the man. He’d pushed and pushed until Liam hadn’t had any option but to push back even harder by flat-out refusing to take over when the time came for his father to retire.

“I’m impressed,” Paige said, raising her eyebrows.

“I don’t think there’s anything out there like working with kids. You get access to these great little brains that are just starting to form ideas and perspectives about the world. And you get to watch them process it every single day and see the way their eyes light up when they’ve worked really hard and they finally understand. It’s really something, if you ask me.”

Liam looked up to find Paige watching him intently, and he felt silly. He always got a little mushy when he talked to people about his job.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I just really have a passion for it.” Almost unlike anything else. But since starting grad school and spending time with the kids in his art-therapy classes, he’d decided that, ultimately, becoming a full-time therapist was the best path for him. Both teaching and art therapy offered so many promising avenues for children to heal and process grief, but as soon as he completed his doctoral studies and the internship, he would set up a full-time practice of his own.

“I think that’s great, actually,” Paige said, interrupting his thoughts. “I wish we could find more like you. The kids need people with that kind of passion and interest in them.”

“And I think my favorite medium is a great way to get to know them on a deeper level. Kids will do a lot of things with art that they can’t do anywhere else.”

“What do you mean?” asked Paige. She’d leaned closer to him across the table and she was staring at him, her blue eyes intense under furrowed brows.

“I just mean that art is one of the best forms of communication.” Tentatively, he added, “It’s also the best way, sometimes, for people to heal.” At that, Paige scooted back a little and her eyes darkened. “Did I say something to offend you?”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just that word—‘healing.’”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing. I just seem to find myself thinking more and more about what it actually means for someone to be healed from something.”

Liam knew he was getting closer to the core of Paige’s discomfort, whatever it might be. He guessed it must be related to Owen’s condition. It wasn’t a normal thing for a kid to completely stop talking, not unless there was real trauma at the bottom of it. His first thought had been that maybe there was an abusive father in the picture, but Paige had been very clear that she was a Ms., not a Mrs., so possibly that was out—at least he hoped it was.

But he couldn’t figure out what else it might be. Usually, children didn’t have such reaction to normal, everyday kid problems. It wasn’t like a bruise that would gradually heal itself, transitioning from black to purple to yellow, before it simply disappeared. Selective mutism was almost always a response to something very far out of the ordinary. Regardless, Liam knew it couldn’t be anything good, and, for some reason, he felt compelled to find out what may have caused it.

The truth was, he had something different to offer Paige and Owen—in the form of art therapy, of course. Liam figured Paige wouldn’t be open to it at first. Most parents he worked with had trouble understanding how art could help their children process their emotions. But maybe, just maybe, if he worked slowly to convince her, he could help her son get better. As it was, Owen was probably missing out on social experiences in his formative years. In fact, Liam estimated that, if the boy didn’t make major progress soon, resulting emotional damage could last beyond his elementary school years.

Liam could tell easily that Paige was a good mom—a great one, in fact. He knew, though, that often parents were so close to their kids that they lost the ability to see any alternative ways to help them. It was as though they’d sunk into an ocean of advice and needed to be pulled above water again to breathe and start fresh. As a teacher, it was his duty to help each child.

And his desire to help Owen had absolutely nothing to do with the ridiculously lovely Paige Graham.

* * *

Before Paige had a chance to say anything more, a microphone crackled up on stage. Principal Matthews addressed the staff, then a barbecue was laid out, filling the air with its rich, enticing scent, and Liam and Paige joined the long line of teachers to get their plates.

Paige knew she should have been mingling with a few teachers, but she had gotten sidetracked...by Liam. It was unnerving how easily he seemed to grab her attention. He was so close that she couldn’t concentrate on anything else but his presence behind her. She needed to watch out; otherwise she’d be entering territory she wanted to stay as far away from as possible. Even though six months had passed since her husband’s death and she truly wanted to move on at some point, the idea of letting Mark go completely was new enough to frighten her. Taking a step in that direction would be a risk she wasn’t yet certain she should take.

As Liam filled his plate, Paige headed off to grab a cup of sweet tea. Despite the delicious aroma that initially caused her mouth to water, and the passing plates piled high with some of her favorite dishes, she somehow wasn’t hungry anymore. And she needed to get back to work.

She circulated around the room, armed with her tea, and greeted all the new teachers before catching up with some of the more seasoned ones, many of whom had been close friends when she’d been in the classroom herself. She found herself relieved to be free of Liam for a few minutes. Something about him drew her in. Something comfortable and safe that had her stomach churning with uneasiness—a warm feeling she hadn’t had in a long time.

Sometimes she wondered if she’d ever really had a chance to grieve her husband’s death, so obsessed had she been with making sure Owen had everything he needed. Mark dying from the fire had been unexpected and traumatic—like something out of a shocking news story that could never actually happen to her.

Paige lost her train of thought as Principal Matthews approached. “How’s everything going?” she asked.

“Pretty well. I think I’ve managed to say at least a few words of encouragement to just about everyone. I think we’ll have a good year. You’ve hired an excellent staff, as usual,” Paige said, smiling in appreciation.

