His teachers were never like this!

As a single dad and a partner in the family construction company, Eddie Montesano’s days are jammed. Then he discovers his son Max’s teacher is none other than Harper Kavanagh. Gorgeous and smart, single mom Harper is even more captivating than she was in high school. Plus it’s clear she’s dedicated to helping Max with his learning issues. How can Eddie resist making time for her?

Too bad there are clear rules limiting the relationship he and Harper have. But with their attraction out of control, Eddie is about to break those rules. Because if it means the chance at a future with her, he’ll take the risk of getting caught!

Harper laughed, a surprisingly deep, husky laugh

Eddie realized it was the first time he’d heard her laugh, the sound grating pleasantly along his nerve endings.

But having her laugh at him wasn’t funny.

“What?” he growled.

She shook her head. “It’s just…you keep surprising me.”

He studied her through narrowed eyes, figured she was telling the truth. He was edgy and amped up, worried about his son, and he hadn’t reacted to a woman this strongly in longer than he could remember.

Couldn’t remember the last time a woman had captured his thoughts. Had slipped into his dreams.

He edged closer, gratified and relieved when she didn’t back up, just smiled at him. “You like surprises?” he asked, his voice gruff.

Her grin widened. “Love them.”

“Good,” he said.

Then he leaned in to kiss her.

Dear Reader,

I’m having such fun writing the stories in the In Shady Grove series. When I initially came up with the idea for the first book in the series, Talk of the Town (April 2013), I knew very little about the secondary characters. Now, having finished three In Shady Grove stories and starting a fourth, I’m constantly discovering new insights into the people who call Shady Grove home.

For instance, while I knew that Eddie Montesano, the middle son of the Montesano clan, was quiet and a bit shy, I had no idea he was so stubborn! Or that when he does speak, he usually manages to say the right thing.

I also knew that single mother Harper Kavanagh was a teacher and a recent widow. She was supposed to be sweet and perhaps a bit naive. Instead, she stormed onto the scene ready to take on the world—but afraid of moving on too quickly after the loss of her beloved husband. It was a conflict I hadn’t planned on, but one that so moved me and seemed so real, I had no choice but to write it.

Yes, Eddie and Harper were full of surprises, taking me in different directions than I’d planned. I wouldn’t want it any other way. After all, I may have drifted off the road I’d mapped out, but the destination remained the same: Happy Ever After.

Next year brings three more In Shady Grove stories—I hope you’ll look for them! Keep an eye on my website, www.bethandrews.net, for publication details. Or drop me a line at beth@bethandrews.net. I’d love to hear from you.

Happy reading!

Beth Andrews

Caught Up in You

Beth Andrews

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

While writing Caught Up in You, Romance Writers of America RITA® Award winner Beth Andrews survived her older daughter’s graduation, her younger daughter’s driving lessons and her son’s causing her grocery bill to double during his summer home from college. In her free time, Beth can be found at the grocery store. Learn more about Beth and her books by visiting her website, www.bethandrews.net.

For my sister Karen.

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

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

EDDIE MONTESANO SQUIRMED on his seat like a fish on a hook and sighed. Hell, a few minutes in his son’s classroom and he’d somehow regressed to the second-grader he’d been twenty-five years ago, uncomfortable on the hard chair, anxious to get away from the rigid rules and expectations.

Terrified the teacher would call on him to answer a math problem she’d written on the chalkboard. Or worse, ask him to read aloud from their reading book. It’d been torture, speaking in front of so many people—even if they had been his classmates. Humiliating to have them all witness his struggles sounding out simple words.

He hadn’t been able to sit still then, either. He’d always been moving—tapping his fingers, shaking his leg or wiggling his ass. He’d been lectured, plenty of times, about not fidgeting, but it hadn’t done any good. He’d had too much energy, like a live current zipped through him, making his thoughts race, pushing him to move, move, move.

Though he’d taught himself to be more self-contained, to focus on one task at a time, he’d still much rather be doing than sitting. Especially when sitting made him feel like that restless, nervous kid again.

He stretched out his legs. His left knee whacked the bottom of the desk, the steel toe of his work boot hit the chair across from him, shoved it out a few inches.

What was with this setup? The desks were in groups of four so that half the class faced the blackboard, the other half the teacher’s desk. It didn’t make any sense to him. The kids were staring at each other, two by two. Seemed like a distraction.

Then again, the teacher was a woman, and a lot of things women did made no sense to him.

He checked the time. Eight minutes until his meeting with Mrs. Kavanagh, Max’s teacher. Not that Eddie was in a hurry to see her again, but he would like to know what was behind this whole parent/teacher thing. Max had assured Eddie he wasn’t in trouble, and Eddie hadn’t received any calls from the principal so far this year about Max’s behavior.

But the note Mrs. Kavanagh had sent home requesting a meeting had been vague enough that Eddie wondered if he’d gotten the whole story from his son.

Max had a habit of keeping his thoughts to himself. Especially if he’d done something wrong. And while Eddie agreed it was better, safer, to keep your thoughts in your head, he wished his son would just admit when he’d messed up so Eddie could tackle the problem, fix it and move on.

He glanced around the room. Shelves filled with row after row of neatly lined-up books took up the entire wall behind the teacher’s desk. A white wooden rocking chair was tucked into the corner in front of a circular rug next to the chalkboard. Artwork, graded papers, a huge calendar and equally large schedule covered the walls, along with bright banners and posters—most sporting a cartoon or picture of a baby animal—encouraging the kids to read, imagine and go for the gold. Assuring them they were a team, books were treasures waiting to be discovered and that with hard work, anything was possible.

A nice sentiment, that last one. Complete bullshit, but nice.

He was all for doing one’s best, putting in full effort and sticking with a job until it was done. But believing that if you worked hard enough, long enough, you’d achieve your goals no matter what, was setting these kids up for disappointment.

And possibly years of therapy.

Eddie had worked his ass off to save his marriage and look where it got him. Divorced, raising his son on his own and constantly trying to be everything to Max. Hoping he was doing enough. Being enough.

Worrying that most days he didn’t even come close.

But he’d keep trying, doing his best to make up for failing at his marriage and not being able to keep Max’s mother in their lives. And not because he was staring at a poster of a kitten at the end of a rope—literally—telling him to Never Give Up.

He’d do anything for his kid.

“This is the drawing I told you about,” Max said, shoving a picture in Eddie’s face.

Eddie leaned back, the hard edge of the metal chair digging into his shoulder blades as he took the paper. He raised his eyebrows. It was good. Damn good.

His kid never ceased to amaze him.

“It’s Pops’s pumpkin patch,” Max said. He pointed at the cottage in the background. “See? That’s his house.”

“It looks just like it.” Right down to the curtains in the windows and brick walkway winding its way from the back door to the garden.

Green vines tangled around fat, bright orange pumpkins. Beyond the cottage, trees in all their autumn glory of copper, red and auburn covered the rolling hills. And standing to the left, a hoe in one hand, his other hand tucked behind his back, was Big Leo Montesano. Max had perfectly captured Eddie’s grandfather, from the top of the straw hat on Pops’s balding head to the tips of the black rubber boots he wore when gardening.

“It’s great, bud,” Eddie said.

Shifting from foot to foot, Max beamed. “Mrs. Hewitt said it was the best one out of the whole second grade.”

“Mrs. Hewitt?”

“She’s the art teacher.” Now Max hunched his shoulders. Chewed on his thumbnail. “I forgot I’m not supposed to tell anyone that.”

“You’re not supposed to tell anyone she’s the art teacher? Is she some sort of spy?”

Max frowned as if Eddie was the one not making sense. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone she said my picture was the best.”

Eddie’s heart swelled. Christ, but he loved his kid. Max was tall for his age and stocky, with Eddie’s hazel eyes and dark hair, and Lena’s light coloring and nose. Shy around everyone but family, when he opened up, he was funny and entertaining as hell. Max went full throttle from the time he woke until he hit his bed and slept like the dead, recharging for another nonstop day.

He was Eddie’s greatest joy. The best thing he’d ever done.

“We’ll keep it between us.” Eddie mussed Max’s hair, making a mental note to get him to the barber sometime this week. “But I bet she’s right.”

Max stopped gnawing on his nail long enough to send Eddie a small, proud smile. “She is.”

Eddie grinned. That was his boy. “How about we make a frame for this and give it to Pops.”

“Yeah. He’ll love it. He loves all my pictures. But we can’t take it now. Not ’til Mrs. Hewitt says so.”

“Okay. Maybe you should put it back, then.”

Max did some sort of galloping walk over to the wide windowsill where the rest of his classmates’ drawings were laid out. Afternoon sun streamed through the glass, raising the temperature in the room a good ten degrees. Sweat formed on Eddie’s upper lip, along his hairline. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the sweatshirt at his shoulder blades and tugged it upward. Only to realize he was stuck, his lower back pressed against the chair holding the shirt in place. He scooted forward and rammed his stomach into the edge of the desk. He grunted. Banged his elbow when he tried to straighten.

“Shit,” he muttered, his funny bone tingling painfully.

Someone cleared their throat, the sound delicate, feminine and, if he wasn’t mistaken, subtly chastising.

The back of his neck heated with embarrassment. Standing, Eddie shoved the chair back. It toppled over. He sighed. Some days a man just couldn’t win.

He yanked the sweatshirt off, avoided looking at the door while he tugged his T-shirt down, then righted the chair. Smoothing his hair—and realizing Max wasn’t the only one who needed a trim—he turned. Scanned the curvy blonde in the doorway.

Harper Sutter—now Harper Kavanagh—didn’t look much like the perky cheerleader she’d been in high school. Then she’d been petite with light brown hair that fell to the middle of her back. Now her hair was several shades lighter and at least six inches shorter, her face, hips and breasts fuller.

His gaze flicked to her chest.

Much fuller.

A tickle formed in the back of his throat. Interest—basic and purely physical—stirred. Ignoring it, he shoved his hands into his pockets, focused on her face. Same high, pronounced cheekbones and gray eyes that turned down slightly at the corners. Same full, heart-shaped lips.

He’d had a few fantasies—brief, insignificant fantasies—about her mouth.

Then again, he’d been seventeen. Sexy dreams had pretty much been a nightly experience.

Those lips curved into a bright smile. She switched her coffee cup to her left hand and offered him her right one. “Hello, Eddie. It’s so nice to see you.”

With a nod, he shook her hand. Though he’d known her since kindergarten, he’d never touched her before. Her palm was warm against his. Soft.

Awareness bolted through him. He acknowledged it was partly due to the remnants of the teenage fantasies playing in his head. Accepted it as a man’s instinctual response to an attractive woman.

Acknowledged it, accepted it. Then let it—and her hand—go.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” she said.

“You didn’t.”

He wasn’t sure if she’d meant it as a real concern or a reprimand for his being early. He gave a mental shrug. Didn’t matter to him either way. He’d had a break at work so he’d taken off. No sense finding something to do for a few minutes so he could arrive precisely at four o’clock.

“Max,” Harper said, sounding surprised when Max sidled up to Eddie, pressed against his side. “Still stuck here?”

Max lifted a shoulder.

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a drag. I can’t wait to leave at the end of the day. Hey, would you do me a favor?” Before Max could even blink, she continued in her rapid-fire speech. “Could you walk—and by walk I mean that slow movement of putting one foot in front of the other that is not running, hopping or skipping—to the office to check if I have any mail?”

Seemed she knew Max well. He didn’t do anything slowly. Except talk.

While Max headed toward the door, Harper gestured for Eddie to follow her as she crossed the room. His gaze fell to the sway of her hips. She had on tan pants and a long sweater the color of rust that molded to her ass. A wide brown belt accentuated the indentation of her waist and he wondered, briefly, what it would be like to set his hands there.

He stumbled, bumped into a desk.

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

His face burning, he stared resolutely at a spot somewhere above her head. Maybe he hadn’t fully let that earlier awareness go.

“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.” She set her cup on the desk. “Although, I have to admit, I was hoping to speak with you alone.”

“I didn’t have time to find a sitter.”

Hadn’t taken the time to find one. Not when it wasn’t necessary. He only asked for help with his kid when there was no other solution. Absolutely, positively no other solution.

