Shay swiped a damp paper towel over Vicki’s face.

“There, beautiful again. Don’t you think so, Daddy?”

Shay angled her body so that she was holding Vicki toward him.

Mark’s throat closed, emotion making it impossible to breathe. The sight of his daughter balanced on Shay’s hip and snuggled against her was wrenchingly poignant. It should have been comical, those sparkly red hearts sticking out of Vicki’s mass of curls and Shay standing there with a too-small tiara perched on her head.

I could love this woman.

Dear Reader,

When my son was much younger, he was in speech therapy and I remember being anxious for the day when he could share whatever he was thinking without any communication obstacles. Well, I got my wish. He has shared many things with a great many people.

In this book, single father Mark Hathaway is about to learn that you can’t always predict what kids will say…and that sometimes they share information you wish they hadn’t. More than anything, Mark’s six-year-old daughter wants a mother and, when it becomes clear that her father is too busy with his job to date, she takes matters into her own small hands, landing Mark in the principal’s office.

New principal Shay Morgan stepped into the role midyear when the former, much beloved, principal retired early for medical reasons. Shay is hoping to make a good impression so she will be hired permanently. Flirting with one of the students’ fathers would be a bad career move, especially a father whose first few attempts at classroom volunteering don’t go well. But Shay can’t help admiring how hard Mark works on his daughter’s behalf and how he keeps trying. She also can’t help noticing that he has a great smile and an adorable kid.

As Mark and Shay discover, even when we’ve meticulously mapped out our priorities, life and love (and our children!) often surprise us.

Happy Valentine’s,

Tanya Michaels

His Valentine Surprise
Tanya Michaels

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tanya Michaels began telling stories almost as soon as she could talk…and started stealing her mom’s Harlequin romances less than a decade later. In 2003, Tanya was thrilled to have her first book, a romantic comedy, published by Harlequin Books. Since then, Tanya has sold more than twenty books and is a two-time recipient of a Booksellers’ Best Award as well as a finalist for the Holt Medallion, National Readers’ Choice Award and Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award. Tanya lives in Georgia with her husband, two children and an unpredictable cat, but you can visit Tanya online at www.tanyamichaels.com.

If you ever have to meet a summer writing deadline

while the kids are out of school and underfoot,

I highly suggest that in addition to a

wonderful husband and mother (both of which

I am blessed to have) you arm yourself with a team

of incomparable friends. Thank you to Ashley Cate,

Sally Kilpatrick, Melissa Silva and their families—

my very own superhero squad.

Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

I hate you, Santa Claus!

Six-year-old Vicki Hathaway sat at her aunt’s dining room table, remembering how Aunt Dee took her to that mall in Charlotte to go Christmas shopping. Vicki had her picture made with Santa and told him what she wanted, really wanted, more than anything in the world. And because her dad said it was bad to be greedy, she’d only asked for one thing.

A new mommy.

But December was over and now it was almost the end of January. Her father hadn’t met any new women or gone on one single date. How could Santa not help her when she’d been so good? Her babysitter, Mrs. Norris, called her an angel. Vicki had been almost perfect, except for spilling juice on her dad’s inventory papers—which didn’t count because it was an accident—and sometimes fighting with her cousin Bobby (which didn’t count since he always started it by picking on her).

“Vicki,” her aunt said, “is everything all right? You’re not eating. And you love pot roast. I made it especially for you.”

Vicki loved almost all the food at Aunt Dee’s house. Her dad was not a good cook, which was why they ate most nights at the Braeden Burger Shop. Except on Tuesdays when Aunt Dee picked Vicki up from ballet and Vicki’s dad came here after he closed the store and they had dinner together. Tonight, Vicki wasn’t hungry. Her tummy had hurt since ballet class, but she didn’t want to tell Aunt Dee. Her aunt would make her drink that pink stuff that tasted dee-sgusting.

Vicki’s stomach had started to feel bad when her dance teacher reminded everyone about the big April recital and said she was sending home notes to ask for volunteer “stage moms.” Lorelai Moon said right away that her mother could come.

Lorelai’s mom was in charge of the children’s choir at church and came to their elementary school to read to the first graders after math centers. Lorelai’s mom was in the PTA with Aunt Dee. Lorelai’s mom also baked the cupcakes for their ballet class Christmas party. Vicki was the only girl in ballet—the only girl in the whole first grade—who didn’t have a mother.

