This time the teacher’s learning the lesson…in love

Brenna Sullivan has a strict policy about not getting emotionally involved with her students. Yet there’s something about the new student, Carrie, and her father that has Brenna breaking all her rules.

Mike Langston’s parenting methods may be more than a little outdated, but Brenna is struck by the brave and honorable man he is and, despite her better judgment, she’s falling deeper and deeper for him. But how can she cross the line when their feelings start to grow?

“What did you think you were doing just now?” Mike asked.

“Helping to improve your relationship with your daughter.”

“That’s not your job.”

Brenna smirked at him. “I wouldn’t even consider it my job if you were doing yours.”

The blatant criticism was too much. When he couldn’t think of a comeback, he said, “This is so not your business, lady!”

A snort burst from her mouth or her nose, or somewhere, and Mike knew he’d gone too far. But so had she.

“Lady?” Coming from her lips, the word sounded like the worst sort of insult. “Did you just call me lady? The calendar says we’re in the twenty-first century, Mike.”

He rubbed his face. He wasn’t a chauvinist. Never had been. “Listen, check us out all you want. The bottom line is I don’t want my daughter in your house or anyone else’s without my knowledge. I hope I’m making myself clear.”

“Crystal.” Brenna managed a smile and a wave at Carrie in the truck. When Brenna turned back to Mike, she made sure her features displayed the seriousness of her intent.

Dear Reader,

We hear a lot today about soldiers coming home from battle zones. Joblessness, uncertainty and post-traumatic stress syndrome have become our working vocabulary to understand the men and women we are so indebted to.

In A Soldier’s Promise, I have isolated the story of one such brave man who returned home only to find the life he’d counted on no longer existed. But he forged ahead because of a promise he’d made to his dying wife and, with the help of friends, and one very special teacher, he learned that life isn’t over until you give up.

I hope you’ll enjoy the story of Mike and Brenna, one a soldier, one a teacher, both American heroes.

Cynthia Thomason

A Soldier’s Promise

Cynthia Thomason

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CYNTHIA THOMASON

inherited her love of writing from her ancestors. Her father and grandmother both loved to write, and she aspired to continue the legacy. Cynthia studied English and journalism in college, and after a career as a high school English teacher, she began writing novels. She discovered ideas for stories while searching through antique stores and flea markets and as an auctioneer and estate buyer. Cynthia says every cast-off item from someone’s life can ignite the idea for a plot. She writes about small towns, big hearts and happy endings that are earned and not taken for granted. And as far as the legacy is concerned, just ask her son, the magazine journalist, if he believes.

Having been a teacher, I know what a difficult, rewarding and inspiring job it can be. This book is dedicated to the great teachers I’ve worked with over the years, among them Darby, Tila, Linda, Bill and Rosemary. There are many students who owe their success to your guidance.

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

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

BRENNA SULLIVAN SCRATCHED around the bottom of her large purse until she found the raggedy fan she’d been given as a wedding favor three years ago. She fanned her face vigorously while trying to squeeze under the shade of a scraggly oak tree in front of her car. Her fellow staff member and best friend in Mount Union, Georgia, approached from across the shimmering parking lot, causing Brenna to check her watch for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Have I been standing out here in the ninety-degree sun long enough for even Super Teacher Diana Montgomery to be leaving the building?” she asked herself. “No matter. Another few minutes and I’ll be dead from heatstroke.”

“What are you still doing here?” Diana asked when she reached Brenna’s car. “It’s Friday afternoon. The students left over an hour ago. I expected you to have already begun celebrating the end of a successful first week of school.”

Brenna blew her bangs off her forehead with an impatient breath and leaned on the hood of her seven-year-old Mazda. “I wish I were.”

Diana looked confused. “What are you waiting for?”

“A mechanic. I called Alvin’s Garage forty-five minutes ago. And as usual, Alvin’s ‘We’re on our way’ is a gross exaggeration.”

“What’s wrong with your car?”

“Won’t start.”

Diana stared at the shiny silver sedan, which Brenna kept immaculate and in good running order. “Do you know why it won’t start?”

“Do I look like a mechanic?”

“You look like a wilted redheaded sunflower. Maybe it’s time to consider that mechanic a no-show. I’ll give you a lift home.”

“I can’t leave,” Brenna said. “I’ll give the guy another few minutes. I have plans for tonight. I need my car.”

Diana set her cumbersome briefcase, probably stuffed with papers to grade, on the pavement. She and Brenna both worked at Mount Union High School; Diana taught English and Brenna taught home ec. Just about everything in Brenna’s classes was accomplished during school hours, leaving very little work to take home, which suited her just fine. She liked devoting her off-hours to her own pleasures.

“I’ll just keep you company until the mechanic arrives,” Diana said. “Both the men in my life will be occupied with football practice until at least six.”

“Don’t be silly. Go home and wait for your husband and son. Why should both of us melt out here?”

“Maybe this is your guy,” Diana said as a blue pickup truck sped into the lot. A magnetic sign on the door indicated it had come from Alvin’s. The driver jolted to a stop a few feet from Brenna’s car.

“The cavalry has definitely arrived,” Diana said. “I might as well stay until we know he can get your car started.”

“Thanks.”

“By the way, where are you going tonight?”

“The Riverview Tavern,” Brenna said. “You’re welcome to come...”

She never finished her invitation because the driver of the truck stepped out and walked over to them. Brenna did a double take. She couldn’t remember this man working at Alvin’s. He was tall with a muscular build that was obvious even under his beige mechanic’s uniform. What hair Brenna could see peeking out of a ball cap was dark and wavy. He wasn’t smiling. Not surprising in this heat.

“I hope you’re looking for me,” Brenna said.

He pulled a work order out of a breast pocket embroidered with the name Mike and Alvin’s Garage in blue letters. “I am if you’re Brenna Sullivan.”

“Yep. And what took you so...”

“This is your silver Mazda?”

Enough small talk apparently. “Yes, it is.”

He stuffed the work order back in his pocket. “You said it wouldn’t start?”

“That’s right. I hope it’s something minor and you don’t have to have it towed.”

“’Scuse me.”

She stepped aside. He sat in the driver’s seat and turned her key in the ignition. Nothing. Not even the clicks she had heard earlier.

Brenna cringed. She was thankful Diana hadn’t left yet. She might need a ride after all.

Diana spoke in Brenna’s ear. “Have you ever seen this guy before?”

“No.” Even if this man were just an Alvin’s employee, she would have remembered him. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It’s just interesting. He could be our first new man in town in a long time. Maybe he’s single and you and he...”

Brenna frowned at her friend’s blatantly coy grin. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not looking and you know it. And if I were, I wouldn’t be scouring Alvin’s Garage for a date.”

The man got out of the car and opened the hood. He next opened the hood on his truck and finally removed some battery cables from a box in the cargo area.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Charging your battery.”

“Oh.” She watched his practiced, abbreviated movements. He didn’t waste time or effort. He appeared to know what he was doing.

Diana nudged her. “He’s good-looking, don’t you think?” she whispered.

“Stop it.” But the comment did make her study his face again.

Though he remained basically expressionless, his features demanded her attention. Serious to a fault. Yet fine lines around his eyes and mouth indicated he’d done his share of smiling, or maybe frowning. And his eyes. Now that she really looked, she found herself staring into them. Very dark, intense. And much too thoughtful for a guy who spent his time staring at spark plugs. Or did cars even have spark plugs these days? Brenna recalled reading that everything in cars was digital now.

After a few minutes, he disconnected the cables, got back in her car, fiddled around with knobs on the dashboard and started the engine. The Mazda purred like the sleek kitten it was. He got out, took the work order from his pocket again and wrote some numbers down.

“That’ll be thirty-five dollars,” he said.

“What did you do?” she asked. “I didn’t see you fix anything.”

“Nothing needed fixing.” He covered his mouth with his hand.

Brenna stared at Diana. She mouthed the words I think he’s laughing at me.

Diana shrugged. “Appears so.”

“What’s so funny—” she pointed to his pocket embroidery “—Mike?”

“Women, I guess.”

“What? That’s just demeaning....”

He readjusted the seriousness to his face. “The problem with your car was what we call a parasitic drain.”

“And what exactly would I call it?” Brenna asked.

“Probably a dead battery.”

“And why did it die?”

“It was raining this morning. Did you have your lights on?”

“Of course. It’s the law. Why do you...” She realized where he was going with the discussion. “I must’ve left them on when I got to school,” she admitted.

“Not only that, you left your satellite radio running all day. Between the two the battery was drained.”

Diana snickered. Brenna ignored her.

“I know I should have turned the lights off,” she said. “But I wasn’t aware that the radio could drain the battery.”

“It wouldn’t by itself.” He pushed his cap up, releasing strands of dark hair onto his forehead. “Did you ever read the owner’s manual on this car? It would tell you stuff like that.”

“Of course I did.” She paused as he narrowed his eyes at her.

Diana grinned. “She read the part about how to operate the moonroof.”

Brenna glared at her.

“Even though you only needed a jump, I have to bill you for a service call.” His lips twitched as he handed her the bill. “A check will be fine. Alvin knows you.”

That last part sounded like another dig, as if she was so inept she handed out thirty-five dollars on a daily basis. For heaven’s sake. She wasn’t the only woman who depended on a mechanic.

She scrounged through her purse a second time and pulled out her wallet. “I assume you’ll take paper money,” she said, handing him three tens and a five.