“It’s not a problem,” she assured him. “But would you mind if I gave him something to keep him occupied while we talk?”

Eddie shrugged.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said cheerily, then gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Can I get you anything? There’s coffee in the break room or—”

“Is Max in trouble?” Eddie loved his kid more than life itself, but that didn’t mean he thought Max could do no wrong. Everyone made mistakes. Best if you owned up to them, learned from them and, most importantly, never repeated the same one twice.

Max was having a hard time with that last part.

“Trouble? No, he’s not in trouble,” she said slowly enough that he didn’t believe her. “I thought we should touch base on a couple of things, that’s all.”

After sitting, she organized a pile of papers. He could practically see her organizing her thoughts, as well. Her desk was covered; papers and math workbooks were stacked in neat piles, a plastic bin sat empty at the corner. A stapler, tape dispenser and hole punch lined up with the edge of the desk. Pencils, pens and markers were jumbled together in a wooden holder declaring that Teachers Have Class.

She was as tidy and put together as her desk, her hair smooth, her nails trimmed and painted a light pink.

He rubbed the frayed knees of his jeans. Wondered if he should have gone home, shaved first, but that would have been stupid, going all the way across town to comb his hair and rid himself of his day-old—okay, three-day-old—beard. He had no one to impress here. Nothing to prove. His kid was well dressed, well mannered and, other than a few scrapes in the playground last year, well behaved.

And well loved.

If Harper didn’t see that, she wasn’t as smart as her rank in their high school graduating class had indicated.

“No mail?” Harper asked as Max returned.

He shook his head.

“Thanks for checking. Would you like to play a game on the iPad while your dad and I talk?”

“Okay,” he said quietly, his gaze flicking to his teacher’s face before lowering again.

“Great.” She took an iPad from her desk drawer, handed it and headphones to him. “Why don’t you sit in the beanbag chair?”

He hurried to the corner and toed off his sneakers. Sitting cross-legged, he put on the headphones and, as easily as that, was cut off from the world, lost in whatever educational game Harper had on that tablet.

Those things were like magic.

“I was thrilled to see Max’s name on my class list at the beginning of the year,” Harper said, sounding as if she really meant it. “I had your niece and she was a pure delight.”

Because Bree always worried about doing the right thing, loved to read and never got a grade lower than an A. Sort of like the woman before him. In school Harper had been one of the brainiacs. Popular with both students and teachers, she’d been incredibly smart and impossibly friendly.

It wasn’t natural to be that nice all the time.

No surprise Harper thought highly of Bree. He didn’t hold his niece’s sweetness or intelligence against her. He loved her like crazy.

He just didn’t want his son compared to her.

“Bree’s a good girl,” he said.

“She is. She must be in what...? Fifth grade now?”

“Sixth.”

“Middle school? It doesn’t seem possible. How’s she liking it?”

“Fine.” And what any of this had to do with Harper’s reason for calling him to meet with her, he had no idea. Women. Why couldn’t they just say what was on their mind? It would save everyone a hell of a lot of time and trouble.

“I’m glad she’s doing well. It can be a big transition for some kids, that leap from elementary to middle school.”

She looked as if she expected him to respond to that but since he had nothing to add, he kept quiet.

“Well,” she said, “anyway, thank you for coming in today. I was sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk at the open house.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. Straightened in his uncomfortable seat. Was that a reprimand? If it was, why couldn’t she lay into him instead of making him guess whether or not she was pissed? “I was working.”

When he wasn’t working, he spent time with his kid, not running off to meetings and socializing. He wasn’t going to apologize for it.

“Are you still at Bradford House?” Harper asked.

He nodded. Everyone wanted to know about Bradford House. Some were interested in the renovations Montesano Construction was doing at one of the oldest homes in Shady Grove, Pennsylvania. They wanted a description of every room, or an invitation to see the soon-to-be fully operational bed-and-breakfast themselves without actually paying to stay there.

Or they brought up Bradford House’s owner, Neil Pettit, a hometown boy who was now one of the NHL’s elite players. They wanted the latest gossip, insider information about Neil’s reasons for buying the Victorian, his sister Fay’s suicide attempt and his reconciliation with Eddie’s younger sister, Maddie, a few months back.

Eddie drummed his fingers on his thigh. Waited for Harper to start with the inevitable questions or probing comments, ones designed to get answers to topics that were none of her business.

“It’s so great that Neil and Maddie are together after all these years of living separate lives.”

See?

He grunted.

She remained undeterred and, unfortunately, talkative. “It’s so romantic.” She leaned forward as if they were two good buddies sharing happy secrets and fun times. “High school sweethearts falling in love again.”

Romantic. Christ.

Funny how so many people agreed with Harper. Guess they conveniently forgot how Neil took off after getting a sixteen-year-old Maddie pregnant. That he’d been in their daughter’s life only part-time until recently.

Most people except Eddie and his two brothers. Hard to let something like that go, especially when it happened to your baby sister and niece. Eddie, James and Leo might forgive what Neil did—mainly because Maddie wanted them to. But forget? Not in this lifetime.

“I think it’s wonderful Bradford House is being renovated. It’s always been one of my favorite houses in Shady Grove,” Harper continued. “I was by there last week. That wraparound porch you added is gorgeous.”

“I didn’t add it,” Eddie said. He’d been working on a bathroom remodel across town when the exterior work had been done at Bradford House.

Her smile dimmed, going from supernova bright to regular shining-star glowing. “I meant you as in Montesano Construction.”

He lifted his right shoulder.

“Okay,” Harper said, drawing the word out. “Guess that’s enough shop talk. No, no—” she held out her hand as if to stop him from speaking, though his mouth remained tightly closed “—really, I know you could go on and on and on about your work but let’s stick to the subject at hand, shall we?”

Scratching his cheek—he really did need a shave—he narrowed his eyes. She was messing with him. He wouldn’t have thought she had it in her, not when she looked all innocent and sincere.

“Max is a very sweet boy,” Harper said as if she hadn’t been yanking Eddie’s chain. “He excels in art, has a real talent for it. Not that I’m an expert or anything but I know what I like.” She smiled at her own lame joke, didn’t seem to mind that Eddie didn’t.

“I really enjoy having Max in my room. He’s kind and thoughtful but a bit of a loner. If we could get him to open up more, to come out of his shell—”

“Being shy isn’t a character flaw that needs overcoming,” Eddie said quietly.

Max was fine the way he was, and if he wanted to stay in his shell, so be it. As a kid, Eddie had been told to talk more, be more outgoing and friendlier. All he’d ever wanted was to be left in peace with his thoughts.

“No, of course it’s not.” Harper sounded confused, looked flustered and embarrassed. “I only meant it might be good for him to make a few friends.”

Max had friends. Max had a friend, Eddie amended. Joey Malone, a kid he’d met in first grade. They were in different classes this year but still hung out.

“That why you wanted to see me?” Eddie asked. “To discuss Max’s social life?”

She opened her mouth only to snap it shut and shake her head, as if getting rid of whatever she’d been about to say. “Actually, I want to discuss Max’s progress so far this year. The first marking period ends in two weeks.” She slid a yellow paper from the pile on her desk and held it out to him. “Maybe once you see his progress report, you’ll understand why I’m concerned.”

Eddie forced himself to take the paper. The diamonds in her wedding rings caught the afternoon sunlight so that it dappled across the top of her desk.

He rubbed his thumb around the base of his left ring finger. It’d been years since he’d worn his own wedding band, but he could still feel the weight of it. As the foundation of his marriage had become weaker, the gold ring signifying the vows he’d taken—the vows he’d given—had grown tighter. Heavier with the weight of his failure.

But then, Harper hadn’t failed at marriage—she’d probably never failed at anything in her entire life. Her marriage hadn’t ended due to lack of effort or love, but because her husband had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, an innocent bystander killed during a convenience store robbery in Pittsburgh last year. She still wore her ring.

Eddie had taken his off the moment Lena had shut the door when she’d walked out on their marriage. When she’d walked out on their son.

He’d never put one on again.

Bracing himself, he read Max’s progress report. Exhaled heavily. One D. Four Fs.

“As you can see, Max is struggling in all subjects.” Her voice was laced with compassion. She watched him with understanding.

He wished she’d knock it off. He didn’t need her pity. Didn’t want her kindness.

“What do we do?” Eddie asked.

She nodded as if that was the right thing to ask, the correct response. Great. Give him a gold star for being a concerned parent.

“Max has some issues focusing which, I believe, could be one of the factors affecting his schoolwork.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Eddie said. “Tell him to pay more attention in class.”

“That would be helpful, but I’m afraid it might not be enough. What I would like is your permission to have Dr. Crosby—one of the school district’s psychologists—observe Max’s behavior.”

“Observe?” Like an animal in a test lab? Poked and prodded and singled out from his classmates.

“It’s only to see if she agrees with my assessment.”

“Your assessment.” Yeah, he sounded like a parrot, repeating everything she said, but he couldn’t figure out what the hell she was getting at. “You said he’s not paying attention in class.”

“Yes, but I’m concerned that lack of focus—along with other symptoms—could be signs of a bigger issue.”

Eddie stiffened to the point he worried one errant breeze would break him into a million pieces. “What symptoms?”

“I’d rather not get too far ahead of ourselves until after Dr. Crosby—”

“What. Symptoms.”

The only sign she gave that his low, dangerous tone bugged her was a small, resigned sigh. “Max has a hard time sitting still—”

“He’s a boy. He has a lot of energy.”

Her lips thinned but her tone remained calm. “He frequently fails to finish his schoolwork, even when given ample time to do so, and he often works carelessly. He shifts from one unfinished activity to another, has difficulty following through on instructions, working on his own and waiting for his turn in tasks, games and group situations. He’s also easily distracted, often loses or misplaces items necessary to complete tasks—such as his pencil or workbook.”

“He’s seven.” Eddie bit out the words, her list of the ways his son was lacking blowing through him, swirling around his head in endless repetition. “Kids misplace things and aren’t always patient.”

“True. And that may very well be the case here. But as Max’s teacher, I feel it’s in his best interest to have Dr. Crosby come in and give her opinion. If you’ll just sign this—” she slid a paper in front of him “—we can get started.”

Eddie glanced from the permission slip to the pen she held out and then to his son’s grades, the black letters stark on the pale yellow background. He should sign the damn paper and let Harper do what she felt necessary, what she thought best. She was the teacher, the person entrusted with his son’s care and education for the next eight months.

“What bigger issue could it be?” Eddie asked.

“I’d rather not speculate—”

“I’d rather you did.”

She slowly lowered the pen. For the first time, she seemed reluctant to speak—must be a new sensation for her. “Max’s behavior could...possibly...be symptoms of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. But I’m not qualified to make any diagnoses,” she added quickly. “Which is why I’d like Dr. Crosby’s help.”

“ADD,” Eddie said, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact there could be something wrong with his son. “Don’t they put kids on drugs for that?”

“Medication is one option, but there are also modifications that can be made in the classroom. Instructional strategies and practices that can be implemented to help children with ADHD learn.”

“So if Max has ADH—” he emphasized the H as she had “—D, and you use those strategies, his grades will improve?”

“Possibly.”

The second possibly she’d given him in under a minute. When it came to his kid, Eddie preferred definitely. “What else is there?”

“There are other options.” She averted her gaze as she moved the stapler to the left only to put it back exactly where it had been. “But let’s not worry about any of that until we get through these first steps.”

He had a child, was solely responsible for the well-being of another person. For making sure his son was healthy and happy and whole. It was his job to worry. And to get straight answers out of smiley, sunshiny teachers who were blowing smoke up his ass.

“What options?”

Her smile turned to steel. “Options we’ll discuss after Dr. Crosby has made her observation.”

Nudging the paper forward, she held out the pen again.

Eddie’s fingers tightened, crumpling the edges of the progress report. Frustration coursed through him, hot and edgy. But worse than that was the fear. The terrifying thought that if Max was diagnosed with ADHD, he’d spend the rest of his life wearing that label. His peers would judge him, would think he was deficient in some way. He’d be put into a box, one he’d never be able to escape from.