Her eyes hurt, and her throat felt sore like the time she got so sick she could hardly swallow. “I’m not hungry.”

Vicki’s dad looked up from his plate. He hadn’t said much tonight, and Vicki thought he looked sad. He looked like that a lot lately, probably because he was lonely.

“You didn’t work up an appetite in dance class, Vicki-bug?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Can I be excused?”

Aunt Dee frowned at her, and Vicki thought she would say no. But sometimes grown-ups surprised you. “I guess you can go up to Bobby’s room while we finish our meal. Bobby, you got some new board games for Christmas. I’m sure your cousin would enjoy playing with you.”

Not really. The main thing in the house Vicki liked playing with was Butterscotch, her aunt’s poodle. But they always put the dog outside during meals.

“I’m eleven!” Bobby whined. For a big kid, he whined a lot. “The games I got aren’t for six-year-olds. Besides, I have homework. You said I could use your computer to do my report.”

Aunt Dee’s computer was in her office, with a door that shut. “Can we both go in your office?” Vicki asked. “Bobby can do his report, and I’ll bring Butterscotch in there with us. Then she couldn’t beg.”

After Aunt Dee agreed, Vicki followed her cousin into the office.

Bobby spoke to her in his usual mean tone. “This is important schoolwork, so don’t bother me, okay?”

“I won’t!” Why would she want to talk to Bobby? He was a jerk.

When she sat down, she patted her knees so Butterscotch would come to her. She put her arms around the dog and hugged the poodle, burying her face in the soft fur. Aunt Dee took Butterscotch to the groomer every week, so the dog smelled like fancy shampoo.

Vicki sniffed and sniffed again. She didn’t know when she’d started crying. But now she couldn’t stop.

“Hey!” Bobby sounded scared. “Stop that. They’re gonna think I did something to you. Knock it off.”

“I—I can’t.”

“What are you even crying for?”

“B-because I don’t have a m-mom.”

He shut up. Even Bobby wasn’t a big enough jerk to tease her about that. Instead, he sat down on the floor on the other side of Butterscotch to pet her, his fingers bumping against Vicki’s arm.

“Do you remember her?” he asked. “You were just a little kid when she died.”

That was funny because he called her a little kid now. She couldn’t answer him, though, because she was crying too hard.

“Aunt Jessica was pretty great,” Bobby said. “I told her once I wanted to be a scientist and thought she might laugh at me, but she gave me a microscope for my birthday.”

Vicki’s dad bought her birthday presents, but he didn’t wrap them. He just stuck them in a bag. Sometimes Aunt Dee used bags, too, but when she did, there were bows on the outside and colored paper tucked in with the gift.

“I need a mother.” She rubbed the snot off her nose. “Santa Claus was supposed to bring me one, but he didn’t.” Spring would be here in a few months—Vicki learned all about seasons back in kindergarten—so maybe she could ask the Easter Bunny for help.

Bobby opened his mouth and took a breath. He looked like he was about to start explaining stuff, like when he’d bored her that one time talking about different kinds of rocks. Then he shook his head. “You don’t need Santa, kid, you need Promises Dot Com.”

“Promises?” Vicki knew about “dot com.” Sometimes her dad let her use his computer to play games; plus her teacher, Mrs. Frost, sent them to different websites to practice phonics or math facts. But she hadn’t been able to work on her dad’s laptop much lately. He was too busy with stuff for the store to share.

“Haven’t you ever seen one of those sappy Promises commercials?” Bobby asked. “People meet each other on the computer, through email and messages, and start dating. Your dad would have to sign up.”

Vicki wasn’t sure he would do that. “If he meeted her on the computer, how would I know if I liked her?”

“Met, doofus. Maybe he’s already met someone,” Bobby said. “I mean, not on the computer, but in real life. He could date someone from church or our school. That way, you’d know immediately if you liked her.”

“But he doesn’t talk to any of those ladies from church or school.”

Bobby’s forehead got all squiggly, the way it did when he was thinking really hard. “Do you know what a Sadie Hawkins Dance is?”

“No.”

“They had one at the middle school. The girls ask the guys to be their dates. Maybe we can get a woman to ask out Uncle Mark.”

“How?” And who? Vicki’s Sunday school teacher, ballet teacher and first-grade teacher were all married.