“Never had a problem with cash,” he said, tucking the bills into his pocket. He nodded at both women. “I’ll be going, then.”

He started to get in his truck, but Diana stopped him. “Excuse me, Mike, but are you new to this part of Georgia?”

Brenna turned to give her friend another pointed stare.

“Been here a couple of months,” he said, one foot in the truck.

“Oh. How do you like it?”

“Okay.”

“Do you live in town?”

“About three miles out.”

He got in the truck, but apparently Diana wasn’t done grilling him. “Do you have family, Mike?” she asked.

He squinted into her face. Was he offended at the question?

“I don’t mean to be nosy,” Diana said.

Brenna huffed. Yeah, right.

“We’re a friendly town,” Diana added. “Perhaps your wife would like to join us girls some afternoon...”

“I’m not married.”

Brenna had had enough, and she was certain the mechanic had, too. “I’m sure this man has to get back to the garage, Diana,” Brenna said.

“I do,” he said. And as quickly as he’d come into the lot, he left it.

“What was all that?” Brenna said. “You made that man uncomfortable. I can’t imagine that he enjoys being treated like Mount Union’s catch of the day.”

“Well, he could be a catch...for you.”

“I already told you—don’t get any ideas.”

“You didn’t find him the least bit attractive?”

“I didn’t find him anything but rude and condescending.” That wasn’t exactly true. Brenna usually drew conclusions about every man she met, and she’d done so with this guy. Mike had a sort of earthy appeal that some women might find attractive. But earthy appeal wasn’t at the top of Brenna’s priorities. Not even close. “Parasitic drain,” she muttered.

“Well, I think he’s very good-looking,” Diana said. “He’s rugged and well built. And I could practically smell the woodsmoke coming from those eyes of his.”

So Diana had noticed that feature, too. Still, Brenna wasn’t going to get into this discussion. “Shouldn’t you go home and fix supper or something?”

Diana smiled. “Don’t be mad at me, Bren. I just want you to be as happy as I am.”

Brenna stared at the angelic face that was so typical of Diana. “How do you know I’m not? What makes you happy isn’t the same for all women.”

Diana considered the statement. “Point taken.”

“You go home to your son and your husband, and I’ll put on my cowgirl boots and kick up my heels at the Riverview. I’ll bet we both go to sleep happy.”

“Maybe so. But one person won’t be so happy tonight.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mike. He didn’t get a tip and he didn’t get your phone number.”

“You’re impossible,” Brenna said. “He obviously didn’t want my phone number, and he didn’t deserve a tip.”

* * *

WHEN SHE PULLED into her driveway, Brenna was thinking about which pair of jeans she’d wear out that night. She parked her car and walked to the front porch of the 1930s-era three-bedroom Craftsman-style cottage she’d bought four years ago and renovated with light earth-toned paint and sage-green trim. Her friends called the place “darling” and “charming.” Brenna was just grateful every day that she called it home.

She’d only taken a few steps along the brick walkway leading to her front door when she noticed a girl sitting on her wicker love seat. Brenna stopped, stared at the girl and realized she was familiar.

The girl raised her hand. “Hi, Miss Sullivan.”

Oh, no. The girl called her Miss Sullivan. Had to be a student. “Ah...hello.”

“Do you know who I am?”

Brenna searched the crannies of a mind that had already mutated from school to weekend mode. “I think you’re in one of my classes. Is that right?”

“Yeah. I’m in your third-period cooking class. My name’s Carrie Langston.”

Brenna remembered calling the name off her roster, but she hadn’t yet had time to put a face to each student’s name. “Sure,” she said. “Carrie.” She walked the rest of the way to the porch. “What are you doing here, Carrie? How do you know where I live?”

“It wasn’t hard to find out. I just said I’ll bet you have a nice house, and one of the other kids in class told me you lived here on the river.” She looked at the colorful stained-glass panel centered in Brenna’s front door. “I was right. This is a cool place.”

Mount Union was a small town. Brenna figured lots of her students knew where she lived. But none of them had ever come calling before. Brenna made a point to avoid sending that kind of welcoming attitude. To keep her school life separate from her personal one, she didn’t go to games or chat with students in the hallways about their problems. There were counselors for that job—and teachers like Diana Montgomery. If her past had taught Brenna one thing, it was that she should maintain a noninvolvement policy.

“I don’t know why you’re here, Carrie, but if you came to talk to me about school, you could have waited until Monday...”

The girl’s voice dropped to a chastised tone. “I didn’t come to talk about school.”

“Oh.” That was even worse. “I can’t imagine anything else that couldn’t wait. This is the weekend, and...”

“I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan. I just needed someplace to go, and, well, you seem so nice in class.”

Intrigued in spite of herself, Brenna leaned against a porch column. “Why do you need a place to go? What’s wrong with your home?”

“It’s not nice like this is.”

Since Brenna hadn’t seen this girl before this year, she assumed she was new to the school system. “So where do you live exactly?”

“Outside of town.”

“How far outside?” Brenna wondered if she would have to drive the girl home. If so, there was a liability issue with having a student in her car. And she’d be late meeting her friends. Precisely why she didn’t get involved.

“I live beyond that old mill, the one on White Deer Trail. Do you know where it is?”

Brenna did know. Diana and her family lived close to that location. So did other families who preferred the rustic, remote neighborhood. But Brenna hadn’t known another house existed beyond the long-defunct gristmill.

“Why aren’t you there now?” she asked. “Do you need a ride? I’m sure you missed the bus.”

“I did, but I can call someone. I thought I could just hang out here for a while.”

“That’s not really such a good idea.” In desperation Brenna quoted school board policy. “We have a strict nonfraternization policy here. The school board frowns upon high school students visiting teachers’ homes.”

The girl hung her head. Long, dark waves of hair hid her face, but Brenna thought she heard a sniffle. Oh, dear. What would she do if this girl suddenly burst into tears? What was she so upset about? She was obviously clean and well cared for, like just about all the kids in Mount Union. Her clothes were stylish. She wasn’t anything like the students Brenna had had her first two years of teaching.

Carrie scrubbed her face with both hands and looked up. She seemed in control. “It was dumb of me to come here. I was just hoping you’d let me stay awhile. But I can go somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Someplace. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Brenna sat on the wicker chair next to the love seat. Something was going on with this girl, something Brenna might not be equipped to deal with. Remembering the hard-learned instincts to remain distant—the ones that had stayed with her since her first teaching position—she put her hand on the girl’s arm. Even that slight bit of familiarity made Brenna uncomfortable.

“What aren’t you telling me, Carrie?” She studied the girl’s face, her bare arms, looking for bruises and hoping she wouldn’t see any. All she saw was clear, pale skin. Yet something wasn’t right.

“Do you have problems at home?” Brenna asked.

The girl didn’t say anything. She just twisted her fingers in her lap.

“Carrie? Do your parents know where you are?”

“It’s just my dad, and I don’t know. Probably not.”

“Give me his phone number. I’m going to call him.”

“No!” She brushed bangs from her forehead, revealing red eyes. “I said I’d go. You don’t have to take care of me. I get it.”

“I’m not telling you what to do,” Brenna said. “But you can’t stay here. I’ve got plans tonight.”

Why did that suddenly sound shallow?

“Sure, I understand,” Carrie said. “I guess I was wrong. I thought you’d be easy to talk to.”

Me? I seem easy to talk to?

Carrie continued, “I don’t have any friends here. Where I used to live, one of my teachers talked to me a lot. She even came to my mother’s...”

“Your mother’s what?”

“Never mind. It’s not important. I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll go.”

“I don’t mean to sound short with you,” Brenna said, “but you should be home. And you sound like a girl who just needs to make some friends her own age. There are lots of ways to make friends. On Monday we can discuss it. You can join a club...or something.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.” Carrie stood and walked slowly to the steps leading from the porch. With each footfall, Brenna felt the sting of her conscience. But she didn’t want to be this kind of teacher again, the Diana kind. She’d tried it once and still suffered from her decisions. Besides, Diana was used to Mount Union kids being in her house 24/7. She had a son in high school and a husband who worked at the school. And she hadn’t been through what Brenna had been through at her last job. Brenna had only herself, and she just couldn’t risk getting involved like that again.

Why hadn’t Carrie gone to Diana’s? Brenna watched her walking away and sighed deeply. When Carrie reached the sidewalk, Brenna called to her. She almost didn’t recognize her own voice. “Are you hungry?”

Carrie turned. “A little.”

Brenna managed a quick mental survey of her refrigerator. “I could probably rustle up some mac and cheese and a couple hot dogs.”

“I could eat that.”

“Okay, then. Come on back.” Brenna stood. “We can talk a bit if you want. And then you’ll go home, okay?”

“Sure. Okay.”

Brenna unlocked her door. “I’ll get out of my teacher clothes and fix us that mac and cheese.”

She changed into worn cutoffs and a T-shirt and gathered her humidity-frizzed red curls into a ponytail. So much for getting to the Riverview on time.

During dinner preparations she and Carrie talked about Mount Union High School. Brenna gave her some tips on what kids in town did, where the closest movie theater was, things she thought would interest a sophomore. She also told Carrie about the Cultural Arts Center that was being planned for the community. Brenna was chairing the committee for the center and hoped it would be beneficial in a town that offered little in the way of teen activities.