Eddie wanted to slap the pen from Harper’s hand. Wipe his arm across the top of her desk, knocking aside the wooden holder so that pens and pencils scattered over the floor. He wanted to tell her in no uncertain terms what she could do with her observation, her opinion and her sympathetic expression.

He looked at his son. Max was perfect, just the way he was. And Harper wanted some psychologist with more education than common sense to tell him there was something wrong with him? So Max would think he wasn’t smart enough? Capable enough? Good enough?

There was only one response to that, one he was more than happy to give as he faced Harper.

“No.”

CHAPTER TWO

HARPER KEPT THE PLEASANT, understanding smile on her face. But it cost her. Boy, did it cost her.

Because Eddie Montesano, with his dark scowl, broad shoulders and cool hazel eyes, was getting on her last nerve. She’d spent the day surrounded by seven-and eight-year-olds who were alternately loud, whiny, cranky, happy, hilarious and fabulous. And most of them had better manners than this man.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she had nothing to apologize for. Honestly, the man should be the one begging her forgiveness. “No?”

“I’m not signing that.”

Her hand dropped to the desk with a thud. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear—”

“You did.”

“Well, good. That’s good,” she said cheerily.

She would remain cheery, polite, in control and, above all else, professional. Friendly. She’d watch her tongue and choose every word carefully. She had a habit—some said a bad one—of speaking her mind. Which was fine in her personal life, but in her professional one? Not so good.

At least not according to Sam McNamara, Shady Grove Elementary School’s principal.

She twisted her engagement ring. “Maybe you don’t understand how important it is—”

“I’m not an idiot.”

Something in his gruff tone, in his hard expression, gave her pause. Made her think she’d somehow insulted him. “I never thought—”

“We’re done.”

He stood. The man actually stood. And he’d dismissed her, as if he had the right to end this meeting. Stunned, she stared for a moment, her mouth slack, her mind reeling. She’d done everything right, the way it was supposed to be done. She’d talked to Max’s first-grade teacher, had checked his file to get more insight into his schoolwork the past two years. Then she’d met with both Julie Giron, the school’s guidance counselor, and Sam about her concerns, had gotten their go-ahead to bring up those concerns with Max’s father.

The only way she’d veered away from the usual protocol in situations like this was by meeting with Eddie alone instead of with Julie and Sam. She’d thought Eddie would appreciate her discussing Max’s situation with him one-to-one.

That was the last time she tried to be nice to someone just because they’d known each other since the first day of kindergarten and had relatives dating each other—his brother, her cousin.

Hurrying around her desk, she stepped in front of him and smiled. Okay, it was more a baring of teeth, but surely she couldn’t be faulted for one tiny slipup.

“Eddie, I’m not sure what the problem is,” she said, all faux conciliatory and apologetic. She checked on Max, who was still engrossed in his game. “I certainly didn’t mean to offend you in any way.”

She waited. And what did she get for her patience? Nothing. Not even one of his nods or shrugs.

Easy to see where Max got his reserve from.

“It’s important that we assess what issues Max is having so he can overcome them and reach his highest potential.”

“Why? So you can bump up the school’s test scores?”

“This has nothing to do with standardized testing.” The bane of teachers everywhere. Luckily for her, they didn’t start testing kids until third grade. “It has to do with helping Max.”

Her only priority.

Eddie shifted closer, bringing with him the scent of sawdust. “Maybe this isn’t Max’s fault.”

“I’m sorry. I’m having trouble following you.” Hard to believe seeing as how he used as few words as possible to get his point across, but there you had it.

“If you did your job—did it better—Max wouldn’t be having problems.”

Her vision assumed a definite red tint, her fingers curled around the stapler.

She heard him, of course. He stood right before her, close enough for her to see the starburst of gold around his pupils, to notice that his right front tooth slightly overlapped the left. She even understood what he’d said as his meaning had been crystal clear. But his voice was like a roar in her head. A whooshing wave that swept away all her good intentions and drowned any hope she had of remaining professional.

And it was all Eddie Montesano’s fault. She’d tried to be polite. To not let her growing frustration with him show. But did he appreciate her efforts or the great strength of willpower it’d taken her not to simply lift the stapler and hit him upside the head with it? Did he consider what was best for his son or care that all she wanted was to figure out how they could work together to help Max?

No, no and triple no. He blamed her, accused her of not doing her job.

Oh, yeah, all bets were officially off.

“Max,” she called loudly, setting the stapler on her desk and peeling her fingers off it. She tucked her hands behind her back—just to be on the safe side.

When Max looked up and took the headphones off, she forced her tone to remain light. Easy. No simple task when she was two seconds away from kicking his father in the shin. “Your dad and I will be in the hallway. Please wait here.”

Eddie grabbed the sweatshirt and tugged it on. “I have nothing to say.”

“That’s a shock,” she muttered. “It’ll only take a few minutes,” she assured him from between gritted teeth when his head became visible again.

He glanced at Max, who watched them with wide eyes, obviously picking up on the tension in the room. Finally, Eddie brushed past her.

Fuming so hard she lifted her hands to her ears to make sure steam wasn’t billowing from them, she followed him out into the hallway. She shoved her sleeves up to her elbows. She was sweating. She was actually sweating she was so angry. Her skin overheated, her blood boiled. She shut the door with a quiet click, wishing she could slam it with a resounding bang, open it and slam it shut again.

“If you have a problem with me teaching your son,” she said, proud of the composure that kept her tone calm, her temper in check despite the trembling of her fingers, “you may certainly take it up with the principal. But for the record, all I want is for my kids to do well. To succeed.”

“Your kids?”

That composure cracked enough to have her lifting her chin, straightening her spine. “I’m with those children—your child—for close to eight hours a day, one hundred and eighty days of the year. I feel a connection to them, so yes, they’re my kids. In a certain context.”

More than a connection, she felt a responsibility toward them. It was up to her to help them reach their highest potential.

She crossed her arms. “How about we clear the air so we can move forward and both do what’s best for Max. What, exactly, is your problem with me?”

Surprise and, if she wasn’t mistaken, respect flashed in his eyes before they shuttered again.

“No problem.”

Her left eye twitched. She pressed the tips of her fingers against it. “No need to hold back.” She certainly didn’t like to keep her opinions, her thoughts to herself. Not when she could share them with the world. “I can’t fix the problem if I don’t know what it is.”

Eddie wiped his palm down his mouth. His jaw tight, his shoulders rigid, he gave a short nod. “You’re judging Max based on our history.”

Finally they were getting somewhere. “Max’s and your history? Because I’m not all that familiar with it. I mean, I know you’re divorced and that Max’s mother lives in Chicago—”

“Our—” he gestured between them “—history.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I hadn’t realized we—” she mimicked his gesture “—had a history.”

Sure, they’d gone to school together but they hadn’t run with the same crowd. Actually, she couldn’t remember Eddie running with any crowd. Then again, she hadn’t paid much attention to him. Boys like Eddie Montesano had never been her type, though a small segment of her girlfriends had found him appealing.

She had no idea why.

Okay, so he wasn’t exactly a troll, and yes, he had the whole not-quite-tall, dark and handsome thing going for him with a wide chest and flat stomach. His hair was thick and brushed back from his high forehead to fall in wavy disarray. He had heavy eyebrows, a sharp, square jawline covered in dark stubble and a Roman nose with a prominent bridge.

All in all, a pretty package. But Harper had always preferred guys who were more charming, less brooding. Outgoing instead of introverted. Lighter in coloring and personality.

Men like Beau, her blond, blue-eyed husband, who’d swept her off her feet with his humor, charm and joy for life.

Her throat tightened, and she swallowed a pang of grief. Averted her gaze so Eddie didn’t see the pain she knew must be in her eyes. She missed Beau so much. Every day without him was a step in a new direction, toward a future without the man she’d promised to love for the rest of her life.

She wasn’t sure which was worse. The days she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Or the more recent days when she realized she hadn’t thought of him at all.

She cleared her throat, concentrated on the glowering man in front of her. “Did I do something to offend you in high school?”

“You tutored me. In English,” he added when she just stared.

“I remember, but what does my tutoring you a hundred years ago have to do with anything in the here and now?”

His jaw worked as if he was grinding his teeth into dust. “You think there’s something wrong with Max because I had issues in school.”

She hadn’t known it was possible, but he’d managed to shock her into silence for a second time. It had to be some sort of record.

“First of all, there is nothing, not one blessed thing wrong with Max,” she said, her voice vibrating as indignation on behalf of that sweet boy swept through her. “He’s having some issues that I feel need addressing. What I’m suggesting is that we figure out what those issues are so we can devise a strategy to help him succeed. And for your information, my evaluation of each student is based on his or her individual efforts. I take into account their past grades, test scores and how they’re currently doing in my class. And for you to suggest that I look at Max and think, ‘Oh, well, there’s the son of someone I helped understand King Lear junior year so he must have some...issues,’” she said, doing a fair impersonation of his gravelly voice on that last word, “is not only one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard, it’s also one of the most insulting.”

There. She’d given him a piece of her mind said in her best do-not-mess-with-me-I-am-a-teacher tone, the one that had cowed many others.

That those others happened to be under the age of ten didn’t matter.

“It was The Grapes of Wrath,” he said, not the least bit intimidated, darn him. “Sophomore year.”

She rolled her eyes then immediately squeezed them shut. God. Bad enough he had her acting unprofessionally, now she was reverting to the teenager she’d been when they’d spent a few hours studying Steinbeck’s classic novel. Next thing she knew, she’d be telling him, as clearly and succinctly as possible, exactly how big of an ass he was being.

Inhaling deeply, she held it for the count of five. She could do this. She dealt with children all day, had weathered more than her fair share of tantrums, meltdowns and bad behavior.

“All I want,” she said, “is to help Max. Surely you want the same thing.”

“If Max needs help, I’ll give it to him.”

“In the interest of doing what’s best for Max, I’m sure we can come to some sort of compromise.” Though she hadn’t been able to charm him in the least so far, she tried another smile. Hey, she may be banging her head against his obstinacy but that didn’t mean she had to give up. “Seeing as how we’re old friends and all.”

“We weren’t friends.”

Her smile slid away. Then again, giving up had its merits. Such as saving her from one heck of a headache. “What would you call it? Acquaintances? School chums? Oh, how about tutor and tutee?”

“Is that a real word?”

She had no idea. “The bottom line is that I’m concerned about Max.”

“I appreciate your concern,” he said in a tone that made it clear he couldn’t care less about her concern, her opinions or her standing as his son’s teacher. “But I don’t want Max observed by some psychologist or singled out in any way. Like I said, I’ll talk to him. Get him to pay more attention, to not fidget as much.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that easy. And as Max’s teacher, I feel it’s my responsibility to tell you I disagree with your decision and wish you would reconsider.”

“You don’t have to be his teacher.”

His threat, implicit but oh, so clear, slid along her spine, had her narrowing her eyes. No one threatened her. No one. “You’d pull Max from my class?”

He shrugged as if that said it all—which, she supposed, it did.

She stared at his broad back as he opened the door and called into the classroom, “Time to go, Max.”

“You’re not serious,” she said when he faced her. Then again, he looked as if he was never anything but serious. Serious. Stubborn. Annoying.

And most of all, just plain wrong.

When he twitched, as if moving to lift his shoulder, she held up a hand. “For God’s sake,” she snapped, “use your words and not one of those shrugs you’re so fond of.”

If possible, his frown became even darker. “I’ll do whatever’s best for Max,” he said as his son joined them. “And I’ll do it on my own.”

This isn’t what’s best for him, she wanted to yell. But Max shot worried glances between them, so she kept her thoughts to herself. Continued keeping them to herself as Eddie and his son walked away.

* * *

EDDIE PUSHED OPEN the school’s front doors, stepped into the sunshine and descended the wide, concrete steps, Max next to him. At the bottom, they turned left and headed toward the parking lot.

He breathed in the fresh air, but it did little to ease the tension tightening his neck, causing a headache to brew behind his temples. Worse than the pain? He couldn’t shake the image of Harper’s mouth, of those pink, heart-shaped lips moving as she’d talked.