“I’m glad,” Principal Matthews said. Paige had known the older woman for many years and had admired her just as long. Her silver hair and round, pink cheeks gave her a grandmotherly appearance that kids naturally warmed to. Kind and fair, and always quick to smile at the children, she defied all stereotypes of what kids thought a principal should be. Ms. Matthews had a grandmotherly air about her and the students seemed to think that it would be worse to disappoint her than to be shouted at by her. If Ms. Matthews would indeed be retiring soon, her shoes would be very hard to fill. Paige couldn’t imagine anyone doing the job as well.

“Paige,” Ms. Matthews said, reaching up to place a small hand on her shoulder. “There is something I’d really like to talk to you about if you have a moment tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, of course.” Paige hoped she hid her sudden concern. She couldn’t guess what it might be, but she knew there had been an incident with a student’s parents that morning. Apparently the couple had had some understandable difficulty accepting the school diagnostician’s new diagnosis of their child’s learning disability.

Principal Matthews smiled at Paige, who thought she saw a hint of sadness in the older woman’s eyes. “I’ll stop by your office, Ms. Matthews,” Paige said, and her boss squeezed her forearm gently before turning to talk with some of the other faculty.

Paige felt her stomach grumble and decided she’d finally been social enough; her appetite had returned with a vengeance. She navigated toward the barbecue spread and put together a plate of what was left at the buffet. Sitting down at an empty table, she suddenly remembered that she’d left her notes and favorite pen at the table she’d shared earlier with Liam. Just as she started to get up to fetch them, she felt someone standing behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Liam’s large frame looming uncomfortably close. He smelled delicious—a unique mix of masculine soap and art supplies. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, reaching down to hand her the pen and folder full of notes she’d just been thinking about, “but it looks like you forgot these.” His hand brushed hers as he passed her belongings, and a confusing mix of desire and caution flowed through her.

“Thanks so much,” she said, hoping he hadn’t caught on to what she’d felt. “My grandmother gave me this pen when I got my first teaching job.” The smile he’d worn so easily before was gone.

“And about Owen...” he said, before pausing, then continuing. “I’ve been thinking about him a lot and I know that there must be some way I can help him. It’s a pretty big deal for a kid to lose the ability to speak to other kids his age. I’m just wondering, as his teacher, if there’s anything more I should know.”

Paige knew she was overreacting the minute she felt her heart begin to throb faster in her chest. Any of the desire she’d felt for Liam a moment ago vanished, to be replaced by maternal defensiveness. She knew he was just trying to help, but she was tired of people trying to tell her how to handle her son. Over the past six months she’d heard her fill of advice. She felt indignant when she thought that someone she’d just met, someone she’d have to interact with regularly, would offer her advice on her son’s life.

She’d lost too many close friends already by being promoted to assistant principal. She’d also drifted apart from some that she and Mark had known as a couple, as well as friends who’d pushed too hard trying to tell her how Owen should be helped. They all had different opinions about what was best for him and seemed to forget that she was his mother and that she—and she alone—should know best. The comments and advice had slowly chipped away at the maternal instinct Paige had always trusted until she’d begun to wonder whether she was acting in Owen’s best interests. And then there were the most hurtful comments, the ones from people who thought that she should just try forcing Owen to speak, as though he were withholding his words on purpose for attention. Attention? She wanted to scream at these people that attention seemed to be the last thing Owen wanted. In fact, he seemed, to her shattered heart, to want to withdraw from the world completely, to retreat from life at the ripe old age of six.

Like the thousands of similar overtures, Liam’s offer to help felt as if it had been a criticism of her ability to parent masked as innocent concern.

“There’s nothing more that you need to know,” Paige snapped. “As I’ve said numerous times now, unless he has problems in class, I really don’t want to talk about it any further.”

Her answer didn’t seem to satisfy him. She could see curiosity, but also kindness, behind his green eyes, neither of which she cared to indulge. She’d seen the same look countless times before.

“It’s just that, the more I think about it, the more I’m certain I can help him,” Liam insisted, taking a seat next to her as the cafeteria cleared.

Paige glanced at the clock. Almost time for her next parent meeting.

Why couldn’t this man just leave her alone? What was it about her son that had him so intrigued? He’d said himself that he’d seen cases like Owen’s before, so if her child wasn’t unique, then why was he pushing so hard? Maybe she needed to be more direct because Liam apparently wasn’t getting the message.

“Owen and I are fine, Mr. Campbell,” she said abruptly, rising and gathering her still-full plate and notes. “Please just leave it alone.”

She gave him no chance to respond and left the table, tossing her food into the trash on her way out the door.

Chapter Three

Liam could tell by Paige’s reaction that he’d gone too far when he’d spoken to her at the meeting earlier that afternoon. Normally he wasn’t so pushy, but there was just something about Owen that he couldn’t resist. Although the boy hadn’t spoken, Liam had seen a quiet seriousness, a depth and sweetness about him beyond his six years, an understanding and gentleness that the other kids seemed to pick up on. Rather than respond to Owen’s silence by teasing or ignoring him, his peers seemed to stick by him.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.