“Besides the center being a meeting place for teens, we’re going to offer special classes,” Brenna said. “Drama, music, other courses that have been eliminated due to budget cuts.”

“Classes?” the girl asked. “Over and above having classes in school?”

Okay, maybe that sounded lame, but Brenna knew several students who would take advantage of enrichment courses. “There will be activities, too,” she explained to Carrie. “Movies, dances, games, a whole range of choices.”

Carrie didn’t comment on the center, but halfway through the cheesy casserole, Brenna saw the girl smile for the first time.

“This is really good,” the girl said. “Thanks for fixing it.”

“You’re welcome. We make this in class, you know. About midway through the semester.”

“That’ll be cool.”

Brenna carried her plate to the sink and looked over her backyard. The sun was setting, turning the trees on the other side of the river to gold. “It’s late,” she said. “Maybe you’d better call your father and tell him to pick you up.”

“He’s not worried about me.”

“Well, regardless, you can’t walk home in the dark. It’s a long way to the mill.”

“I’ll be okay. I take care of myself.”

Brenna took her seat on the other side of the table and stared at Carrie for a moment. The girl looked down and forked her leftover noodles around the plate. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Carrie?” Brenna asked, hoping the girl wasn’t harboring a big secret, the kind that had led to heartbreaking decisions once before. She swallowed, knowing she could have opened the door to something she didn’t really want to hear. “Is everything all right at home?”

Brenna held her breath. Please just let this be a case of a new kid in town who’s experiencing some loneliness.

Carrie mumbled into her lap. “It’s that obvious?”

Oh, boy. “Is someone treating you badly?” Brenna asked.

Carrie swallowed hard. She didn’t answer the question.

Brenna leaned over the table but resisted the instinct to place her hand over the girl’s. “Has someone hurt you, Carrie?”

Still no answer. Carrie didn’t look up.

“Because if so, there are people who can help. But you need to tell someone...”

She never finished giving advice because movement in front of her house caught her eye. Through her open door she saw a police cruiser pull to the curb. Carrie gasped and stood up.

“This is about you, isn’t it?” Brenna said.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t mean to be any trouble. I’ll just go out the back...”

“No, you won’t. You’re coming with me.”

Like a prisoner being led to the gallows, Carrie walked ahead of Brenna to the living room. She sat in a chair out of sight of the front door. Brenna opened the screen to police officers she knew well. “Hi, Boone, Lila. What’s going on?”

“We’ve had a missing-kid report, Bren,” Boone said. “She’s one of your students and we’re following every lead.” He took out a photo and showed it to Brenna. “This is the girl.”

A sweet face surrounded by a tumble of black curls smiled at Brenna from a typical school photo.

“Her name’s Carolyn Langston,” Lila Menendez said. “Her father’s about ready to tear the town apart.”

Brenna opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

The officers walked to the middle of the room and stared at Carrie. “You’re her, all right,” Boone said. He pressed a button on a device on his shoulder. “Located the girl. She’s at...” He waited for Brenna to give him her exact address and repeated it.

“How’d she end up here, Brenna?” he asked.

She briefly explained how she’d found Carrie on her porch. “Can we talk outside?” she asked the officer.

“Sure.” Boone spoke to his partner. “Lila, you stay here with the kid. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

The young police officer crouched beside Carrie. In a soft voice she said, “Are you okay, honey?”

Carrie nodded and Brenna led Boone to the end of the porch, where their voices wouldn’t carry to the interior of the house. “I think this kid’s in trouble,” Brenna said. “I’m suspecting some kind of abuse.”

“Did you see any injuries?”

“No, but she’s very unhappy. She doesn’t want to go home.”

“Well, Brenna, that describes a bunch of teenagers. Even me a few years ago.”

“That may be, but this girl’s reaching out for help. I think you need to notify someone in authority.”

“I’ll talk to the chief about it. But right now I’ve just got to return this kid to her father. He’s probably on his way over here to pick her up. He seemed plenty worried to me.”

Yeah, and I wonder why. Was the father afraid the kid would tell on him? “You won’t let her go if you think something’s not right, will you, Boone?”

“I’ll check it out, Brenna.” He pointed to the street, where a blue pickup was screeching to a halt behind the cruiser. “There’s the dad now. I’ll explain things to him, tell him the kid came here of her own accord. We don’t want him holding you responsible.”

“I don’t care about that,” Brenna said. “I’m just concerned about Carrie.”

The driver’s door swung open and a man in a beige jumpsuit stepped to the asphalt.

“Hey, I know that guy,” Brenna said. She stared at the man of few words, Mike the mechanic, as he strode purposely up the walk to her door.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHERE’S MY DAUGHTER?” The words shot from Mike’s mouth like blasts from a pistol. He headed straight for the front porch, looking neither right nor left.

Boone stepped in front of him and put his hand on Mike’s chest. “Hold on a minute, buddy. Let’s all calm down.”

Mike evaded the officer with a defiant maneuver. “Calm down? Are you kidding? Is Carrie in this house or not?”

“Yes, she’s in there. And she’s fine.”

He released a pent-up breath, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. “Okay.” Then he glanced around, seeming to take in the darkness that had settled over Brenna’s shrubs, the unfamiliarity of his surroundings and, finally, Brenna. “I know you,” he said. “You’re the silver Mazda.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Actually, the silver Mazda is my car. I’m your daughter’s home ec teacher.”

Confusion battled with panic in Mike’s face. “What’s Carrie doing here? Did you bring her?”

“Brenna had nothing to do with Carrie showing up at her house,” Boone said. “That was your daughter’s decision. Brenna has just been talking to her. She didn’t know until we got here that a missing-child report had been filed.”

Mike glared at her. “And it didn’t occur to you to call me?”

Struggling to control her temper, Brenna said, “First of all, I don’t even really know you. Second of all, a teenage girl is capable of calling her parents herself—if she feels confident doing so.”

His mouth opened and then closed again. Apparently he hadn’t come up with a way to respond to the implied criticism. “All right,” he said after a moment. “I’ll just get my daughter and leave.”

Brenna kept her features blank, though inside she was seething.

Mike took another step toward the porch. “I’ll talk to her about what happened. She won’t bother you again.”

“That’s not the point.”

Ignoring her, he marched up the steps to her door. His work boots sounded heavy on the polished wood planks of her porch floor. It was as if this man had come to claim property. She glared at Boone and gave him a do-something look. Mike and Boone were about the same age with similar builds. Boone was a good cop who wouldn’t be intimidated by Mike’s aggressive behavior. And besides, Brenna had always suspected that Boone had a thing for her, and she knew he would intercede because she’d asked him to.

Boone grabbed Mike’s elbow. “Not so fast. I’d like to talk to you before you go in to get your daughter.”

Mike turned sharply. “What do you mean?”

He nodded to the front lawn. “Come on down here so we can speak privately. I’d like to clear up a few things in this investigation.”

“What things? And how did this suddenly become an investigation?”

Though obviously not pleased with the delay, Mike did follow Boone’s orders. The two men ended up under Brenna’s ornamental cherry tree. Boone spoke in a calming manner but gestured dramatically with his hands.

At first Mike’s features remained stoic. Then his eyes widened. His jaw dropped. His expression took on the veiled semblance of disbelief. His mouth formed the words no and never.

Boone eventually put his hand on Mike’s upper arm. The two had seemed to reach an accord or perhaps a stalemate. Brenna could only hope that Boone had made his point clearly and with the full power of his badge.

They both came back to the porch. “I should tell you that I’m going to leave this case open for a while,” Boone said. “Just until things settle down.”

Mike turned around to stare at him but said nothing.

“We take our kids’ safety seriously in Mount Union. As a father, you can understand that,” Boone added.

Mike went to the screened door. “Carrie, come on out now. It’s okay. We’re going home.”

Carrie walked onto the porch. Lila was with her and had her hand on Carrie’s shoulder. When she saw her father, Carrie hooked her thumb in the waistband of her jeans and gave him a little wave. “Hi, Dad.”

He shook his head once and looked down at her. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. I’m sorry if I worried you. I just thought I could talk to Miss Sullivan for a while. I didn’t realize how late it was getting or that you’d be wondering where I was....”

“You didn’t think I’d be wondering?” Mike looked at Brenna. The anger in his eyes had dimmed just enough so she felt Boone had accomplished something with his talk.

“We’ll discuss this when we get home,” he said to his daughter. He started down the sidewalk with Carrie by his side. As he passed Brenna and Boone, he said, “Thanks for your help. My daughter and I will be fine.”

Brenna watched him open the passenger door for Carrie. The girl looked back once and then climbed inside. Through the window, Brenna saw Carrie’s shoulders slump. She stared into her lap and seemed so very small in the large truck cab. Mike started around to the other side of the vehicle.

“Mr. Langston,” Brenna called out.

He stopped under a streetlight and looked back.

She hurried down the walkway to meet him in front of his truck.

“What is it, Miss Sullivan? I thought we were done here.”

“I know,” she said, looking into those seriously dark eyes again. Only now they seemed even more mysterious in the shadows of night. What was going on behind those eyes? She stammered, something she hadn’t done since she was ten years old, “I...ah...I like your daughter, Mr. Langston. She’s a sweet kid. And I’m sorry for any distress this situation caused you.”

His brow furrowed. “I’ll get over it.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will. Carrie and I had a nice talk. I think she might be a bit lonely, being new to the area and all. I don’t think she meant to worry you. She was just reaching out...”