And talked and talked and talked some more.

There were much better things she could do with that mouth.

All I want is to help Max. Surely you want the same thing.

Of course he did. That was all he’d ever wanted. All he cared about.

And damn her for questioning him like that, for making it seem as if his resistance to her concerns was something other than his protective instincts.

She wanted to stick Max with a label, one he’d have for the rest of his life. One that would screw up his self-esteem, make him question his own abilities. No way would Eddie ever let that happen.

No way would he let his son go through what he’d gone through.

He’d handle it, he assured himself, in a calm, rational way.

Though Harper might disagree about the rational part.

Didn’t matter. He had to do what he felt was right.

Eddie would work with Max, talk to him about how important it was to pay close attention in class. He’d go over every bit of Max’s homework, make sure it got completed to the best of Max’s capabilities. In a few weeks, his grades would improve and Harper would realize she’d been wrong. That she’d overreacted about the fidgeting, short attention span and impatience—which were all normal traits shared by a great many seven-year-old boys.

His son was no different from anyone else.

“Dad?” Max asked, breathless as they reached the parking lot.

Realizing Max was jogging to keep pace with his long, angry strides, Eddie slowed. “Hmm?”

“Am I in trouble?”

Eddie stopped. “No. Why?”

Max stared at the ground, kicked a pebble. “’Cause Mrs. Kavanagh wanted to talk to you.”

“It was a parent/teacher conference. So she could tell me how you’re doing.”

“I haven’t been fighting,” Max blurted, his cheeks turning red. “Not even a little. Not even when Aaron took my turn on the monkey bars today. I walked away, like you told me.”

“That’s good.” Though he should probably add something about standing your ground when you know you’re in the right, not letting people push you around and learning how to talk things through. To compromise.

Use your words.

Easy for Harper to say. She had more than her fair share of words while Eddie was always searching for the right ones.

“Does Mrs. Kavanagh like me?” Max asked.

“Yeah. She likes you a lot.” That much had been clear. “Do you...” He grabbed the back of his neck, massaged the ache there. “Do you like her?”

Max nodded so hard, his hair flopped into his eyes. “She’s nice. And funny. And she doesn’t yell even when someone’s being really bad.”

Eddie dropped his hand. “That’s...great.”

Yeah, freaking terrific. It would be so much easier switching Max to another class if he’d disliked Harper or, at the very least, didn’t give a damn about her one way or the other. Not that Eddie was set on that course of action. She’d said herself she needed his permission for Max to be observed by the shrink. As long as she didn’t push him, Eddie wouldn’t have a reason to pull Max from her class.

“Come on,” he said. “We have to stop at Bradford House and see how Heath did with the kitchen cabinets.”

“Can I get a snack before practice?”

Damn. That was right. It was Tuesday. Max had hockey practice. Eddie would never stop being grateful Mark Benton had stepped up and offered to coach before Eddie could get stuck with the job.

He glanced at his watch. Why were there never enough hours in the day? “Sure, but we need to get moving.”

He clasped his son’s small, warm and slightly sticky hand. There would be a time, not too far in the future, when Max would grimace and shrink away when Eddie offered his hand.

But not today.

Today, his son held on instead of running ahead. Today, his son still needed him.

They climbed into the truck.

“Want to know what else I like about Mrs. Kavanagh?” Max asked as he buckled his seat belt.

Not in the least.

“Sure,” Eddie said with a sigh.

“She’s pretty,” Max whispered, a blush coloring his fair skin. “And she smells good.”

Eddie turned on the ignition, slammed his foot onto the clutch and jammed the truck into first gear. He’d noticed both those things, too.

He wished like hell he hadn’t.

* * *

“HE HAD THE NERVE...the utter...utter...”

Harper tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling of Dr. Joan Crosby’s office in hope the word she was searching for would somehow magically appear in the air.

“Gall?” Joan asked from behind her neat desk.

Harper whirled on the older woman. Jabbed a finger in her direction. “Yes! The utter gall to threaten to take Max out of my class.”

She still couldn’t believe it. Pacing to burn off some of her temper before she picked up her daughter from day care, her quick, short strides took her to the far edge of the room and back in seconds. An easy enough task given the size of the office and the fact that there was nothing in there that wasn’t completely necessary. A desk and chair, three other chairs—two facing the desk, the third off to the side—and floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books. A small, round table with two kid-sized chairs sat in the far corner along with a plastic bin Harper knew held drawing paper, crayons and colored pencils.

Joan didn’t believe in wasting space, materials, time or words.

Harper grabbed a handful of M&M’s—her third such handful—from a ceramic bowl on the desk and tossed several into her mouth. They didn’t help. She ate some more.

Stick with something long enough, and you were bound to get the results you wanted.

Naive? Perhaps. But it kept her happy and optimistic in the face of adversity. After Beau had been taken from her so suddenly, Harper had wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and die herself. She couldn’t, of course. She had people who counted on her, who needed her to be strong. Her daughter, Cassidy, for one.

Joan, Beau’s mother, for another.

So, yes, she lived a life of clichés. Chin up. Search out the good in life. The sun will come out tomorrow and all that jazz. Looking on the bright side had kept her sane during the past ten months. Believing in some greener pasture, in better days, helped to push her through each hour, every minute without her husband.

Convinced her things would get better.

Each day got a little easier. She no longer cried herself to sleep or felt as if there was a weight on her chest, one making it unbearable to breathe. She was living again, could see real hope for the future, could even imagine herself moving on. Dating. Possibly falling in love again.

Eventually. When the time was right. In another year or so when the idea of being with someone new didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility. When it wouldn’t feel like a betrayal of her husband, of what they’d shared.

Someday she would move on. Fully. Without regrets or guilt. She had to. Even when you lost the man you loved with all your heart, life went on, day after day.

It was funny that way.

She ate a red M&M followed quickly by a blue one. She froze in the act of reaching for another handful, her fingers twitching, and glared at Joan. “What are you, a sadist?”

Her mother-in-law considered that, as if the question deserved real thought. “I don’t believe so.”

“Then why are you letting me eat these? You know I’m trying to lose this extra baby weight.” Baby weight she carried on her hips and thighs despite delivering said baby two and a half years ago.

Guess not everything worked out the way you wanted, no matter how hard or long you stuck with it.

“I was afraid to suggest you slow down,” Joan said. “Or take the bowl lest you chomped my hand off at the wrist.”

“Ha ha.” Harper flopped onto the chair as Joan reached for the candy. “Wait,” Harper cried, leaping back up. She took two more. “Last ones. I swear.”

She’d make up for the extra calories by getting on the treadmill tonight.

Feeling better, if not entirely virtuous about her choice, she sucked on the first M&M to make it last as long as possible.

Joan tucked the bowl into a side drawer then clasped her hands together on top of the desk. “Now that you’ve settled down, why don’t you tell me what’s got you so upset?”

Harper slid the second chocolate into her mouth. Perhaps she’d chosen the wrong person to vent to. Why did she have to have a psychologist for a mother-in-law? And vice versa?

But they’d known each other a few years before Joan had introduced her only child to Harper. Even though Beau no longer tied them together, they were still family. More than that, they were each other’s connection to the man—the husband, the son—they’d both lost. During the worst grief imaginable, they’d stuck together, had been there for each other.

That would never change.

Through it all, their relationship had grown and evolved into friendship, one Harper cherished. It was that friend she needed now.

She’d just have to put up with the therapist butting in with her two cents every once in a while.

“I’m upset because he wouldn’t even listen to reason.” Wouldn’t listen to her. “I explained that Max needed help, that he was dangerously behind in all subject areas, and the first step toward getting to the bottom of Max’s problems was for you to observe him, but Eddie...brushed all my reasons aside.”

Like she was some annoying gnat come to burrow in that mop of hair on his head.

“Uh-huh. Is that all?”

Harper gaped. “Didn’t you hear me? He threatened to take Max from my class.” The more she thought of it, the more upset she got. She started pacing again. “Not once, in all my years of teaching—”

“Sweetie,” Joan said not unkindly, “you don’t get to use in all my years of teaching until you’ve been here at least twenty years.”

“Well, in the ten years I’ve taught I’ve never had any parent ask to remove their child from my class. I’m the most requested teacher in second grade.”

Joan arched a perfect eyebrow. “Bragging, dear?”

Harper’s cheeks heated. Too bad the candy was put away. The best cure for the blues, bad temper and embarrassment was chocolate. It fixed what ailed you.

“I’m stating a fact.” She chewed on the inside of her lip. “Maybe I should have told him that. Then he could have realized what a mistake it would be for him to take Max away from me.”

“I’d like to make sure I have this straight.” Joan steepled her fingers under her chin, her reading glasses on top of her graying blond curls. “Mr. Montesano is reluctant to discuss the possible reasons behind Max’s struggles in school and became defensive when you stated your opinions.”

“Very defensive. And then he got offensive.”

Joan hummed in a way that made Harper feel as if she was being analyzed. Which, let’s be honest, she completely was. “And how did that make you feel?”

Harper’s lips twitched. “Please. I’m trying to keep a good mad going here.”

“And you’re doing an admirable job. But it might be better for your stress levels if you collect your thoughts and think of a solution to the problem.”

“I’d rather stay mad,” she grumbled.

“But mad doesn’t solve anything.”

True. She sighed. Stared at the framed photos on Joan’s desk—one of Harper and Beau on their wedding day, another of Beau holding their daughter, Cassidy, on his birthday last year.

Ten days later, Beau was gone.

“Eddie accused me of not doing my job.”

“Ah...”

“Oh, no. No.”

“What?”

“I know what you’re up to with that ah. You think you’ve got it all figured out, that there’s some deep-seated issue here causing me to be so upset. Probably something to do with my dog running away when I was four or my not getting enough love as a child.”

“Your parents adore you.”

“Exactly.” And, being an only child, she didn’t have to share that adoration with anyone else. “So there’s nothing to ah about here.”

“Hmm...”

With a groan, Harper flopped into the chair. “That’s even worse.”

“Seems to me,” Joan said in the same slow, thoughtful tone she employed when speaking with students, “the problem isn’t Mr. Montesano’s reaction—or at least, not only his reaction. It’s your reaction to that reaction.”

“He started it.”

Joan smiled. “Surprisingly, that’s not the first time I’ve heard those words uttered from someone sitting in that chair.”

Considering Joan’s usual clients were the under-twelve set, Harper wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or amused. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have let him get me so upset.”

“Have you considered the reason why you reacted the way you did?”

“I’m going to blame it on my never getting over Sparky running away and leave it at that.”

Unfortunately, Joan never left anything alone. Tenaciousness must have come with her Ph.D. “You’ve dealt with numerous parents on matters both big and small throughout the years without letting them upset you. It seems to me, the difference this time isn’t that Mr. Montesano was resistant to your help, but that he bruised your pride.”

Though the words were said gently, without reprimand or judgment, Harper flinched. “You think this is about my ego?”

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s annoying the way you answer a question with another question.”

Joan simply waited. As if she knew it was only a matter of time before Harper broke. She was right.

About everything.

Harper slouched farther into her seat, wished she could disappear into the fabric. “Maybe he poked at my pride a little.” Staring at her left hand, she slid her engagement ring and wedding band up and down her finger. Up and down. “What do I do now?”

“I think the best way to proceed is to give Mr. Montesano time to process your discussion, your concerns. After report cards are sent out next month, call him in for another meeting. Sam and I can sit in on it if you’d like.”

Harper wondered if that last bit was a reprimand for skirting the rules and meeting with Eddie on her own. “That would probably be for the best. Thanks.”

Having Joan and the principal there might be enough to persuade Eddie that she knew what she was talking about. Or it could get her in a boatload of trouble if she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

Like today.

Her mouth. From the time she’d said her first word at eight months old it’d been getting her into trouble.

She pressed her fingertips against her temples. She’d snapped at Eddie, had told him not to shrug at her again. Her stomach got queasy, embarrassment coated her throat. He had every right to complain about her to her superiors.

She wrinkled her nose. Maybe not every right. He had been incredibly stubborn and unreasonable. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t complain about their little meeting. She may as well have handed him the phone numbers of the principal, superintendent and president of the school board, and told him to have at it asking for her resignation. Or, more realistically, asking Max to be moved to another class.