Bobby stood up, looking at all of the stuff on his mom’s desk. He picked up a little yellow book that had the words Woodside PTA on the front. “If I helped you find a mom, you guys probably wouldn’t be over here so much.”

“You’ll help? Really?”

Nodding, he flipped open the book. “I have a plan.”

Vicki had stopped crying already. Now she smiled and hugged Bobby. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

It was a weird day when you could trust your jerky cousin more than you could trust Santa Claus.

Chapter One

“Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey.” The ridiculous rhyme rolled off Mark Hathaway’s tongue from habit—it had been the way Jess used to cajole their daughter out of bed for preschool.

Although Vicki had more practice getting up early and getting ready for school, she was no more cheerful about it now than she had been at three. Muttering something that was no doubt a variation of “go away,” his first grader scooted farther beneath the pony-print comforter. Not even the curly top of her head was visible.

With a sigh, he flipped back the corner of her blanket. “Up and at ’em, Vicki-bug. You have school, and Daddy has an important meeting this morning. Tomorrow’s Saturday, we’ll both sleep late then, okay?” If today’s breakfast meeting went well maybe he’d finally be able to get a decent night’s sleep.

“Don’t feel good,” she muttered. It was her standard second line of defense, after hiding beneath the covers.

“What hurts?” When she didn’t answer, he placed a hand over her forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Come on, hurry up so you can help me pick out your clothes. How about…your orange bathing suit with some polka-dot socks?”

Some mornings, his attempts at humor were only met with a sleepy glare. Today, he was rewarded with a half giggle.

“I can’t wear a bathing suit to school, Daddy! And plus it’s winter.” She sighed, clutching her stuffed horse close. “Do I have to get out of bed?”

“’Fraid so.”

“Hug first?” she pleaded. Of all her regular procrastination techniques, this was his favorite.

“Absolutely.” He sat at the foot of her bed, leaning back along the wall, and she scooted into his lap, snuggling against him. He kissed her on top of the head, breathing in the apple-scented detangler he’d combed through her unruly hair last night. Even with the spray-conditioner, she still winced when he hit a knot. And he was completely hopeless when it came to fixing her hair for ballet class—he barely managed simple pony-tails and barrettes for school. The coppery curls were untamable. No matter what style he attempted, it ended up lopsided.

With his everyday shortcomings, it was little wonder the poor kid had been dropping hints for the past few months. Mark was not oblivious to the fact that his daughter yearned for a mother figure. Thank God for Dee, Jessica’s older sister. How would he have survived the past two years without his sister-in-law’s help?

If the store closed, would Vicki have to move away from her aunt and uncle? The knot of dread which had recently taken up residence in his chest tightened. She’s already lost too much. No little girl should have to grow up without a mother. How could he possibly take her away from her friends and family in Braeden, North Carolina, the only home she’d ever known?

He tried to shake off the omnipresent worry. Extra stress wouldn’t change the outcome of today’s meeting. Besides, he’d been working quite a few extra hours lately, and Vicki deserved the benefit of his full attention.

“You know I love you, right, Bug?”

“Love you, too.”

“We make a good team, you and me.”

“Teams can be lots of people,” she said. “Like when Coach B splits us up to play kickball at school. Two isn’t very many.”

Her words sliced through him, her delicate suggestion that, much as he loved her, he wasn’t enough.

Mark chose his response carefully. “Two might not sound like very many, but when you think about it, we have plenty of other people who love us. Aunt Dee, Uncle Frank and Bobby, Mrs. Norris, Lucy at the store, Cade…”

Cade Montgomery had become Mark’s best friend since Jess died—because the sometime white-water-rafting guide, sometime carpenter was single. It was so much less awkward to hang out with Cade than all the married couples Mark and Jessica had known. Cade was about as confirmed a bachelor as a man could get, but he was surprisingly good with Vicki. He’d even promised to come to her ballet recital.

Of course, he’d later asked Mark if any of the little ballerinas had hot single moms.

Mark sighed. “Honey, is this about wanting a mom?”

“Will I ever have one?”

He knew the answer she wanted to hear, but the few dates he’d had in the past two years had left him cold. And even if he had more interest in the idea, he would put it on the back burner right now while he tried to sort out his job situation. Providing a stable home and financial security for his daughter were his priority.

“Someday, maybe.” It was the best he could offer her without being dishonest.