Mike leaned on his truck hood and gave Brenna a top-to-bottom scrutiny. “Miss Sullivan, I’m sure your intentions were good, but a fourteen-year-old girl doesn’t need to be out on her own at night. If she wants to reach out, she can darn well tell me she’s doing it before she goes off to the house of someone I don’t even know.”

Brenna bit her bottom lip as her temper flared once more, heating her face. She couldn’t argue that a child shouldn’t be going places without telling the parent, but the last time she looked at her clock, it had said 8:30 p.m. Hardly a dangerous hour for people to be out, especially in Mount Union, Georgia. But maybe Mike didn’t realize how safe his new town was.

“I think we know each other better now, Mr. Langston,” she said. “And I’m starting to know Carrie. I’m going to make myself available to her whenever she needs to talk.”

Brenna shuddered. Had she actually stated outright that she intended to become involved with a student?

No doubt about it. She had.

“I’ll be checking in with her,” Brenna added. “Just so Carrie knows she has someone older to talk to, a woman. It can’t be easy living with a father only.”

“Nothing’s easy about this, Miss Sullivan.” Mike scrubbed his hand down his face. He suddenly looked tired. “You check to your heart’s content, but I don’t want my daughter in your house or anyone else’s without my knowledge. I hope I’m making myself clear.”

“Crystal.” Brenna managed a smile and a wave at Carrie in the truck. When she turned back to Mike, she made sure her features displayed the seriousness of her intent. “You have a good night now,” she said.

He strode around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. When he turned the ignition, Brenna felt the rumble of his truck engine through the soles of her sandals. Carrie stared out the window while the truck pulled away. Brenna stepped onto the curb and watched them until the vehicle had rounded a curve in the road and the taillights had disappeared.

* * *

THEY HAD ALMOST reached the town boundaries when Mike spotted the Golden Arches ahead. He turned to his daughter and spoke the first words he’d uttered since they’d gotten into the truck. “You want something from the drive-through?”

“No. I ate at Miss Sullivan’s.”

He continued past the McDonald’s. “You like her, this teacher?”

“She’s okay. She seemed real nice in class. Made it sound like we’d have fun trying different things this semester. I thought she might be like Mrs. Grant, my history teacher at home.”

Mike gripped the steering wheel. He wished Carrie would start thinking of Georgia as “home.” But no, she kept referring to the small California town near Camp Pendleton that way. Mike couldn’t blame her. After thirteen years in the military, he was having a hard time adjusting to civilian life in quiet, tradition-bound Mount Union. But they both had to try. Mike didn’t want to go back, and in his heart, he believed a break with the old life was best for his daughter, too.

“You know why I was so upset about what you did, don’t you?” he asked.

“Not really. I mean jeez, Dad, this town must be, like, the safest place in the universe.”

Was she kidding? Did all kids assume they were invincible? “I’m figuring you had your cell phone with you.”

“I always have it.”

“Then why didn’t you call?”

“Come on, Dad. I’ll be fifteen in a couple of weeks. I shouldn’t have to call you every time I decide to take a walk.”

“Sorry, but yes, you should. I want to know where you are all the time. It’s my job to know.” That sounded harsh. “I mean, it’s my responsibility.”

“I would have called eventually, when I needed a ride. I didn’t call right away because I knew you’d come get me immediately.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I thought I might get lucky and you’d work late. Sometimes you do.”

She felt lucky when he worked late? He could only shake his head. For his part, he always worried about Carrie when he was at the garage late. “My work hours have no bearing on what happened tonight,” he said, getting back on topic. “I need to know about you all the time.”

She gave him a look that had to have been followed by an eye roll. Thank goodness he couldn’t see her expression in the dark truck cab.

“What you need, Dad, is to back off once in a while,” she muttered.

“What’s that?”

“Never mind.”

“You are not old enough to be out on your own. And we haven’t lived here very long. It’s all new. So when you’re not in school, I have to know exactly where you are.”

“Yeah, like I’m ever anywhere but that stupid cabin.”

That stupid cabin was Mike’s attempt to start over. It was small but cozy, and he considered it perfect for the two of them. “We go places,” he said. “We’re not always in the cabin.”

“Places little kids go with their dads.”

He thought back over the past three months. He’d taken Carrie fishing and boating. They’d gone into Savannah for an overnight and seen the sights. They had a trip planned for Atlanta soon, where they’d visit the capitol building and see historic homes. Okay, maybe he hadn’t exactly asked his daughter what she’d like to do, but Mike had thought he was managing pretty well.

He drove silently until he reached the narrow path to his grandmother’s cabin. The lane was rutted and dark. He still had numerous holes to fill in with new gravel; he’d get to it soon. He’d eventually make all the improvements on his list. It was the least he could do to thank his grandmother for suggesting that he and Carrie move here, far from the painful memories.

He parked in front of their house, but didn’t get out of the truck right away.

Carrie looked over at him. “What?”

“I just bought you that new smartphone,” he said. “The one with all the gadgets you just had to have.”

She took the phone from her pocket. “And I love it, and I said thank you.”

“Yes, you did. You also promised to use it to stay in touch. You don’t have any excuse for me not knowing where you are and what you’re doing.”

“Fine. I get it. It’s either your rules for the cell phone or handcuffs. Those are my options.”

So much drama. Even after being in a war zone for years, Mike didn’t know how to handle basic family dynamics.

They got out of the truck. As Mike walked to the house, his mind buzzed with the changes he’d been facing recently. When had teenagers become complete cyber citizens? Every kid in town seemed to have a fancy phone or a tablet or some other techie instrument that kept them occupied in their homes and on the streets. Carrie had moved to Georgia with her own state-of-the-art laptop, which she kept fired up all day, every day. Getting her away from the computer was like coaxing an otter out of the river.

He’d given in to the new phone, but he’d made a mental note to keep tabs on whom she was talking to.

And teachers? What the heck? Mike didn’t remember having a teacher who looked even remotely like Miss Sullivan. He’d taken notice of her in the parking lot earlier and had liked what he saw. Not that he was looking. But a few minutes ago, despite his anxiety over Carrie, he’d gotten an even better view of the teacher. Her reddish hair, which had been bound in some type of bun thing at school, hung to her shoulder blades in a wavy ponytail, looking touchably soft in the streetlight.

He’d caught a scent of something nice and citrusy, too.

He put his key in the lock and opened the old plank door. What’s gotten into you, Mike Langston? His wife hadn’t been dead a full year yet and here he was thinking of his daughter’s teacher as if he was starved for learning. Well, it had been a long time. A full year in Afghanistan without visiting home and then the loss.

Carrie followed him in the door. She wrinkled her nose. “It stinks in here.”

He sniffed. “I don’t smell anything. What does it smell like?”

“Like mold and dust because everything in here is a thousand years old.”

“These are your great-grandmother’s things. Of course they’re old.”

“Right,” Carrie said, passing by him and heading to her room. “I’m going to check my email.”

He had to quit thinking of his own needs. No sacrifice was too great when a man found himself trying to be a full-time father for the first time in his life and apparently messing up on a daily basis.

* * *

THAT EVENING MIKE had the same dream he’d suffered from night after night just after his wife had died. He was running along a nearly abandoned tarmac, trying to reach one lone plane. The whine of the jet’s engines punished his ears. The passenger door closed. He was going to miss the flight so he ran harder, shouting for the pilot to stop. Sweat poured down his face and chest so that when he woke, panting and feeling his heart pounding against his ribs, he had to grab a towel and dry off.

He had the dream only occasionally these days, when he had a problem with Carrie or the familiar crushing guilt weighed heavily upon him. A chaplain had told him Lori’s illness was God’s will. The camp psychologist had told him it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t believed either one of them. If he’d only known about it. If he’d been there for her...maybe things would have turned out differently.

He got up, pulled a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, went into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Sometimes he smiled at his grandmother’s choice of glassware. This one was an old jelly jar featuring Yogi Bear. Mike didn’t smile tonight. He simply reached for the pill bottle, dropped one white tablet into his mouth and swallowed. First anxiety-busting drug he’d taken in four weeks. He was doing better. He’d commit himself to a hospital before he’d allow his system to become addicted to the things.

His hand over his chest, he sat at the table and took several deep breaths. “It’s okay,” he said aloud, careful to keep his voice low so he wouldn’t awaken Carrie.

The men in charge of the army’s elite rangers corps were good men. Dedicated professionals. They treated their special-force soldiers with respect. Still, what happened to Mike a year ago was unforgivable, the ultimate betrayal by both his commanding officers and his wife. The message from the general had come in the early-morning hours. Mike had still been at mess in the tent the army had erected outside of Kunduz. The instructions from the general had been simple and direct: effective immediately, you are hereby relieved of duty to attend to a personal matter.

The “personal matter” had been his wife’s terminal illness. He’d made it home two days before she passed. He was able to say goodbye, make the promises she needed to hear and forgive her for her decision not to tell him about her health problems. But he hadn’t forgiven her and maybe never would.

He still grappled every day with her reasons for not telling him she was sick. The army had known. His daughter had known. He hadn’t until it was way too late. How can a wife not tell her husband she’s dying just to avoid interrupting his life, his goals?