Worse, instead of getting him to see he was hurting Max by ignoring her suggestions, she’d pushed him into digging in his heels even deeper.

She’d messed up. Royally. Now she had to make it right. Tonight she’d write up some ideas for strategies she could implement in her class, ways to help Max focus and succeed.

After all, she didn’t need to meet with Eddie or get his permission to try different teaching methods. To do what was best for one of the students in her class. He wasn’t the damn boss of her.

Joan shut off her computer and got her purse from the desk drawer. “Would you and Cass like to come for dinner? Steve’s making chicken pot pie.”

“We’d love to, but it’s Uncle Will’s birthday so we’re eating at Aunt Irene’s.”

Since Beau died, she and Cass never had a shortage of dinner invitations. It was as though her loved ones thought if they didn’t feed her and her daughter, they’d starve.

Not that she didn’t appreciate the support. She did. Really. It was just sometimes all she wanted after a long day was to pick up Cassidy from day care, go home, put on sweatpants and play with her baby.

But she tried to make sure Cass saw Joan and Steve—Beau’s stepfather—a few times a week. It was important that her daughter have a connection to her paternal grandparents.

Keeping everyone happy—and convincing them she and Cassidy really were fine—was exhausting sometimes.

“Can we get a rain check?” she asked.

Joan came around the desk and walked with her to the door. “Of course,” she said, shutting off the lights. “How about tomorrow night?”

“That sounds great.” At least it would save her having to throw together something for dinner. “Thanks. For everything.”

“That’s what family is for. Try not to worry about Max. I’ve seen this before, parents who are reluctant to admit there’s a problem. They usually come around and I’m sure Mr. Montesano will be no different.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

Even if she wasn’t, it didn’t matter. Because Harper wasn’t about to let Eddie take Max away from her. She couldn’t. Max needed her.

And to help a child she’d gladly do battle against any opponent—including grumpy, taciturn Eddie Montesano.

CHAPTER THREE

WITH MAROON 5’S “Payphone” playing over the radio in Bradford House’s kitchen, Eddie crouched in front of the rough plumbing for the sink. He measured the distance from the floor to the hot water pipe, wrote the figure on a piece of scrap paper and repeated the action with the cold water pipe and drain. Then he measured them all again.

Measure twice, cut once. Good advice that had been drilled into his head since he started working for his father at the age of fifteen. Advice he heeded on the job literally—and in life figuratively.

Be careful, cautious, and you were less likely to make a mistake.

Behind him, the door opened. “If you’re not going to keep your phone on,” a familiar voice said as Eddie wrote down the last of the measurements, “why do you bother to have one?”

Straightening, Eddie stuck the carpenter pencil in his back pocket and laid the paper on top of the cherry cabinet he’d built for the sink base. “Who says it’s not on?”

“Me.” James Montesano, Eddie’s older brother, waved his own phone in the air. “And the fact that I’ve been calling you for the past hour.”

Eddie pulled out his phone and turned it on, then slid it into his pocket. “I had a meeting.”

He’d rather keep it off. He hated the damn thing. Had no desire to talk to most people face-to-face, why would he want the torture of trying to keep up a conversation over the phone? Or worse, send and receive text messages like some teenager? The only reason he even had one was in case of an emergency.

And if something had happened to his son, if he’d gotten hurt or sick at hockey practice, James would have told Eddie that immediately instead of laying into him about his lack of cell-phone manners. Besides, their mother was the secondary emergency contact for Max and she would have simply picked Max up if he’d needed her.

“Hand me the hole saw,” Eddie said, marking the measurements on the back of the sink base.

James sighed. “Aren’t you going to ask why I’ve been calling you for the past hour?”

“I figure you’ll tell me when you’re ready.” No sense rushing a man when he had something on his mind. Eddie hated being pushed to speak before he was ready. “You going to give me the saw or not?”

“I’ve been calling,” James said as his phone buzzed, “because I’m tired of acting as your message service.”

“Customers wouldn’t bug you so often if you didn’t answer each call and respond to every text message.”

As if to prove him right, James checked the number of the incoming call. “Shit,” he muttered before answering it with a cheerful, “Meg, hi. How are you?”

Though their father, Frank, was the head of Montesano Construction, had built the business from the ground up thirty-five years ago, James was the one who kept the company running smoothly today. His anal tendencies, love for organization and rules and unnatural fondness for his smartphone made him the perfect man for the job.

Thank God. Eddie could handle coming up with the work schedules, and both he and Maddie wrote up estimates for potential jobs. But Eddie would rather shoot himself in the bare foot with a nail gun than have to deal with customers changing their minds, whining about costs and bitching about jobs taking too long.

And if Maddie, with her sharp tongue and take-no-prisoners attitude, was in charge of customer service?

Montesano Construction would be out of business in two months. Three, tops.

Better to keep things the way they were. Even if that meant putting up with James’s nagging, bossiness and him ceasing all conversation to stroke his phone.

Not that Eddie actually minded that last one. At least it got James to shut up for a few minutes.

Saving himself the time and trouble of asking for the hole saw again—no sense when James was absorbed in conversation—Eddie crossed to the corner cabinet and got the damn thing himself.

While he’d been at the parent/teacher thing, Heath had finished installing the two lower cabinets to the left of the sink base. Eddie could let the sink wait until tomorrow, but with Max at hockey practice, he had two hours on his hands. A good opportunity to make up for the time he’d missed.

Time he never should have missed, he thought, his irritation once again spiking when he remembered his conversation with Harper. He should have been working instead of listening to her try to convince him to go against his instincts.

The ones screaming at him to protect his son.

He cut through the back of the sink base, the loud whine of the saw and scent of sawdust filling the air. When he had three perfect circles, he tossed the scraps aside, set the tool on the floor out of the way and went to the front of the cabinet. Grabbing the corners, he wiggled the base into position then stepped back.

They still had a long way to go—three more lower cabinets along this wall needed installing as did a dozen upper cabinets, and he was putting the finishing touches on the large center island at the workshop. But the floor had been laid, the walls prepped and painted, the appliances were on order and the lighting fixtures were being delivered in two days.

“That woman is one hundred pages of crazy in a fifty-page book,” James grumbled, putting away his phone.

“That’s why God invented voice mail.”

“You should know, seeing as how most calls I make to you go straight to it. Mine and everyone else who dials that number.” James crossed his arms, braced his legs wide. Eddie knew that stance. It was the one James adopted when he was getting ready to do battle. “Including, apparently, your ex-wife.”

And there was the reason for it.

Eddie stilled. “What?”

“Lena phoned me. Told me she’s been trying to get ahold of you for the past five days but you haven’t answered any of her calls or returned them. I told her you and Max were both fine and that I’d relay her message.”

“What message?”

“To call her. What do you think she wants?”

He didn’t know. And that was the problem. The reason he’d been avoiding her calls.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll tell her not to bug you.”

“She didn’t bug me and I don’t mind that she called. Especially when she was obviously upset and worried something had happened to Max.”

“You told her Max was fine.”

She had no reason to worry. No right to. Not when she was the one who walked away from their son.

“She seemed relieved,” James said. “What’s going on? She still bugging you about more time with Max?”

“Nothing’s going on.” Nothing except his ex-wife changing the rules they’d lived by for the past five years. “I’ve got it handled.”

About four months ago, Lena had started calling several times a week instead of every other weekend. At first, Eddie hadn’t thought much of it, but then she’d started talking about spending more time with Max, how she wanted to be a bigger part of his life.

That was when the fear had set in. Ever since their divorce, ever since she’d willingly granted Eddie full custody, she’d never wanted to be more than a partial influence in their child’s life. Twice-yearly visits—always in Shady Grove—had been enough for her all this time. It should continue to be enough.

Or at least that’s what he’d thought until she’d admitted the reason for her change of heart.

Cancer.

Lena had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer in January. Per her wishes, Eddie hadn’t told anyone, not even his family. Not Max. Lena was fine now, her prognosis excellent after a hysterectomy and chemo treatments.

No sense worrying Max needlessly. No point in letting him know it’d taken a near-death experience to make his mother want back in his life.

Eddie had agreed to let Lena see Max anytime she wanted. It was the right thing to do.

But that didn’t mean Eddie had to like being the good guy. Or that he had to answer every one of her phone calls.

Kneeling in front of the cabinet, Eddie inserted shims under the bottom to make the base level. As he worked, though, he felt James’s gaze on him, like an unreachable itch between his shoulder blades. Nagging. Irritating as hell.

“Everything okay with you?” James asked.

“Yep.”

But James remained rooted to his spot. “Let’s go to O’Riley’s. Grab a beer.” From the tapping going on behind him, James had his phone out again. “But it’s your turn to buy.”

“I’m working.”

“Fine. I’ll buy.”

Eddie tossed the shims aside. “I don’t want a beer.”

Actually, a beer didn’t sound half bad. If a quick drink had been all James was after, he might have gone along with it. But James was too perceptive to buy Eddie’s evasions about Lena. Too damned nosy to let it go. And spending any amount of time deflecting what was sure to be an interrogation sounded like pure hell.

“I’ll text Leo,” James said. “Have him meet us.”

Both brothers yakking at him, questioning him, wanting to know his every goddamn thought? More like pure hell with the flames set to High.

Eddie stood. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Between putting in twelve-hour days for Montesano Construction, family obligations and his new live-in relationship with Sadie Nixon—his best friend since childhood—James always had somewhere to be. Something to do.

“Not for an hour.” He didn’t even look up from whatever he was typing. “Sadie and I are going to her parents’ house for Will’s birthday dinner.”

“You want to waste an hour while Leo hits on every pretty woman at O’Riley’s, that’s your choice. Me? I’m going to finish this, pick up my kid and go home.”

“You sure?” James asked quietly, but Eddie knew what his brother really wanted to know.

Are you really all right? Do you want to talk about it? What can I do to help?

He was grateful for the concern. He didn’t want it, didn’t need it, but he could appreciate it just the same. “I’m sure.”

Nodding, James stepped forward and slapped Eddie’s shoulder. Gave it an affectionate—if heavy-handed—squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He walked out, his phone once again buzzing for his attention. Eddie turned to his work. He appreciated his brother’s concern. Knew James and the rest of their family were there for him and Max if they needed them. Whenever. Wherever.

It meant a lot.

But there were some things a man had to do on his own.

* * *

“I’M TELLING YOU, that woman hates me,” Sadie Nixon said with such heartfelt drama, Harper glanced around to make sure they hadn’t been magically transported to a Broadway stage. Harper’s cousin always had had somewhat of a theatrical streak.

But, nope, they were still in Irene Ellison’s gourmet kitchen. The scent of roasting beef filled the air, mixed with the yeasty smell of the rolls in the second oven while potatoes bubbled on the back corner of the six-burner range. Speckled black granite counters topped white cabinets, and green-and-black accents kept the room from being too modern or austere.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Aunt Irene told her daughter as she spread whipped white frosting on a triple-layer coconut cake. “Rose is a lovely woman.”

“She’s a fabulous woman,” Sadie agreed, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the counter. “Wonderful, really. Kind. Caring. Considerate. And she hates my guts.”

Aunt Irene shook her head. “Now, Sadie—”

“It’s true. I’ve tried so hard to get her to like me. I bake her cookies. Pick up little gifts I think she’ll enjoy. Help with the dishes when we eat dinner there. I invite her out for coffee or shopping, just the two of us.” Sadie, in bright orange jeans that threatened to cause permanent eye damage, and a silky white top that fell from her shoulder, pouted prettily. Then again, everything Sadie did she did prettily. Hard not to when you looked like a blonde, blue-eyed fairy come to life. “She’s always busy.”

“Well, I imagine she is very busy, what with going back to school,” Aunt Irene said.

Lifting the lid from the potatoes, Harper frowned as steam heated her cheeks, probably curling her hair. “Mrs. Montesano is going to college?”

“She’s taking courses at Seton Hill.” Sadie swiped her finger through the frosting bowl when her mom’s back was turned. “She wants to be a social worker.”