“Are you shy?” she asked. “We talked about shy at school, like when you don’t know how to make a new friend or are nervous to sing in music class. If you feel shy with girls, I can help!”

He grinned at that, imagining his six-year-old coaching him through first-date nerves. “You can, huh? Well, that’s very nice of you, but it will have to wait until later. Right now, you need to get ready for school. We’re already running late.”

“Okay.” She sat up, patting him on the shoulder. “But don’t worry, Daddy. I have a plan. A good one.”

Oh, boy. Part of him was amused and curious, wanting to ask his inventive daughter for details. On the other hand, he’d rather not encourage her Mommy Quest. It had wrecked him when he opened the letter to Santa she’d given Mark to mail—the one she’d insisted on writing all by herself. Mark had tried throughout November and December to get her to tell him what she wanted for Christmas, but she’d coyly refused to answer. Anxious to make sure “Santa” met her request, he’d finally seen it spelled out in green crayon. As a result, he’d over-compensated in the toys he’d bought her. She’d seemed delighted with them on Christmas morning, but after a week had passed, she’d turned pensive again.

Maybe if they didn’t discuss her “plan” to overcome his supposed shyness with the ladies, she’d eventually forget about it. Yet even as he wanted to cling to that hope, he knew better. Vicki had inherited her mother’s curly locks and big brown eyes—but she had Mark’s stubborn streak.

THE STORE MARK RAN WAS called Up A Creek, a tongue-in-cheek name for a place that sold sporting goods and equipment for outdoor recreation. Right now, however, up a creek seemed entirely apt for his situation. This breakfast felt too much like a last meal.

Across the table, Bennett Coleridge, owner of the dozen or so Up A Creek locations, looked sympathetic as he picked up the syrup pitcher. “Understand, if I do close the store, there are still opportunities in the company for you. We have other sites. The one in South Carolina is closest, although if you wanted a complete change, our two stores in Colorado stay busy all year round.”

And busy meant profitable.

When Up A Creek had first opened in Braeden, North Carolina, there had been a campground just outside of town and a popular lodge half an hour beyond that which offered hiking and kayaking excursions. Both had unfortunately closed in the past couple of years. Now it seemed as if the store Mark managed might be next to succumb to tough economic times.

Bennett had mentioned the possibility of Colorado if the Hathaways “wanted a complete change.” But Vicki had been born here, had spent her entire life in the same house. For her, anything outside Braeden limits would be an overwhelming change. Mark knew that his personal life—or lack thereof—disappointed his daughter. How could he tell her that he was a failure professionally, too? That she’d have to move away from her school and her friends?

He swallowed hard, determined to sound calm. Businessmen like Bennett were swayed by numbers, not desperation. “I know the store’s profits have dipped.” Around here, some folks were working two jobs to make ends meet, sacrificing their free time for recreation; others had been laid off, without the funds to maintain a hobby.

“But I have some ideas that might help turn things around,” Mark said. He sounded passably convincing.

Bennett raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“Well, a few months ago I spoke to Principal Ridenour about sponsoring a booth at the elementary school’s spring Fitness Fair. It’s an all-day event local coaches and doctors started last year to educate parents on the risks of childhood obesity. In addition to the information, they provide stations that demonstrate fun ways the kids can keep in shape. It’s a perfect platform for us. I can do a small-scale climbing wall, remind parents about the importance of bike helmets and staying hydrated, give out promotional coupons for items that will pull them into the store.

“Speaking as a dad,” he continued, “parents are more willing to spend on their kids during lean times than on themselves. Especially if it means keeping the kids healthier.”

Belatedly, Mark recalled that Principal Ridenour had retired over the holidays. He should really get in touch with the man’s replacement.

“I’m all for this fitness fair thing,” Bennett said, “but increased sales in canteens and junior knee pads aren’t—”

“Also, I recently read a business article,” Mark said quickly, “about how people who used to travel to luxury resorts or other countries are looking for less expensive domestic vacations. Let’s face it, not many of us can afford to go to Aspen or Vail. People who live right here or in neighboring states, however, might be able to indulge in a day at Sugar Mountain more easily than they realized. There are several ski resorts within a hundred-mile radius of Braeden, but the newest one, Hawk Summit, is only a forty-minute drive. Their projected grand opening last year got delayed twice due to construction and when they finally did open for the season, unusual weather conditions hurt their bottom line. They’re in their second season now and I’d guess they’re struggling.”