His breathing normal now, Mike stood, carried the glass to the sink and left the kitchen. He had to be at work in a few hours, though not to advise how to keep his division vehicles running in the fight against terrorism, but to see why someone’s 1998 Chevy or Honda or...whatever was stalling out. He could tell them why, though being a mechanic was not the job he’d always envisioned for himself. Not the position he could have achieved by taking advantage of G.I. college money. But Alvin’s Garage was just another stall in his life right now, and fixing cars was a lot easier than fixing his life.

* * *

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Diana asked when she saw Brenna thumbing through the attendance record. “Let’s go to the cafeteria and get lunch.”

“Yeah, I will,” Brenna said. “Just a minute.” She found what she was looking for and took a student punch card from the homeroom reports of absences for the day. “Great.”

“Who are you looking up?”

Brenna hadn’t talked to Diana since Friday afternoon. Diana didn’t know that Carrie Langston had shown up on Brenna’s doorstep. Or that she’d had words with the girl’s father. She waved the card in Diana’s general direction. “One of my third-hour students reported sick today.”

Diana took a step back. “And you’re making that sound like a national disaster because...?”

Brenna tucked the card back in the pack and walked around the counter. She took Diana’s arm and led her into the hall. “It’s a long story, but if you want to hear it...”

“Can you tell me over a sloppy joe and iced tea?”

“No. I don’t want anyone to hear.” As briefly as she could, she explained about the happenings of Friday evening.

“Wow,” Diana said. “This girl is the daughter of Mr. Tall, Dark and Mechanically Inclined?”

“Yes, she is. And she’s a troubled kid, just the kind you like to bring home.”

“And yet...” Diana paused. “Apparently she didn’t have a map to get to the right place and ended up with you instead.”

“This isn’t funny,” Brenna said. “I think her father, the guy you obviously regard as Mr. Wonderful, is keeping her home so she won’t have contact with me or anyone else. Or worse.”

“I don’t regard Mike the mechanic as anything in particular,” Diana said. “I just pointed out that he was a hunk and available.” She waited before adding, “But for the record, I didn’t see anything in his quiet nature that would suggest he’s holding family members captive.”

“Come on, Diana,” Brenna said. “You barely spoke to the guy the other day. And besides, it’s the quiet ones you have to watch. Don’t you ever see the news?”

“Look, if your instincts are telling you that something is wrong in this case, why don’t you have BethAnn call the house and talk to the girl?”

“Get the guidance counselor involved? No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Brenna learned five years ago that getting officials involved could be devastating.

“Brenna, you tell me all the time that you don’t want personal relationships with your students, and if you really feel that way, referring your concern to a guidance counselor is the thing to do.”

“But Carrie indicated a trust in me. I have to handle this.” Whether I think it’s the best thing to do or not.

“Fine. You call the house, then.”

“I’ll do better than that. After school I’m going to Alvin’s Garage.” A few seconds passed before she smiled at Diana. “Coming in this morning I noticed a clunk coming from under the hood of my car. I should probably get it looked at by a professional.”

Diana studied Brenna’s face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Brenna asked.

“I’m just trying to figure out if you’re a pod person who managed to inhabit my best friend’s body.”

Brenna smirked. “Granted, this is unusual behavior from me.”

“Sure is. As I recall, the only life you like to interfere in is mine,” Diana added.

Brenna smiled. “But I’m all done with yours, and this is a special case. This kid came to me seeking help or advice or maybe even compassion. I don’t know.”

“But you’re determined to find out.”

“I guess I am.”

“Then go get that junker of a car you own checked out. You can’t be driving around in an unsafe vehicle.”

Brenna nodded. “Exactly. Who knows how many lives I could be putting in jeopardy?”

“Now can we go to lunch? I’m starved.”

Within minutes of the dismissal bell that afternoon, Brenna pulled out of the parking lot and headed to Alvin’s Garage.

CHAPTER THREE

“LANGSTON, YOU GOT COMPANY!”

When he heard his boss holler, Mike poked his head out from under the hood of a ’92 Ford SUV and stared across the garage to the office door. How could he have company? He hardly knew anybody outside of his work buddies. Except...

Yeah, he knew that redhead talking to Alvin.

Mel Francher, who’d worked at the garage for more than ten years, came up and nudged Mike in his ribs. “You got the good-looking teacher coming to see you,” he said. “What’d you do? Poke a hole in her transmission fluid when she wasn’t looking?”

Mike scowled at him. “Never. I wouldn’t do anything to encourage her to come to the garage.”

Mike wiped his hands on a clean rag and slowly approached his boss and Miss Sullivan. In pale denim slacks and a loose-fitting white shirt, she looked more like a “Miss Sullivan” today and less like the woman who wore shorts and a T-shirt and lived in the neat little bungalow. She still looked good, but he missed the legs.

“You remember our schoolteacher, Mike?” Alvin said. “You worked on her car Friday.”

“Sure, I remember. What can I do for you, Miss Sullivan?”

“Call me Brenna,” she said. It was a simple gesture, but it came out more schoolteacher and less friend.

“Brenna said she heard a strange sound coming from under the hood this morning,” Alvin said. “She asked for you to take a look since you’re familiar with the car.”

“I’m familiar with the battery,” Mike said. “But sure, I’ll look.”

“I appreciate that, Mr.... Can I call you Mike?”

“I’ve got no objection to that,” he said. “Is your car in the lot?”

“Yes, right out here.” She led the way outside.

Mike got behind the wheel of the Mazda and turned on the engine. He leaned out the door and listened. “What did it sound like?” he asked Brenna.

“Oh, sort of a ding or a ping.”

He got out, walked to the front and angled his head close to the hood. “I don’t hear anything out of the ordinary,” he said.

“That’s odd. It was quite noticeable this morning.”

Mike suspected that something was noticeable, but he doubted it was a sound from Brenna’s engine. He was pretty sure that what Miss Teacher noticed was Carrie’s absence. Leaving the car purring gently, he said, “According to the sticker on your driver’s-side door, this automobile has been serviced regularly. I noticed the odometer reads just sixty-five thousand miles. This car is a honey for a seven-year-old vehicle. So the only problem you have is possibly its owner. I myself only buy American-made vehicles.”

She gave him an exasperated look.

He smiled to himself. “As I mentioned, a ping or a pong or a clink would be pretty rare on a car that has been maintained like yours has.”

“That’s why I was concerned,” she said. “I meant to ask Carrie if you were working today, but...”

“Miss Sullivan...”

“Brenna.”

“Brenna.” He turned off her engine. “Let’s go into the office. Let me buy you a drink.”

“A drink? I don’t think so...”

He pointed through the picture window into the customer waiting room. “See that machine? I was offering you a Mountain Dew or a 7-Up.”

“Oh, of course.”

They settled at a small table. Mike took Brenna’s order for a Diet Coke and brought the can to the table. He popped the top on his Mountain Dew and sat across from her. “Why are you really here, Brenna?”

“I told you. I heard a ping...”

“Or a ding, right?”

She didn’t respond, and he figured it was time to eliminate pings and dings from their vocabulary. “I’m thinking this visit has everything to do with my daughter’s absence from school today.”

She sighed, turned the can in her hands without opening it. “Okay, fine. I realize I’m transparent, but I don’t really care. I am wondering why Carrie was absent.”

He purposefully didn’t answer for as long as he could stretch out the silence. If that made her nervous, so be it.

“Let’s be totally up front with each other,” she said after a moment.

“Usually the best way to be.”

“I’m concerned about Carrie.”

“So you said Friday night.”

Brenna folded her arms on top of the table and leaned slightly forward. “I want to know why she missed school today.”

“Is the school board having teachers double as truant officers now, Brenna?”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” she said in a teacher voice that made Mike remember all the knuckle raps he’d gotten in Catholic school.

“You should be thankful someone cares enough to ask about Carrie,” she added.

He would be if he wasn’t so certain that Miss Sullivan had her own devious theory about why Carrie was absent, and he was looking like the Evil Mr. Langston. He glanced at his watch, knowing he was still on the clock. How much more time was he going to devote to this witch hunt? Despite the view across the table, which was pretty darned attractive, he knew he’d be better off cutting it short. “She’s not feeling well,” he said.

“What’s wrong?”

“You really want me to tell you?”

She sat stone-still and waited.

Should he reveal a private detail of his daughter’s life to this stranger? Oh, well, at least she was a woman, which made the delicate subject easier to broach. He released a long breath. “Okay, here’s the story. About one day every month Carrie misses school and stays in bed with a heating pad on her stomach. This started when she was about eleven. If you can’t figure out why that is, I suggest you go to the local library and take out a book on the subject of puberty.”

Her face flushed. She cleared her throat. Mike got a perverse sort of pleasure out of seeing her discomfort.

“I see,” she said. “That is an acceptable reason.” She straightened her spine and said, “Was telling me that so hard?”

Well, yeah, it was. He’d only recently learned about this part of Carrie’s life, and the day she’d talked about it with him he’d felt about as capable of handling the discussion as he would have been teaching a quilting class. To answer Brenna’s question, he merely shrugged.

“I don’t think we need to be on opposing sides here,” she said.

“I’m on my daughter’s side,” he snapped. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’d like to help Carrie,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “She seems lost and lonely. I’m sure you’ve noticed that.”

“We’re doing fine.” Maybe if he kept saying that, it would eventually be true.

“I’m glad to hear that, but I’d still like to make myself available to Carrie if she needs to talk.”

They were going down this road again. Why did every woman he’d ever met think they had to repeat everything? Did they believe all men were born with poor hearing?