Good to know at least one Montesano considered education important. Rose’s middle son could learn a lesson from his mother.

Harper gripped the fork like Norman Bates in Psycho and stabbed the potatoes with more force than necessary. Not that she was letting grumpy, stubborn Eddie affect the rest of her evening or anything. She’d let all that go. Her frustration with him. Her curiosity as to how someone who seemed so quiet and stoic could also be so blatantly antagonistic.

Her shock over the sense that he just hadn’t seemed to like her all that much.

She peeled her fingers from the utensil and laid it on the counter, replaced the lid on the not-quite-done vegetable. How could he not like her? They didn’t even know each other, for God’s sake. Yes, she’d tutored him, but it wasn’t as if they’d had many—or any—deep, meaningful conversations. There was no basis, none at all, for him to form what had seemed to be a distinct aversion to her.

Which was crazy. She happened to be extremely likable. Some would even say to know her was to love her.

Okay, so only her parents had ever said that but that didn’t make it any less true.

“Just be yourself,” Irene advised Sadie as she moved the remaining frosting out of her daughter’s reach. “I’m sure whatever problem Rose has with you will solve itself in good time.”

“Please. I broke her son’s heart. She refuses to forgive me.”

“And he broke yours. But you found your way back to each other and mended those breaks. Forgave each other. It’s the way of love.”

“It’s not that way for everyone.” Harper couldn’t help but point this out. “Beau and I never fought.” And her husband certainly would never have done anything to break her heart.

Sadie raised her eyebrows. “Never?”

“We argued once in a while but nothing major.”

Everything between her and Beau had been so easy. So right. They’d fallen hard for each other at first sight, were engaged within a year of that initial meeting and married six months later. They’d rented an apartment, scrimped and saved for two years until they’d had enough for the down payment on their house. Harper had gotten pregnant a few months after moving in and, after eight and a half months, gave birth to a perfect daughter in under nine hours.

They’d done everything right. Everything.

And still he’d been taken away from her.

“No fights means no makeup sex,” Sadie said. “Or in-the-heat-of-a-fight sex, which is even better.”

Harper sent her a smug grin. “We didn’t need to fight to make sex exciting.”

Sadie snorted out a laugh.

Irene retrieved a huge glass bowl of salad from the stainless steel fridge. “Before we delve any further into the sex lives of my daughter and my favorite niece—”

“Your only niece,” Harper and Sadie said at the same time.

“I’d like to get back to what I was saying, which is that you needn’t worry about Rose staying angry with you. She’ll eventually forgive you for hurting her child.”

“I don’t see you holding a grudge against James,” Sadie muttered.

“That’s because I was on James’s side the whole time.”

And with that piece of insight, Aunt Irene swept out of the kitchen and into the dining room where Harper’s mother, Mary Ann, was in charge of setting the table. Her Uncle Will and dad, Kurt, were entertaining Cassidy in the family room.

“Now that’s just mean,” Sadie called after her mother.

Harper rubbed her cousin’s arm. “Don’t worry. Aunt Irene’s right. Mrs. Montesano will get over whatever’s bothering her. No one can stay mad at you for long.”

“She’s giving it her best effort.” Sadie slid Harper an unreadable look. “Though I’m very glad to hear you say that.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. What did you do now?”

“Why does everyone insist on asking me that?”

“Because we know you?”

Harper loved her cousin like crazy but that didn’t mean she was immune to Sadie’s flaws. She tended to leap into situations feetfirst without looking left or right, laugh off the consequences of her actions and follow every whim that floated through her head.

“You know I only ever have the best of intentions,” Sadie said, laying her hand on her heart.

Her earnest expression sent a chill of trepidation up Harper’s spine. “Uh-huh. Why do I get the feeling those best intentions—” she used air quotes to mark the words “—somehow involve me this time?”

“Because you’re incredibly bright and intuitive.”

“You’re making me nervous, so why don’t you tell me what it is you have up your sleeve so we can both move on with our lives.”

“Actually, that’s what this is all about.” Sadie inhaled deeply and when she spoke, her voice was quiet, compassionate. “You moving on. And I know just the man to help you.”

Harper’s scalp tingled even as a laugh of disbelief escaped her throat. “No. No, no, no. And if that doesn’t cover it, let me add a no way, no how, not going to happen.”

“But Charlie is a great guy. He’s handsome,” Sadie said, ticking good ol’ Charlie’s traits off on her fingers, “charming, successful, funny—”

“Wow. Hard to believe such a man exists in this day and age. Or that he’s still single.”

“It is a shock,” Sadie said as if Harper had been serious. “Because he’s so sweet and really smart and—”

“Loves puppies? Takes his mother and grandmother to church every Sunday? Trained to be an Olympic gymnast but gave it up to become a neurosurgeon? Single-handedly stopped a busload of orphans from driving off a bridge and into a river?”

“He’s not a superhero, Harper.” Shaking her long, puffy hair back from her face, Sadie raised her chin and sniffed. “It wouldn’t hurt you to give Charlie a chance. I told him all about you—”

“Oh, Sadie, you didn’t.”

“And he was intrigued. Extremely intrigued. He’s interested in meeting you. It doesn’t have to be a blind date or even anything major. We could go out—you and Charlie, me and James—have a nice, casual dinner. If you and Charlie hit it off, wonderful. If not, no harm done.”

Irritation burrowed under Harper’s skin, rooted itself at the base of her spine. She did her best to ignore it, to keep her expression relaxed. To remind herself that Sadie meant well and was only trying to help Harper, to do what she thought was best for her.

But if she didn’t knock it off, Harper might very well smash the cake into Sadie’s pretty, interfering face. Except that would be a waste of a really delicious-looking cake.

“Look, I’m sure Charlie is as fabulous as you say.” Though Sadie’s track record with men before she and James became involved disputed that. “But I’m not in the market for any man. Besides, it would be greedy of me to snag Charlie after I already had the perfect guy. Let’s let some other woman have a turn.”

“I know it’s not easy, believe me, I know better than most how hard it is to get past losing someone you love. But if there’s one thing I’ve finally learned, it’s how important it is for those of us left behind to continue living. To move forward with our lives.”

Harper softened a bit—but only because Sadie had faced her own terrible loss. Her father died in a car accident when she was nine years old. She’d only recently been able to fully heal from it. “I am living my life.”

She didn’t have a choice.

“Yes, but are you happy?” Sadie asked gently.

Happy? The question, the word alone, gave Harper pause enough to make her realize she didn’t want to answer it. Not if it meant facing the truth.

“I’m not unhappy,” she hedged, sounding way too defensive and unsure for her own peace of mind. “I’m content enough.”

Yes, that was it. She may not have chosen her current situation, but she’d adjusted to it quite nicely. And even though she may not be ecstatically, blissfully happy all the time, there were still periods of joy in her life—hearing her daughter’s laugh, teaching the kids in her class, being around her family. Moments she treasured all the more now that she had firsthand experience of how precious they truly were.

Of how easily they could be taken away.

“I’m sorry,” Sadie said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything—”

“Hey, at least you got something right today.”

“And I hate that you’re mad at me—”

“I’m not mad,” Harper said, praying that one little fib wouldn’t mess up all the excellent karma she’d worked so hard for all these years.

Sadie clasped Harper’s hands. “You’ve been incredibly strong but I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to be alone.”

Harper’s fingers twitched and she tugged free of Sadie’s grasp.

And to think, she’d been so excited when Sadie had returned to town two months ago, thrilled when her cousin had moved in with James, settling down right here in Shady Grove after spending so many years flitting from place to place.

Maybe Sadie would get bored soon and go on another of her “life adventures.”

One could only dream.

“I’m not ready to date again.” Harper held up her hand when Sadie opened her mouth. “I promise when I am, I’ll let you know. I’ll even give you dibs on being the first person to fix me up. Until that day comes, I’d prefer if you didn’t bring this up again.”

She turned on her heel and walked out the door, stepping onto the small porch at the front of the house. Hugging her arms against the slight chill in the air, she sat on the top step and rested her head against the post.

Her chest was tight. Her throat scratchy and sore. She sniffed. She was fine. She was 100 percent, absolutely fine.

I don’t want you to be alone.

As if that would ever happen. Between her daughter, her family and work, she rarely had a moment by herself. Even as a kid she’d always been surrounded by people—her parents, her friends, teachers and classmates. She didn’t know what it was like to be alone.

But in the past year, she’d learned exactly what it was like to be lonely.

* * *

“HOW’S THAT HOMEWORK COMING?” Eddie asked Max, glancing at where his son sat hunched over his books at their kitchen table.

Max—for some reason standing to walk around and around the table—shrugged, a gesture Eddie recognized as one of his own. His brothers were right. It was annoying as hell, especially when he needed to get an answer and none was forthcoming.

Eddie popped a slice of carrot into his mouth then wiped his hands on the towel hanging from his belt. Checked the microwave clock. Almost eight. It would be another twenty minutes before they ate. And, if history proved correct, a good hour until Max was done with his math, reading and spelling.

He’d picked up Max from practice only to be three blocks from home before realizing he had nothing to make for dinner. They’d turned around and hit the grocery store—an errand that should have taken only a few minutes but had somehow dragged into half an hour thanks to Max racing all over the store.

Where the kid got his energy after skating around hell-bent for leather for two hours was beyond Eddie. That last time, when Max had taken off in the frozen food aisle, Eddie thought for sure he’d have to call the cops to hunt him down only to corral him—and the box of cupcakes in his hands—by the deli.

Max had been working on his math since they’d walked in the door twenty-five minutes ago. Eddie would like to blame the long time frame on the amount of work needed to be done but Harper only gave the kids a few addition problems to solve, told them to copy their spelling words and read from their assigned books.

He could blame her for other things, though. Such as him having to stand over his kid to make sure Max not only did his homework but also did it correctly. For Eddie worrying about what would happen if he let either of those things slip.

“Here,” Max said, shoving his math paper at Eddie when he reached his side.

Eddie picked it up, his chest tightening at the sight of the messy answers. “Double-check these,” he said, pointing to three problems that were incorrect. Three out of the five. Damn.

Sitting on the edge of the chair, his tongue caught between his teeth, Max erased the number he’d written in for the first problem. Frowning, he mumbled to himself. “Twenty-three?” he asked, looking so hopeful Eddie wished he could manipulate the formula for math just to make his kid right.

“Try again. What’s six plus six?”

Max swung his foot, his heel hitting the chair leg. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Should Eddie be worried it took Max so long to figure it out, that he didn’t know it automatically and had to count on his fingers?

Another reason to damn Harper. For making him doubt everything his kid did.

“Twelve.”

“Right. So when you take the six of sixteen and add six, the answer is twenty...” When Max remained silent—other than all that thumping—Eddie held up all the fingers on his left hand, the pointer finger on his right. “Sixteen...seventeen,” he said, folding his pointer finger down. “Eighteen.” The thumb on his left hand. “Nineteen.” Left pointer finger.

“Twenty.” Max folded Eddie’s middle finger down. “Twenty-one.” Ring finger, then pinky. “Twenty-two!”

“Good job. Now rework the other ones.”

While Max figured out the remaining problems, Eddie put their burgers on the grill, tossed frozen French fries into the oven and threw together a salad.

“Done,” Max said, digging into his backpack.

“This one is still wrong,” Eddie told him, tapping the incorrect answer.

With a weary sigh—as if Eddie was the one making this process last so damn long—Max slumped into his seat clutching his handheld video game. “I don’t know it.”

“You didn’t even look at which problem it is.”

He scanned the paper then shrugged.

“Nineteen plus eight is twenty-seven,” Eddie said, erasing the wrong answer. He held out the pencil but Max had his head bent over his game, his hair in his eyes.

Eddie wrote in the correct sum, doing his best to imitate his son’s handwriting.

And he could only imagine what kind of fresh hell he’d catch if Harper found out about it. Too bad. She didn’t get what it was like, being a single parent, trying to do it all on her own. Besides, he’d make up for it by going over Max’s addition flash cards with him this weekend. Twice.

“Put the game away and get your reading book out,” he told Max. “You can read to me while I get dinner on the table.”