Bennett set his fork down with a reproachful sigh. “So you think a fledgling ski resort that’s in danger of going under itself is somehow going to save a store that’s going under?”

Mark felt his jaw tightening and forced himself to relax. “I think we can help each other, yes. And because they are, as you say, ‘fledgling,’ they have a bigger incentive to participate in some of the cross-promotional discount ideas I have. Bennett, I know I can turn the store around. I just need time, and—”

“Until the end of April,” the other man interrupted, his tone final. “My wife and I are coming to the area for her high school’s twentieth reunion. You and I will look at the numbers that week to determine whether or not there’s been significant improvement over last spring. If not…”

Mark wouldn’t let the reprieve go to waste. For the next three months, he would bust his butt and try everything he could think of to make Up A Creek a success. He owed it to his employees, who needed their paychecks, and his boss, who was giving him this chance. But most of all, he owed it to his daughter.

SHAY MORGAN PULLED HER CAR into the slot marked Reserved For Principal. Just a few weeks ago, seeing those words had filled her with enthusiasm and pride. While she was still proud that she’d been appointed the interim principal to finish out the year, well…it had been a long week. But today was Friday, which meant she’d soon have forty-eight hours to recharge, minus the stress of a family dinner Sunday evening.

Maybe the roads will be too icy for me to make the drive.

What she wanted to do was hole up in the cozy warmth of her house with a good book, free from pointed looks from a staff and faculty who were testing her authority, free from “helpful advice” from well-meaning parents who had limited knowledge of the county policies Shay was required to follow and free from the quiet disapproval of the school secretary, Roberta Cree.

Roberta had been at Woodside Elementary since it first opened its doors in 1987 and had outlasted all four previous principals, including Shay’s immediate predecessor, the Esteemed Jonathan Ridenour Who Could Do No Wrong. The corridor that led from the main reception area to Shay’s private office was lined with gold-framed portraits of the prior principals. She swore their eyes followed her whenever she passed. And the principals of yesteryear probably shook their heads at her when no one was looking.

All in all, her first month at Woodside hadn’t gone as smoothly as expected. Even though years had passed since she’d first voiced her ambition to become a principal, she could too clearly hear her father’s words in her head. You don’t need those administrative headaches, sweetie. Why not stay a teacher, with only your classroom to worry about and summers off to focus on your own kids?

Not that Shay had any kids. Or a husband. Or even a steady boyfriend.

She was currently between relationships, which seemed to worry her parents. After climbing out of the car, she shut her door—resisting the juvenile urge to slam it. Her brother, Bastien the M.D., didn’t have a girlfriend. He practically lived at the hospital, and both parents applauded his lofty career goals as building a solid foundation for the future. When Bastien had declared he wanted to go to medical school, their father had never once suggested he settle for being a school nurse and take the summers off! So why the heck couldn’t Shay get the same support for her professional aspirations? After all, it was a lifetime of listening to her mother—a retired elementary school teacher—that had inspired Shay in the first place. Mrs. Morgan and her teaching colleagues had been full of great ideas but lacked the power to implement them. Shay had decided early that she wanted to work her way up the scholastic ladder so that she could one day help teachers.

But so far, it was slow going at Woodside—an elementary school too small to have an assistant principal who might have been an ally in easing the transition. Maybe some of the faculty felt that warming to Shay too quickly would be disloyal to Esteemed Principal Ridenour. Everyone had been shocked by his heart attack in November and sorry to see him leave the school when he took early retirement midyear. Perhaps Shay’s eagerness to tackle her new position after the winter break had come across as unseemly, as if she were seizing on someone else’s misfortune.

I will win these people over, she promised herself. After all, she was pretty darn likable. She was also truly passionate about providing a wonderful environment and the best education possible for the students of the small elementary school. In theory, her advocacy for their well-being gave her common ground with everyone else who set foot inside the door.

Like, for instance, the PTA president.

Shay sighed when she saw that exact woman pacing outside the school’s front office, talking in low, tense tones with two other mothers. Shay recognized one of them as Carolyn Moon. The mom of a first grader, a third grader and fourth-grade twins, Carolyn seemed to spend as much time on school property as Shay did. Shay couldn’t remember off the top of her head who the third woman was, but she looked just as unhappy as her companions. Thankfully, the trio kept their voices diplomatically soft—the students making their way to class before the first bell rang seemed oblivious to whatever the problem was.