“I already told you that talking to Carrie is okay with me. Just don’t push. Let her initiate these conversations. I don’t want anyone pressuring her.”

She honestly appeared shocked. “I would never. We have rules in the school system that we have to follow.”

“And I have rules as a father that I intend to follow. No taking my kid to places I don’t know about. No digging for information, and no making her uncomfortable.” He should have stopped there, but something inside him made him blurt out the very thing he shouldn’t have said. “And no trying to be a substitute mother.”

She stood, her can of soda still unopened. “I assure you, Mike, I have no interest in being anyone’s mother. I’ve said what I came to say...”

“And found out what you came to find out?”

“Yes. I’m going to take your word for the reason for Carrie’s absence.”

“Swell.”

She walked out the door and got into her perfectly running silver Mazda. As she pulled out of the parking lot, he was still thinking about how she looked marching to that car. Determined, offended and, he smiled, cute.

* * *

“YOU KNOW BETTER, Brenna. This is your own stupid fault.”

She consciously eased off the accelerator. She didn’t need to get a ticket on top of everything else. But she didn’t stop scolding herself.

“This is why, since Jefferson Middle School, you’ve kept a strict nonintervention policy with regard to your students. You learned the hard way to let the Dianas of the world provide their shoulders to cry on while you just did your job and concentrated on your own problems.” She grimaced. “Of which there are enough, I might remind you.”

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and tried to think of anything but the past fifteen minutes with Mike Langston. No use. “What is going on with that family, anyway?” she said. “Did Carrie’s mother die? Did she leave them? Is she still in their lives but only on a temporary basis?” Brenna was familiar with divorcing parents who used their children as pawns in a power struggle. She hoped that wasn’t the case with the Langstons.

Truly that scenario didn’t seem likely. Mike had said on Friday that he wasn’t married. And Mike and Carrie had recently moved to Mount Union and definitely seemed to be struggling to adjust to each other and their new home. And another thing...why would Mike choose a place so far out of town to live in? Was he hiding something? Was he purposely trying to keep his daughter out of the mainstream? She was just a kid. She needed contacts, friends.

“That’s easy enough to figure out,” Brenna said. “Diana knows the history of every person and building in this town. She’ll know about property by the old mill.”

An image of Mike’s face appeared in the back of Brenna’s mind and provided some details of his character. Strong lines curved around his mouth and eyes. Eyes like his had usually seen life at its most basic levels and experienced tragedy. And Mike’s was an obstinate face. Ruddy from weather and wind and so serious that the man almost appeared as if he was afraid to laugh. His features weren’t classically handsome, but Diana was right. He was interesting in a bold, daring way that made a person want to delve deeper, to learn more.

Brenna nodded to herself. Strange. A tall, fit man like Mike afraid to laugh. Why? Well, maybe because in her dealings with him, she’d given him precious little to smile about.

“Why should you care so much?” she asked aloud. A few minutes ago she’d been so angry she’d walked out on him. Now she was wondering if she might be the one who could crack that granite exterior and get to the man underneath. For the sake of his daughter, of course. “But, girl, you have enough to deal with without having these two—”

Brenna’s cell phone vibrated on the seat beside her. She glanced down. Great. Speaking of dealing... She pushed the button to her car speaker. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

“Hello, darlin’. I was just thinking about you.”

Her mother’s thick Southern drawl seemed to permeate the air-conditioned cool of Brenna’s car like warm maple syrup. Brenna took in a deep breath. She wasn’t particularly fond of maple syrup.

“How are you, sweetie?” Alma Sullivan asked.

“I’m fine, Mom.” Brenna’s pat response. She never answered any other way. “Is everything all right at home?” She knew it wouldn’t be.

“Your daddy and I are doing good, honey. My ironing jobs have dwindled down some, but that’s okay. I don’t much like ironing in the heat of the summer anyway.”

“Mom, don’t you have the air conditioner on in the trailer?”

“Not right now. It’s not too bad. Tonight if your dad can’t sleep, I’ll turn it on.”

Brenna wanted to ask what her parents were doing with the two hundred dollars a month she sent them in the summers so they could run the AC in their single-wide trailer, but she refrained. Her mother would just list the other necessities the money had gone toward, and Brenna would only feel worse than she did now.

She clutched the steering wheel until her knuckles went white and said, “So any news?”

“Well, yes. There’s good news.”

Brenna held her breath.

“Your dad got a few hours of work with that fella who moved into the unit next door. The man got hired to paint the inside of the Waffle House and he asked your father to help him. It was a godsend, really.”

“Daddy’s back wasn’t hurting him?” Brenna asked.

“He took some of that twelve-hour pain medication and did okay.”

Her mother paused, and Brenna waited for what was to come.

“But it’s not all rosy here, Brenna May,” Alma said, “and that’s partly why I called today.”

She tried to keep the edge of impatience out of her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“The brakes on the truck went out. Wayne at the shop wants almost five hundred to fix them. We gotta do it, of course.” Her mother emitted a nervous chuckle. “Can’t be driving around with no brakes.”

“Do you think it’s a fair price?” Brenna asked. Mike’s face popped into her mind again. She almost said, “I know a good mechanic.”

“Oh, yeah. Wayne would never cheat us.”

Cut to the chase. “How much do you need?”

“We’ll pay you back. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“We’ve got two hundred and forty left over from the paint job, so...”

Brenna did the math. “You need two hundred sixty.” She had that much in her checking account. At least she wouldn’t have to raid her savings. “I’ll send a check out tomorrow. You’ll get it Wednesday. Tell Wayne to go ahead and fix the car.”

“I’d use your dad’s Social Security check, but we need...”

“It’s okay, Mom.”

She disconnected as soon as possible and continued toward home. As she approached her comfortable cottage, she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness she wasn’t still living in that nine-by-nine trailer bedroom with its leak-stained ceilings, built-in drawers and tiny closet with a plastic shower curtain for a door. She’d grown up in that room. She’d worked her way through college living in that room.

She got out of her car, walked to the front porch that greeted her with planters of geraniums and pansies and delicate wicker furniture. When she opened her door, a blast of cool air welcomed her as she stepped inside.

She’d escaped that room in that single-wide trailer. She’d never told anyone about that room, not even Diana. And she’d never go back.

* * *

DIANA FROWNED DOWN at her plate of watery spaghetti. “There’s just something not quite right about cafeteria pasta,” she said, spreading her napkin on her lap.

Brenna smiled at her and added dressing to her salad. “I have to ask you something, Di.”

“Shoot.”

“What do you know about a house beyond the gristmill?”

Diana stopped twirling spaghetti around her fork and looked up at Brenna. “Did you say beyond the mill?”

“Yes.”

Diana thought a moment. “There’s only one house out there that I know of. A cabin, really. Not very fancy. In fact, almost primitive. It hasn’t been occupied in a long time.”

Bingo. “Who owns it?”

“Let me think. The last person to stay out there was a part-time resident, an older lady who used to come for the winters. But she hasn’t been there in, I don’t know, maybe ten years.”

“And the cabin belonged to her?”

“I think so. It’s one of those older places that some people say should be on the historic registry. It’s what we used to call a pioneer cabin and was home to some of Mount Union’s original citizens.”

“Interesting.”

“I know it’s been modernized. The old lady had plumbing and power. You can see the wires running out that way from Con Electric. And phone cables, too.”

“What was the lady’s name?”

“Oh, jeez, Bren, I don’t remember. I think it was Emily or Amy. Something old-fashioned like that. Her last name started with an L, I think.”

“Could it have been Langston?” Brenna suggested.

“Could have been.” Diana lifted her spaghetti to her mouth. Her eyes widened as she chewed. “Wait a minute.” She swallowed, took a drink of water. “Langston? Isn’t that the name of your new student, the one who came to your house?”

“Exactly. This family, the mysterious mechanic and his daughter, must be related to old Mrs. Langston somehow.”

“And they’re living in her place.”

“Away from town, out of sight,” Brenna said.

“Do you still suspect the worst about the father?” Diana asked.

“No, not the worst. He’s not hurting his daughter, at least in the way I thought when he picked her up at my house on Friday. But something is going on. That girl is unhappy. She’s lonely. She needs...” Brenna couldn’t say the words. They were still alien to her vocabulary.

Diana grinned. “You, Brenna? The girl needs you?”

Brenna sighed. “Yeah, she needs me.”

“Well, holy cow. Look who’s suddenly getting involved. I thought your volunteering to chair the renovation of the Cultural Arts Center for teens was the only extracurricular activity we’d get out of you this year.”

Brenna smirked. “Yes, and it’s a monumental activity, you must admit. I have you to thank for matching me up with that little job.”

What Diana said was true. Maybe Brenna had seen too much of herself in Carrie Langston. Maybe she’d seen just enough of the girl’s reticent, brooding father. Maybe she was ready to move on from her past. Whatever the reason, she was becoming emotionally involved with a student again.

“I’m thinking I need to go to the farm stand on White Deer Trail,” Brenna said.

“I don’t suppose your longing for fresh, local vegetables has anything to do with the fact that the old mill is on White Deer?”

Brenna pretended surprise. “It is? What a coincidence.”

Diana smiled. “You should know, Bren, it’s a little hard to do a drive-by of Mrs. Langston’s cabin. As I recall, once you drive in, the only way out is to turn around and leave the same way.”