Eddie grabbed plates, silverware and napkins. When he returned to the table, Max was still hunched over his game, his fingers flying across the buttons.

“I said, put the game away.” Max didn’t so much as blink. Eddie set the plates on the table with a sharp crack. “Max. Maximilian.”

Nothing.

He plucked the video game from his son’s hands.

“Hey,” Max said, jumping up and reaching for it.

Eddie easily held it out of reach. “You can play later. After you’ve done your reading and we’ve had dinner.”

In a full pout, Max flopped onto the chair, crossed his arms. “I don’t want to read it. Mrs. Kavanagh gave me a baby book.”

“She wants you to read a book about babies?”

Max rolled his eyes. “It’s a book that babies read.”

“Must be gifted babies. Reading before they can even talk.”

Another eye roll, this one worthy of a kid twice his age. “It’s a kindergarten book.”

“If it’s the book Mrs. Kavanagh assigned you to read, that’s what you’ll do.”

“I want to read Heroes of Olympus.”

They’d just discovered the series over the summer and were on the third book. But there was no way Max could read a book at that level.

Impatience and sympathy battled inside of Eddie with irritation giving them both a run for their money. Big-time. He dug deep so that patience won in the end. He was tired. They both were. Add in hungry, and the fact that one of them was a kid, and you had the potential for a major breakdown. One Eddie didn’t have the time for.

“If we get everything done by nine,” he said, “everything being dinner, your homework and your bath, I’ll read you two chapters of The Mark of Athena before we go to bed. Deal?”

Chewing on his thumbnail, Max nodded. Slid his book—Pie Rats Ahoy!—out of his backpack and opened it. “B...b...”

Eddie covered the second half of the word with his thumb. “Sound it out.”

“B...beh...”

“Be,” Eddie corrected, switching to cover the first two letters. “Now this part.”

“Wuh...” Max shook his head. “Ruh...”

“Ware. Now put them together.” He covered the second half again. “Be.”

“Be.”

Covered the first part. “Ware.”

“Ware.”

“Be,” Eddie said, drawing the word out as he slid his finger under the letters. “Ware. Beware.”

“Beware. Tuh...huh...”

Eddie curled his fingers into his palms, his nails digging into his skin, but he kept his voice mild as he read over Max’s shoulder. “Remember when t and h are together like that, they make a th sound.”

Max nodded. “The...there...”

“Good.”

“There wa...war...”

“Were. There were...”

Fifteen minutes later, their fries were rapidly cooling on the counter and their burgers overdone. And Max was only halfway through a learn-to-read book about a bunch of pie-stealing rats.

“Let’s eat,” Eddie said, taking the book from Max and setting it aside. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to rip the damn thing into confetti. “We’ll finish this after your bath.”

“You said we could read The Mark of Athena.”

“I said if we got done by nine.” Not likely now, not with half a book to go plus Max’s spelling homework.

Max’s eyes welled with tears and Eddie’s heart broke. Not because his kid was disappointed—disappointments were a fact of life, one you couldn’t hide from or protect your children from. But because Eddie knew exactly how Max felt.

Damn it, he hated that his son had to struggle. Knew all too well what Max was going through. The frustration. The self-doubt. But worse was the wanting—wanting to do better. Wanting to be smarter.

Unable to do either.

“We’ll read one chapter before you go to bed,” Eddie promised. “No matter how late it is.”

“Okay.” Grinning, Max lunged at Eddie, wrapped his arms around Eddie’s neck. “Thanks, Dad.”

Eddie held on tight. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to keep his kid in his arms where nothing bad could happen to him. He wanted to promise him it would all be okay, that he’d be okay.

His cell phone buzzed.

“Put your stuff away and wash your hands,” he told Max then picked up his phone. “Hello?”

“Eddie,” a familiar female voice said. “Hi. How are you?”

He bit back a vicious curse. And wished like hell he’d never turned his cell phone on.

CHAPTER FOUR

“HEY,” EDDIE SAID, lowering his voice. Luckily, Max was busy washing his hands and had no interest in his dad’s phone call.

“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

Tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear, he dished fries onto Max’s plate then his own. “We were just sitting down to eat.”

“At eight-thirty? Isn’t that a little late?”

He pressed his lips together, squeezed the spatula handle so hard, he was surprised it didn’t snap in two. Who the hell was she to question how he did things?

“We had a busy day,” he managed to say in a reasonable tone.

“Of course,” she said quickly as if trying to appease him. “Did you get my messages?”

Messages? There had been more than the one she left with James?

He grunted in affirmation as he motioned for Max to sit and start eating. “What did you need?”

He could picture her on the other end of the line. Even though it was late, she was probably still at her fancy office, her hair pulled back. When they’d been married, she’d often worked twelve-, fourteen-hour days, put in time on weekends and holidays. She’d had no time and little energy for anything or anyone but work.

Not even her own son.

“Actually,” she said, “I’d like to talk to Max.”

Eddie turned his back to Max, who now watched him with a frown. Must have picked up on Eddie’s tension. “Like I said, we’re just getting ready to—”

“I’ll only take a moment of his time. I promise.”

Your promises don’t mean much.

He kept that thought to himself.

“Your mom wants to talk to you,” he told Max, holding out the phone.

Max took it. Eddie couldn’t tell if the flush staining his son’s cheeks was from pleasure or nerves.

“Hello?” Max said.

Eddie plated up his dinner, tried not to listen in on the conversation. Not that there was much said on Max’s part other than a few yeses, noes, okays and uh-huhs.

After a few minutes, Max said goodbye and passed the phone to Eddie. “She wants to talk to you again.”

Eddie set down his burger. “Yeah?”

“I’d like to visit Max,” Lena said without preamble, obviously taking the hint that Eddie had no desire for pleasantries or to drag this conversation out longer than necessary.

His stomach churning, he stood, covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Finish eating,” he whispered to Max before walking into the living room. “Is that what you talked with him about?”

“No. I wanted to run it by you first.”

Thank God for small favors. She had no business saying anything to Max about visiting before she had Eddie’s permission.

“Is next weekend a good time for you?” she asked.

There was no good time. After Lena’s visits, Max always acted out. Fighting at school. Being disrespectful and angry at home.

How could it be anything other than a disruption? Lena had taken off when their son was two, claiming she couldn’t handle the responsibility of having a child, wanting to climb the career ladder more than to be a mother. She’d moved to Chicago and had been on the fast track with her job ever since. Until she got sick.

And now she wanted to see Max next week.

What choice did he have? She was his mother. She had a right to see him. Max had a right to have his mother in his life, even if it was on a temporary basis.

“Yeah, that works for me.”

“Great,” she said, sounding so relieved, guilt pricked him. He pushed it aside. “Maybe one night,” she continued, “he could stay with me at the hotel.”

He didn’t want to fight her but he had to protect his son. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s only one night, Eddie,” she said, sounding small. “I really want to spend time with him. He’s my son, too.”

“He is your son,” he agreed, though it killed him to do so, “but you haven’t seen him in months. It’s confusing for him to have you pop in and out of his life.”

“Now that I’m better, I can see him more often. Can’t we work something out?”

She sounded sincere. But actions spoke louder than words and he needed to make sure this wasn’t some whim brought on by her illness. “If your visit with him goes well, the next time you come to town Max can spend one night with you.”

“I know I haven’t been a big part of Max’s life up until now,” she said softly. “But I want to change that. Are you going to let me? Or fight me?”

Her words, the subtle threat of them, blew through him. Chilled him to the bone. “Goodbye, Lena.”

He clicked the phone off, imagined how satisfying it would be to wing it across the room. Instead, he set it carefully on the coffee table and headed to the kitchen. To his son.

Are you going to let me? Or fight me?

He was going to let her. Was going to let her see Max, be a bigger part of his life. Partly because it was the right thing to do. Because he felt sorry for what she’d gone through with her cancer diagnosis. Because he truly was glad she was going to be okay.

But mostly because if he fought her, he was terrified he’d lose.

* * *

TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY-FIVE DAYS.

She hated mornings the most.

Actually, Joan thought, keeping her eyes shut as she lay under the heavy comforter on her bed, she hated every single waking moment of each day. But mornings were, by far, the worst. Because each day there was a moment, just as she awoke, when everything was fine. When she forgot, for the briefest of seconds, that her life had been changed forever.

Each day there were a precious few seconds when she was happy.

And then it all came rushing over her. The pain. The crushing grief. The sense of hopelessness. Of despair.

Her son was gone.

She didn’t know what to do. Wasn’t sure she could go on. She didn’t want to die.

She just...didn’t want to live.

Everything inside of her stilled and she held her breath as if she’d uttered her guiltiest secret aloud. Waited for the repercussions, the anger and denial, but none were forthcoming. Not from her husband, who slept next to her. Not from the universe or the God she used to believe in.

Not from herself.

How could she deny what was in her heart? The truth she faced each day. That she kept hidden from everyone. She wasn’t okay.

Wasn’t sure she’d ever be okay again.

But she’d keep pretending she was.

Everyone told her to take as much time as she needed, but even if she lived forever she’d never get over losing Beau. Her only child.

She was supposed to learn how to live without him. How? He’d been her shining light, her main focus and the best thing that had ever happened to her for so long... How could she possibly go on when he’d been so senselessly taken from this world?

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. It was the injustice of having him ripped from this world that kept her going. The sense that if she gave up, she’d somehow be letting the monster who’d taken Beau’s life win. She had to at least pretend she was getting better. That she was handling her loss with grace and dignity.

When all she really wanted was to curl up into a ball in some dark corner and never come out.

She didn’t have that luxury. She had to be there for Harper and Cassidy. Had to be a pillar of strength for those around her. She would not be pitied, would not be looked down upon or thought of as weak.

She’d keep right on pretending she was strong.

Steve shifted, rolled over so that his body pressed against her back, his morning erection solid and warm against the cleft of her rear. A year ago she would have snuggled closer to him, would have lifted his arm and wound it around her waist, led his hand to cup her breast. They would have made love slowly. Sweetly. Or they would have come together wildly. Passion driving them both higher and higher.

Six months ago she would have kept her breathing even and pretended to be sound asleep. Or she would have stiffened and edged away, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t touch her.

This morning she remained still. Kept her body relaxed as he rubbed against her, his hand gripping her hip, his breathing growing ragged. He rolled her gently onto her back—he was nothing but gentle, her husband, the man she’d fallen in love with years after thinking she’d never find love again.

They’d gotten married the summer Beau turned thirteen, had said their vows in a small, private ceremony in Steve’s backyard with Beau giving Joan away. Steve’s son and daughter—sixteen and eighteen respectively—had stood up for him.

It had been such a beautiful beginning. Such a lovely promise to what could have been a long and joyful life together.

But now that life was empty. She was empty. And so alone.

All she could do was hold on to the shell of their marriage. Of herself.

Steve shucked his boxers, slid her underwear down, then lifted the hem of her nightgown. There were no tender words between them. No smiles or laughter like there used to be. He didn’t kiss her, had stopped trying to get her to respond—to his kisses, his touch—months ago.

But she wouldn’t deny him. Not when she knew sex was a basic human function. Not when he’d been so good to her, helping her keep up her facade in front of everyone else.

She could pretend with everyone else but not with Steve. It shamed her. Humiliated her. But he was the only one who knew the truth. She was broken. Forever shattered.

He slid inside of her and she bit her lower lip, grimaced. She wasn’t prepared for him but after a few strokes, her body responded the way nature intended. He grabbed her hips, pressed his face into the side of her neck and pumped into her. His body was warm, his scent familiar.

She could hold on to his strong shoulders. Smooth her hands down his sides, over the soft skin of his lower back. She could lift her hips, meet him thrust for thrust, give a small piece of herself to him, take some comfort for herself.

She kept her hands at her sides, palms up, fingers splayed. Her hips still. Turning her head away from him, she stared blindly into the darkness of their room. The bed squeaked. Her body moved with each of his firm thrusts, rubbed against the softness of the sheet. The numbers on the digital clock changed. Changed again. And again. Until Steve’s fingers tightened, his body growing rigid.