If Shay were shorter, she might have given in to the temptation to blend in with a few of the fifth graders and slip past the mothers lying in wait. The PTA president, Nancy, was a sweet woman who truly cared about the student body, but she was a very anxious “the sky is falling” sort. She seemed perpetually worried that the school teetered on the brink of disaster and that, as president, she would be at the helm of the ship when it sank. It didn’t help to have a second-in-command like Carolyn Moon, who complained about everything, upsetting Nancy’s already-nervous disposition. Shay had learned quickly that finding Carolyn waiting for her outside the office was never a good way to start the day.

I can handle this. I am the principal, and I got this job because I am good at what I do. Shay pasted a wide, welcoming smile on her face and vowed that while she certainly encouraged dialogue from concerned parents, she was not going to let herself be ambushed before she’d even had a chance to pour a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, ladies,” she said as they descended on her, all talking at once.

“Ms. Morgan,” Carolyn began, “do you have any idea—”

Nancy cleared her throat and gave a surreptitious shake of her head. “Principal Morgan, we’re sure you have a very full day, but—”

“I would be happy to find a few minutes in the schedule to chat with you,” Shay assured them, “but right now, I need to prepare for the morning announcements. If the three of you want to wait, I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you have somewhere else you need to be, please email me with anything you need to discuss. Or see Roberta about setting up an appointment.”

“This should be addressed immediately!” Carolyn insisted. “A person can’t just spam—”

“We’ll wait,” Nancy said firmly, shooting another look at her fellow PTA board member. Carolyn, this year’s vice president, was clearly champing at the bit for her chance to be commander in chief, figuratively speaking.

Although Carolyn seemed like the type who might not realize it was figurative.

Shay agreed to return as soon as she could, then allowed herself to get caught up in the swell of children sent to the front office with various “please excuse Diane’s absence yesterday” and “please allow Johnny to ride home on the bus with his friend” notes that had to be filed. The thirty minutes between when the front doors first opened to students and when morning announcements began were always hectic for the administrative staff.

Today, the usual cacophony of voices was dominated by two boys, each claiming that a pair of mittens in the office Lost and Found belonged to him. One boy was wailing that his mother had sworn he’d never see his Nintendo DS again if he lost another article of winter clothing this year. Roberta was trying to arbitrate the dispute. The five-foot-tall secretary had hair exactly like steel wool and she owned a sweater set in every color invented.

“You boys are much too loud,” Shay said in quiet counterpoint to their shouting. “It’s disrespectful to Mrs. Cree and to everyone else in the office.”

Roberta looked up, including Shay in the pursed-lip censure she’d bestowed on the arguing boys. “I can handle this if you’d prefer to go check your email.”

No doubt whatever those mothers outside the office were flustered about would be explained by the contents of Shay’s in-box. Bypassing the coffeemaker, Shay left the boys in Roberta’s custody and made a beeline for her office. Once inside she shut her door and entered her password, braced for the worst.

Whatever she’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been a plea from a student, soliciting dates for her father. Apparently, an email had gone out to the hundred and fifty or so families on the PTA mailing list. At least eleven parents had forwarded Shay a copy. The letter appeared to have come from Dee Riggs, the chairperson in charge of both the school’s autumn and spring book fairs. But the subject line of the email stated, From Victoria Hathaway. It seemed that Victoria was trying to boost her father’s love life in hopes of eventually getting a new mother.

Did Dee Riggs even realize yet that her email account had been hijacked in this manner? Given the number of parents who had already contacted Shay, surely someone had emailed Dee or planned to call her. Shay would talk to the woman today. First, however, she needed to have a few words with Victoria Hathaway’s father and sole guardian.

Shay leaned forward and pressed the intercom button on her phone. “Roberta? I need you to get me—”

“He’s already on his way.”

Chapter Two

Most days, Mark’s employer was in Colorado, oblivious to Mark’s daily schedule. So why, the one day when Bennett was in town and wanted to see for himself how things were at the store, did Mark get a call from Woodside that would delay opening this morning? Did that qualify as irony or just lousy luck? Mark wasn’t even sure why he’d been asked to come up to the school.

“Is Vicki sick?” he’d asked as soon as the woman on the phone said she was calling from Woodside.