Brenna smiled. “I’ll figure something out. I just have to go. I’m developing quite an interest in one of Mount Union’s pioneer cabins.”

CHAPTER FOUR

ON THURSDAY AFTERNOON, seven days after Brenna first met Mike Langston, she called the garage and asked to speak to him. One of the other mechanics told her to hold on, and he shouted Mike’s name. At that point Brenna said, “Oh, I’m sorry. Someone’s at the door. I’ll call back.” She had gotten the info she needed. Mike wasn’t at his cabin.

She checked her watch. School had been dismissed an hour ago. The buses had all left within ten minutes. Carrie would be home, but if Brenna were careful, she wouldn’t run into her. And now she knew Mike was at work, so there was no chance of running into him. She’d see old Mrs. Langston’s cabin and draw her own conclusions about its livability.

She drove into the country, past the Montgomerys’ house, the farm stand and the old mill, one of Mount Union’s most historic buildings and a favorite field trip for elementary students.

Slowing her car just after the mill, she noticed a narrow drive winding into a stand of live oak and magnolia trees. The rutted path was overgrown. Brenna debated the wisdom of navigating it in her Mazda but decided her trusty little car could make it.

She progressed slowly, holding her breath at each bump in the drive. She’d gone about three hundred yards when she saw the roof of a house and a brick chimney covered with ivy and moss. There being no place to pull over, she stopped in the middle of the path and got out of her car. She hadn’t gone too far into the trees that she couldn’t back out safely and return to White Deer Trail.

Since she’d known she was going to make this trek after work today, Brenna had chosen to wear black jeans, a black-and-white sleeveless knit shirt and sensible sneakers. Her hair was caught up on her head with a tortoiseshell comb. She trudged ahead, keeping watch for tree roots that could trip her.

Hiding behind low branches, she approached the cabin. Getting her first look at Mrs. Langston’s “pioneer homestead,” Brenna was pleasantly surprised that the first settlers of Mount Union lived so well. The simple log structure was far from luxurious, but it appeared sturdy. The logs showed signs of wear, some splitting in places that glistened with some sort of patching material. At least someone had maintained the place. The porch had a substantial roof that extended across the front of the house. Two rocking chairs and an assortment of folksy implements sat on the wooden floor.

Brenna crouched down so she couldn’t be seen from either of two windows on each side of the centered front door. A patch of gravel served as a parking area. The cabin’s solid front door was open and a steady hum came through the screen door, indicating an air conditioner was working hard to keep up with the heat coming inside. She smiled, thinking the thoughtless gesture typical of a teenager who didn’t have to pay the bills.

Carrie suddenly appeared in front of one window. Cords hung from her ears as she waved her arms over her head and danced to a tune only she could hear. The girl didn’t appear nearly as miserable as she’d sounded the other night, and Brenna imagined Justin Bieber or Katy Perry blasting from those earbuds.

A slight stinging sensation on her arm drew Brenna’s attention from the cabin. A mosquito the size of a Chihuahua hovered near her shoulder, and Brenna swatted it away. It returned with two or three of its buddies, who flew away with an ample supply of Brenna snack.

“Enough of this,” she said. “I’ve stalked this child sufficiently to know she’s not living in squalor.”

Waving her hand in front of her face, Brenna returned to her car, got in and closed the door after swatting furiously to make sure none of the winged invaders had made it inside. She started her engine, slid the gearshift into Reverse and stepped on the accelerator.

And stopped with a jolt and a resounding thud.

She cringed. Had she hit a rock? A tree? An animal?

No. Unfortunately, she’d crunched into a blue pickup truck she’d seen most recently in front of her house.

Oh, no. Brenna thrust the shift into Park and slid down in her seat. She closed her eyes briefly. The primary rule of backing up an automobile punched into her brain with the force of her driver’s ed teacher’s gravelly voice. “Always look over your shoulder to make sure...”

She was still struggling to calm her pounding heart when a knock on her driver’s-side window made her jerk upright. She stared into Mike Langston’s aviator sunglasses before her gaze slid down to the thin line his lips made.

She mouthed the word Hello through the glass.

He made a twirling motion with his hand, and she rolled her window down a couple of inches. He continued to twirl.

She shook her head. “Mosquitoes,” she said, pointing to her arm, where itchy pink welts had formed in the past few minutes.

“That’s a shame,” he responded. He lifted his glasses long enough to stare into her eyes before performing a cursory check of the items on her car seats. What did he expect to find? A half-empty bottle of wine? There was nothing incriminating there. Her phone, her purse, a Diet Coke.

The glasses dropped back to his nose. “You just ran into me,” he said needlessly.

Common sense should have made her hold her tongue. But apparently common sense had just flown out that two inches of window space. “You’re not even supposed to be here,” she said. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He frowned. “That’s funny. Since I live here, I thought I had every right to be here.”

“What I meant was...” There was no way out of this. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

He nodded once. “That makes more sense. But seeing as you obviously are here, you might want to pull up a little. Right now my front bumper is close to riding the trunk of your dandy little foreign automobile. I’m thinking that’s not good—especially since you seem to have so much trouble with this car anyway.”

Well, that comment wasn’t at all necessary.

“I expect we ought to exchange insurance cards,” he added. “Though I doubt you need mine.”

She definitely wasn’t going to roll her window down more and invite blood suckers inside. She’d be a mass of swollen spots within minutes. “Can’t you reverse?” she suggested. “We can both back onto White Deer from here and discuss the situation away from these insect-infested woods.”

“I’m not going to let you back your vehicle up anywhere in the vicinity of mine,” he said. “Go forward to the house.”

To his house? She didn’t think so. She rubbed her hand over a bite, hoping to illicit his sympathy.

“I have a bug zapper on the porch,” he said. “You’ll be fine.” He leaned on the side of her car. Only a thin layer of glass separated her from those honey-brown eyes she could imagine staring at her through the dark shades.

His nose practically touched the window when he said, “And since your whole purpose for being on this drive had to be to snoop on my property, this invitation should make you very happy.”

She sensed his mind still churning, as if he weren’t finished proving to her he’d figured out her scheme. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d said, “And you’ll never be invited back so you’d better take advantage of this offer right now.”

For some reason, she decided if he did say that, she’d feel the loss, much more than she would have expected. Maybe it was the way he looked in those aviator sunglasses. He had a movie-star quality that she quite inappropriately noticed at this particular moment. Sort of a Gerard Butler cocky masculinity. She had a long way to go before forming a lasting impression of Mike Langston, but she really liked Gerard Butler.

Besides, what choice did she have? If he wouldn’t move his car, she couldn’t go anywhere. The only direction open to her was forward. She could pull in front of the house, wait until he pulled in as well and then maneuver quickly around and head down the drive. If Carrie was still wearing the earbuds, she might not even look out the window. And perhaps Mike wouldn’t tell his daughter about the spy mission.

Brenna spoke out the two inches open at the top of her window. “Fine. But don’t think for a minute that I’m interpreting this as a social invitation.”

He almost smiled. “I know you’re smarter than that. Actually, this is more an intimidation tactic. I’m much better in that arena than I am the social one.”

I’ll bet you are. She eased her car into Drive and gently pressed the accelerator. The Mazda made a mournful screech and cleared a foot or so between it and the truck. Brenna didn’t want to look at her trunk lid. She’d check it out when she was back in her own drive and could cry in private.

A moment later she pulled in front of Mike’s cabin. She waited for him to park and then shifted into Reverse. Her ploy to execute a quick escape was working. Until the front door opened and Carrie stepped out.

“Miss Sullivan, hi!”

Darn it. She stopped, rolled her window down all the way and looked for mosquitoes. The zapper appeared to be doing its job, so she stepped out of the car. Leaving now would look much more suspicious than following through with a good ol’ North Georgia howdy. “Hi, Carrie.”

“What are you doing here?”

She glanced at Mike, who had an elbow on the top of his truck and was watching her through those sunglasses. His full mouth quirked up in a smirk that made the teacher in her want to threaten him with a visit to the assistant principal. And made the woman in her want to—

Stop it, Brenna. Not helpful.

She had to answer Carrie, not let her thoughts careen in another inappropriate direction. “Well, I...I was...”

“Miss Sullivan got lost, Carrie,” Mike said. “I encountered her trying to back out of our driveway and suggested she come up to the house and turn around.”

Carrie gave Brenna an incredulous stare. “But you’ve lived in this stupid town for, like, forever. How could you get lost?”

Brenna shot a quick look at Mike. “I’ve only lived here four years,” she said. “And I...ah, I’ve never ventured beyond the gristmill.”

Mike threw his keys on a rough-hewn table next to the front door. “You must have been daydreaming today, then,” he said. “There aren’t any houses but this one past the mill.”

“We live in the booniest of the boondocks,” Carrie said. “No one ever comes out this far.”

“Why don’t you offer Miss Sullivan some iced tea?” Mike said.

“I r-really shouldn’t stay....” Brenna stammered.

Carrie clasped her hands together. “Oh, please. Other than repair guys, you’re our first visitor. Can’t you come inside and talk for a while?” As an added incentive, she said, “We have air-conditioning.” She swept her arm around the porch, indicating the objects her great-grandmother had probably left behind. “You wouldn’t think so because of all this old stuff, but I swear we do.”

Brenna recognized an old wooden butter churn, handmade baskets, a few primitive iron tools on the wall. “These things are interesting,” she said.

“If you like all these old things, you’ll love the inside.” A hopeful look on her face, Carrie held the door open.