He emptied himself into her with a low groan, his breath hot on her neck, his skin damp with sweat. And almost immediately, he rolled off of her and padded into the adjoining bathroom.

Leaving Joan to stare, dry-eyed, at yet another sunrise her son would never see.

* * *

EDDIE MONTESANO WAS back at Shady Grove Elementary, back in Harper’s classroom.

Max, too, she noted, spying the little boy’s head behind his father’s legs. Eddie, in faded jeans, a snug T-shirt and a worn Pittsburgh Pirates ball cap, stood in the doorway, almost in the same spot he’d been yesterday when he’d told her he didn’t need her help. And he was watching her, his focus so complete, so intense, it was all she could do to take a full breath.

Harper forced her attention to the sleeping newborn in her arms. But even as she smiled at the precious baby, she felt Eddie glowering at her from across the room.

God, talk about unnerving. She was about ready to jump out of her skin. Or hold tiny Dawn Rupert up as some kind of shield against his death glare.

What on earth was he doing here?

“She’s beautiful,” Harper told Dawn’s mother, Lydia. Harper lifted the warm weight of the baby higher and inhaled that sweet, newborn scent. Seriously, they should market this stuff. “And you look great.”

Lydia’s light brown hair was shiny and in soft waves around her pretty face, no dark circles or breakouts in sight on her clear complexion. Her green top hugged her post-baby boobs, her dark skinny jeans daring anyone to guess she’d given birth just seven days ago.

Good thing she was super sweet and funny, or else Harper would have to hate her on principle alone.

“Thanks,” Lydia said with the dismissive wave of a woman well used to not having to try hard to look good. “Honestly, she’s been such an easy baby so far, I’m afraid I’m getting spoiled. Not like that one.” Smiling, she nodded toward her older daughter, Shana, who skipped happily around her mother while singing the latest Beyoncé song under her breath.

Beyoncé. At seven. Whatever happened to “Mary Had a Little Lamb”?

“If Dawn keeps sleeping so much during the night,” Lydia continued, taking the baby from Harper, “I might be able to come back in a few weeks.”

Lydia was the classroom mother and a really good one, too. Then again, the woman probably made cleaning toilets look fun and effortless.

“Take all the time you need,” Harper said, unable to stop herself from shooting a glance in Eddie’s direction, only to discover he was no longer at the door. He and his son were now in the middle of the room. And slowly, steadily getting closer.

“I hate leaving you in a lurch like this but I’ll be back before Halloween. If you need someone before then, let me know. I’m sure I can find a sitter.”

Harper laughed. “We’ll be fine. Don’t worry about coming back before you’re ready.”

“Come on, Shana,” Lydia called as she headed toward the door. “Let’s get your baby sister home.”

“I get to help change her,” Shana told Harper proudly. A miniature of her mother, she had long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a penchant for T-shirts featuring Hello Kitty. “But I can’t feed her ’cause I don’t have boobs yet.”

By the door, Lydia groaned and sent a furtive glance in Eddie’s direction. “Shana Marie!”

Shana’s eyes widened. “What? That’s what Daddy told me.”

Harper bit her lip to stop from smiling. “I’m sure you’re a big help to your mom and dad.”

The little girl twirled so that her skirt floated out. “I am.”

“Less spinning,” Lydia said, “more walking, please.”

Harper laid her hand on Shana’s shoulder and guided her to her mother. “See you tomorrow.”

She waited until the Ruperts were well down the hall before facing her unexpected guests. Making her way slowly to her desk, she sent Max a comforting smile.

He ducked his head and slid farther behind his father. Were those tear marks on his face?

“We need to talk,” Eddie said flatly.

She sat behind her desk and linked her hands together in her lap. “Yes, I guessed that was your reason for being here. What can I do for you? From your expression, I take it this isn’t a social call.”

Or going to be a pleasant visit.

Then again, maybe he just wasn’t a pleasant sort of person. His brother James was. He was a complete sweetheart. Friendly. Kind. The type of man a girl could reason with, have a polite conversation with. A truly nice man.

This one storming toward her, his son in his wake? Not so nice or friendly. Which was a pity. She bet he’d be a real heartbreaker if he’d only smile once in a while. Luckily, she wasn’t interested in having her heart broken.

“If you have a problem with me,” he said, laying his hands on her desk and leaning forward, “you tell me. You don’t take it out on my kid.”

Eyes narrowing, Harper slid her gaze from Eddie’s furious expression to Max’s face. Yes, the boy had definitely been crying and she could easily guess why. But she wasn’t saying anything until Eddie explained that remark.

Standing, she mimicked Eddie’s stance so that they were nose to nose, though she doubted she looked quite as menacing as he did. “Excuse me?”

“Dad,” Max whispered, tugging on Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie laid his hand on his son’s head but didn’t turn his way. “Max told me you made him miss recess.”

She sent Max a pointed look. The boy stopped tugging, his face turning beet-red as he stared at the floor.

Oh, Max.

She could, and did, forgive the boy for his part in this little drama. But Eddie? He wasn’t getting off so easily.

“I see,” she said, tapping her mouth with her finger. “So, to your way of thinking, since you didn’t...what? Agree with me? Do as I wanted? I—in a devious and clever act of vengeance—made your son sit on the bench with me while his friends ran around the playground. Wow. I’m really quite the monster. And obviously I don’t have enough to do as all that was on my mind from the time you left this classroom yesterday was how I could get my revenge. Want to hear my evil laugh? It’s the one I use whenever one of my nefarious plans comes together.”

Eddie’s frown deepened, turned to confusion. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny. Especially from this side of things. Max,” she said, “did you tell your father why you had to sit out during recess?”

He lifted a shoulder.

She walked out from behind the desk and crouched so she and Max were eye level. “Do you want to tell him?”

He shook his head so hard, she felt a breeze from the swinging of his floppy hair.

“Tell me what?” Eddie asked.

The little boy wasn’t going to budge. Easy enough to tell where he inherited that stubborn streak.

She straightened. “Max had his recess privileges taken away because he misbehaved in class today and at lunch. He disrupted the class several times this morning by walking around during lessons and tapping the other children’s desks. And the report I received from the cafeteria monitor stated that Max deliberately poured milk onto Elliott’s sandwich because Elliott wouldn’t share his cookies. Max and I had a discussion about his behavior and I believe he understands what he did wrong, but since recess is a privilege and not some God-given right, he lost that privilege for today and the rest of the week.”

Eddie slid his hand under the bill of his cap and scratched his head. Tugging it down again, he set his free hand on his son’s shoulder. “Wait for me out in the hall while I talk with Mrs. Kavanagh, okay, buddy?”

His eyes glistening with tears, his lower lip quivering, Max slunk off.

“Is this the part where you strangle me and toss my lifeless body from the window?” Harper asked, seeing as how Eddie still looked capable of murder. “Because if so, I should warn you that I’m heavier than I look, so tossing might take some real effort.”

He flicked his hooded gaze down her body, then jerked his head up. Must not have liked what he saw. And why that bugged her, she had no idea.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t sure which shocked her more—that he’d actually apologized, or that he was blushing.

It should have made him look ridiculous, the color washing up his neck and cheeks. It didn’t. He looked approachable and real and not quite as gloomy. And behind his embarrassment, she saw the shyness that’d been a part of him even when they’d been kids.

“You’re sorry I’m heavier than I look? Or that you’re not strong enough for that tossing?”

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions,” he said, with no hint of defensiveness or evasion. “And that I jumped down your throat.”

His sincerity took her aback, but it was her own sudden softening toward him that caused a weird sense of unease to slide along her skin. As if she were standing on a ledge and needed to be extra careful of each step she took, each move she made.

She should let him squirm. Should, at the very least, let him sweat it out, see how far he’d go to gain her forgiveness, her understanding.

But she’d never been much into making anyone beg. Even when such a prime opportunity stared her in the face.

“It’s okay,” she said. “We all make mistakes.”

“Okay?” he repeated as if trying to decipher her true motives. “That’s it?”

“I was going to make you write, I will not jump to conclusions on the board one hundred times but I only have so much chalk, and once it’s gone I pick up the tab for more, so why don’t we skip it?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. Took them out again, his gaze steady on hers. It set her on edge, the way he looked at her. Which was crazy. She was a grown woman. Had been married, had a daughter. She didn’t get all jittery because a good-looking guy stared at her.

God, maybe Sadie was right. Maybe she really did need to get out more.

She picked up a pencil from her desk to have something to do with her hands. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss?”

“I’ll talk to Max about his behavior today. He’ll have a punishment at home, too.”

Some parents went ballistic when their little darlings got punished in school. They took their children’s side, blamed the teacher and generally acted worse than whatever their kid had done. Eddie obviously wasn’t one of those. She respected that.

“That’s up to you, of course.” She debated whether to say more but really, when had she ever kept her opinion to herself? “Though—while I’m not condoning his actions in the least—I do think he regrets what he did. He’s a good boy. But I can’t let bad behavior go, even if that behavior is unusual.”

“That makes sense.”

“I’m so glad you think so.”

He nodded as if she actually needed his permission or his agreement as to how to run her classroom. “You need someone to come in?”

“I hate to repeat myself but... Excuse me?”

“That woman with the baby said she can’t help out for a few weeks.”

“That’s right. She’s the room mother.”

“Which means...?”

“It means many things.”

“Why don’t you give me the basics?”

“She posts events and information to the classroom’s website, attends all the PTO meetings, organizes class parties and enrichment activities, collects donations from parents for supplies such as tissues, stickers—”

“And she comes in the room? Helps out here?”

“A few times a week, usually on Mondays and Fridays.”

He shifted, tapped his fingers on her desk absently, reminding her of his son. “What does she do?”

“Reads to the kids while I grade papers. Helps get snacks. Supervises when they go to the library—”

“I’ll do it.”

Harper blinked. “You’ll do what?”

“I’ll come in two afternoons a week,” he said, all scowly and defensive, as if she was the one who wasn’t making any sense. “Help out with the kids.”

“I’m sorry. Shock short-circuited my brain and I must have slipped into a coma for a few moments. I could’ve sworn you offered to volunteer in the classroom.”

His mouth thinned. “I did.”

“Why? I mean, you’re not exactly what I’d call sociable.... No offense,” she added halfheartedly. Hey, if he took offense it was no skin off her nose. “If you want to observe my teaching methods, all you have to do is ask. You’re welcome to sit in on my class anytime you’d like.”

“I’m not trying to spy on you. I just thought you could use some help.”

“Oh, well...okay then,” she said slowly. “That’d be...” Weird. Possibly super uncomfortable. Not to mention having him in her room promised to be nothing but a huge distraction—to her class and her. Too bad she couldn’t think of any reasonable excuse to turn him down. “That’d be great. And you’d only have to come in for a few weeks.” An assurance for herself as well as him. “I’ll...uh...send the paperwork home with Max.”

“Paperwork?”

“Forms and regulations. There’ll be a background check, too. Have you volunteered at the school before?”

“I chaperoned a couple of field trips last year.”

“That’ll make the process easier. The checks should still be in place. If they are, you can start whenever you want.”

“I’ll be here Friday.”

“I can hardly wait,” she said, trying to sound as if she meant it. Hard to be enthusiastic and encouraging when all she could think was, what had she gotten herself into?

CHAPTER FIVE

WHAT THE HELL was he doing here?

Tugging the brim of his baseball cap down, Eddie slouched against the windowsill. As soon as he stepped into Max’s classroom ten minutes ago, he’d known volunteering to be the room dad...parent...whatever...was a mistake. He should have told Harper he’d changed his mind when she’d called him last night and told him his background checks were still good and he could come in today at two-thirty.

Yeah, he’d chaperoned field trips before, but this was different than walking with a small group of kids, getting them from point A of the zoo to point B, or doing a head count on that visit to the dairy farm to make sure no one had been left in the barn.

He didn’t know anything about being a teacher’s assistant. Had a hard enough time helping Max with his homework. What good would he be to these kids?

But he couldn’t back out now. Not when he was already here. Not when Max had been so excited that Eddie was going to help out in his class.

Not after telling Harper he’d do it.

He’d already made an ass of himself in front of her. No sense making a habit of it.

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