“But your father...” Brenna said. “I’m sure he doesn’t want company after working all day.”

“I suggested the tea, didn’t I?” Mike said. “Besides, after you have a look around, this place will have left a permanent impression on you.” He lowered his voice. “And that should be well worth the trouble of the minor car damage you’re taking home as a souvenir.”

With no way to decline, Brenna preceded him inside and into one large room with a door and a hallway leading from it.

The inside of the cabin was basically Spartan, with a few well-used furnishings that Brenna decided must have been favorites of Mrs. Langston. An antique oak sideboard stood against one wall. A matching washstand and primitive chair occupied another. Facing a rugged stone fireplace was an early-twentieth-century sofa with wood arms and cushions that had been flattened by years of sitting. Only a floppy-eared coonhound lying on the braided rug in front of the hearth would have made the scene a perfect blend of countrified necessity and simplicity. But there was no dog, just the three of them.

Carrie called from the kitchen. “Dad, why are you home? Isn’t it early?”

He glanced at Brenna before answering. “I came to check on things here. I got a call from an unidentified female at the shop, and when I went to answer, no one was there.”

His glance mutated into a hard stare. Feeling her face flush, Brenna began concentrating on native animal prints on the walls.

“It wasn’t me,” Carrie said.

“I didn’t know that,” he answered. “I called here, but no one answered. I was worried.”

Brenna remembered the earbud cords dangling from Carrie’s head. No wonder she didn’t hear the phone ring.

“Sheesh, Dad, you don’t have to check up on me every minute,” Carrie said from the kitchen.

“I’ll try to remember that,” he said, settling on the plaid sofa. “How’s that tea coming?”

Carrie came into the living room with a tray holding three glasses. She set the tray on a scarred but clean pine coffee table and handed a tumbler to Brenna. Brenna sat on the other end of the sofa and smiled at the faded images of deer frolicking around the frosty outside of the glass.

“It’s instant,” Carrie said, looking down at Brenna. “Dad said I should learn to make it from real tea bags, but I don’t see why.”

Mike picked up a glass and took a sip. “I just thought you might like to do things the way your great-grandmother did.”

Carrie gave him an incredulous look. “Why would I want to do that? Everything was such work back then.”

He crossed and uncrossed his legs, cleared his throat, took another sip of tea and finally stood. “I’m going to change out of this uniform.”

“Good idea, Dad,” Carrie said. “You have grease on your shirt.”

“Goes with the job,” he said and headed toward the hallway off the living room. “I’ll just be in there. You ladies talk all you want.”

A few seconds later, Brenna heard a door close. Carrie sat in the spot vacated by her father and leaned close. “Do you see how awful it is out here, Miss Sullivan?” she said, keeping her voice low.

Brenna didn’t want to put herself in the middle of any family dispute. Besides, she truly didn’t find Carrie’s living conditions to be “awful.” Remote, yes, especially for a teen who was still more than a year away from getting her driver’s license.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Carrie said, “but my father really likes it out here. He keeps talking about nature and fresh air until I just want to scream. Spiders and mice are nature, too, you know.”

Brenna smiled. “Your cabin is really only about three or four miles out of town,” she said. “I’ll bet some of the people in town have spiders, too.”

“I suppose, but we might as well be a hundred miles away for all the times I get to go to the stores and do fun stuff.”

“Your dad never takes you shopping?”

“Oh, sure, to the grocery and the hardware store.” She grimaced. “I guess that’s his idea of fun. And any time I complain he just tells me that we have all we need.”

Brenna doubted that statement. “Other than some specialty stores, gift shops and local antique dealers, we don’t have much. But there are malls in Libertyville, Athens and Augusta.”

“Dad has taken me to those a couple of times,” Carrie admitted.

Poor deprived child...

“But this dumb town is nothing like California, where I used to live. Out there we had tons of cool places to go, outlets and twenty-four-screen movie theaters.”

Brenna understood that moves required periods of adjustments. Some people needed a lot of time to get used to a new environment, whereas others just seemed to fit in almost instantly. Brenna had been like that when she moved to Mount Union. The people who lived here, the town itself, offered much of what she wanted, the closeness of a community along with the privacy she needed, and especially a job she appreciated for many reasons. The students came from good, mostly two-parent families and didn’t arrive at class with heartbreaking baggage every day. Brenna had had too much experience trying to deal with students’ sad home lives, and she appreciated Mount Union’s solid family values immediately.

For four years now she had done an admirable job in the classroom while maintaining the independence and separation she expected in a town like Mount Union. Okay, maybe she’d never been voted teacher of the year like Diana, but no one had ever complained about the job she did. Now here she was sitting in a backwoods cabin listening to a morose, lonely girl complain about the place Brenna had come to love. And she didn’t know how she was going to handle it.

So she took a stab at counseling even though she knew it wasn’t her strong suit. “You know, Carrie, maybe you should give Mount Union a chance. You’ve only been here a few months, right?”

The girl slumped down in her seat. “Three long, miserable months. It feels like ten years.”

“Once you make some friends...”

She sat upright. “Friends? How can I make friends when I’m not allowed to leave this—” she stared around the room as if she were watching a horror movie “—this prison.” She grabbed Brenna’s hand. “Talk to my dad, will you, Miss Sullivan? Tell him to cut me some slack. He doesn’t know anything about being a father.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. He seems like a nice—”

“You don’t understand. Not only does my dad not know anything about being a dad, he doesn’t even know me. You ask him any question about me—what music I like, what movies I’ve seen. Heck, ask him my favorite color—he won’t know. He never tried to know me. Not when I was growing up and especially not now.”

The girl was close to tears. Brenna patted her hand. “What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t your dad know you?”

“He was in the army the whole time I was a kid. He hardly ever came home, and if he did, he stayed a couple of weeks and left again. He was always in Afghanistan or Iraq or someplace.” Her eyes grew moist. “That’s not the way a family’s supposed to be, is it, Miss Sullivan?”

Brenna had no idea how to answer. Her own family situation had been very different from Carrie’s. Brenna’s father never kept a job for more than a few weeks at a time, so he was home too much. Because of her dad’s inability to find steady work, Brenna hadn’t experienced stability in her life, either, for reasons very unlike Carrie’s.

“He didn’t have to be in the army all that time,” Carrie continued. “He wanted to be. It’s like he forgot he had a family.”

Agreeing with Carrie would mean betraying Mike, a man Brenna suspected was trying in his own way to make up for lost time. To disagree with Carrie would only alienate a young girl who was opening up about her feelings. After a moment Brenna said, “You know times of war are hard on everyone, the soldiers and their families.”

“Yeah, well, maybe. My mom just told me to appreciate the times Dad was home. But truthfully, the two of us learned to get along without him just fine. We didn’t need him.” She stared down at her lap. “At least until...”

“Until what?” Brenna asked.

She remained silent for several seconds, and then a voice, soft and low, came from the hallway. “Until her mother died,” Mike said.

CHAPTER FIVE

MIKE’S GUT FELT as if it had just been slammed with a cinder block. Why had he said that? Five minutes ago, he’d gone into his bedroom to shed his dirty uniform and put on shorts and a T-shirt. He’d intended to walk Miss Busybody out the door to her car and wave goodbye. Yet, he just blurted out the one fact that Brenna could use to explain the dysfunction in his relationship with his daughter. No wonder Carrie was sitting on the sofa slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

“Dad, I can’t believe you told Miss Sullivan about that,” his confused daughter said. “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about Mom.”

“I said until we knew people better.” His defense sounded weak, but he had advised his daughter that the tragedy they’d suffered was best kept secret until they’d settled into their new town and started over. He didn’t think his daughter needed the well-intended sympathies of people who were practically strangers. And he knew he didn’t.

Well, he couldn’t take the revelation back now. And in a way, he was relieved Brenna knew. This nosy home ec teacher had worked pretty hard the past few days to find out what was going on with him and Carrie—lying and snooping and telling him what she intended to do about his daughter—maybe she had earned the right to know. If Carrie seemed sad, there was good cause. And her depression wasn’t his fault. Well, not entirely.

In the quiet shock that had settled over the women, Mike’s sandals flapped loudly against his heels as he crossed the room. He supposed it was his responsibility to break the awkward silence and offer some sort of explanation. He started to, but Carrie stood and reminded him again of his mistake.

“You always say we shouldn’t bring this up.”

“I know. Before, when I said that, I was concerned that people would ask questions about your mom and upset you,” Mike said. “Remember all the questions you got in California, all the forms we filled out? It wasn’t easy for you.”

“No, it wasn’t, but now you just told my teacher!”

“Yeah, well, all the secrecy doesn’t seem so important now.”

Brenna stood and moved close to Carrie, making him feel seriously outnumbered. “Excuse me, Mike,” Brenna said, “but why wouldn’t you tell people about your wi...Carrie’s mother? It would seem to me—”

Here she goes again. He held up his hand. “We didn’t move here to draw that kind of attention to ourselves. We don’t need anybody’s pity.”

“Again, maybe I’m overstepping...”

Since when did that stop you?

“...but sincere sympathy is different from pity. And the people in this town—”

“I know. You all have hearts of gold.” He regretted the sarcasm the minute he said it, but he didn’t want folks patting him on the back, offering artificial condolences and advising him how to raise his daughter. He’d figure it out on his own, even if it took him until she went off to college.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

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

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