“No, sir. We don’t need you to pick up your daughter. Principal Morgan just needs to speak with you.”

The new principal, Shay Morgan. Mark had received the same cheerful letter of introduction as the other Woodside parents, but he’d never met Shay face-to-face. Maybe this wasn’t such bad luck after all. He’d been meaning to talk to her anyway about the Fitness Fair.

Before he disconnected the call he asked, more as a parental reflex than an actual concern, “Vicki’s not in trouble, is she?” His daughter had been eerily well behaved since his wife died. Aside from her growing exasperation that Mark showed no signs of remarrying, she rarely fussed or challenged any of the rules. Rosycheeked Mrs. Norris said she was a dream to babysit for: “So quiet you hardly know she’s in the house.”

Instead of promptly assuring him that Vicki hadn’t broken any rules, the secretary said primly, “You’ll have to take that up with the principal.” Then she hung up, leaving him perplexed for the duration of his fifteen-minute drive.

As it had in the past, walking through the school’s front doors gave him a twinge, reminding him of how much it had stung, after Jess’s death, to bring Vicki here on her very first day of kindergarten without her mother there to see it or help her get ready. Mark didn’t often find himself on campus, except for periodic performances or the August orientation held each year so that students could meet their teachers for the first time. On those occasions, he was usually part of a noisy crowd. This morning, the front hallway was quiet. The only person he passed was a woman who appeared to be signing in her tardy son. Recognizing her as someone who’d shopped at the store before, Mark offered a small finger wave. Inexplicably, the woman smothered a giggle and glanced away sharply.

Oookay. Dismissing her strange behavior, Mark turned in to the main office. The school secretary, Roberta Cree, stood at the copy machine, feeding paper into the tray. Even though he’d seen Roberta before, he was struck anew by how short she was. Over the phone, she was much taller.

The secretary dipped her chin by way of greeting. “Mr. Hathaway. I’ll let the principal know y—”

“Mr. Hathaway?” A blonde poked out of the office behind the front counter. “Mark Hathaway? I’m Shay Morgan.”

Wow. Mark didn’t recall any school principals looking like that during his childhood. Was she unusually young for a principal, or had his perspective of age simply adjusted now that he himself was an adult? Even without the added height of her black boots, she would be tall for a woman, and she was noticeably curvy beneath a soft aqua sweater that matched her eyes.

Unfortunately, those blue-green eyes were narrowing at him in displeasure.

Had he been caught ogling? It had been so long since he’d ogled that he really wasn’t sure.

“I didn’t mean to stare,” he defended himself. “You’re just not what I expected. I guess I’m so used to seeing Principal Ridenour come out of that office, and you’re, uh…not him.” Physically, it was hard to imagine how she could be any more unlike the stout, balding former principal.

“So I’ve been told,” she said with a tight smile.

She ushered him into her office and shut the door, indicating one of the padded chairs that sat around a small round table. “Thank you for coming up to the school so quickly. It had been my intention to discuss this on the ph—” She broke off, frowned and started over. “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Hathaway. We need to talk about Vicki. Are you, by any chance, aware of an email that your daughter sent?”

“My daughter? That’s impossible. Aside from the fact that she obviously doesn’t have an email account, she never uses my computer without close supervision.”

Shay—Principal Morgan—settled into one of the other chairs. She crossed her legs, displayed to flattering effect beneath her black skirt and thin hose. It caught him by surprise that he even noticed. Over the years, many women had come into the store, some of them athletic and, he supposed, quite pretty. But he’d have better luck describing what any one of them had purchased than what she looked like. Feeling off balance, it took him a moment to focus on what the principal was saying.

“A number of parents forwarded me this.” She pushed a sheet of paper toward him.

Curious, he picked it up and glanced at the subject heading. From Victoria Hathaway?

“This is my sister-in-law’s email address. Vicki…” He trailed off, recalling how pleased he and Dee had been that Vicki and Bobby were getting along so well. During the past two family dinners, the kids had shut themselves in the study with no discernible bickering or tattling. Which should have been enough to make you suspicious, dummy. “Vicki has a cousin who must have helped her. She wouldn’t know how to send an email by herself.”

“Bobby Riggs, Dee’s son?” Shay nodded. “Earlier this week, I presented him with a trophy from the council-level science fair. Clearly a smart boy. It makes sense that Vicki would have dictated her letter—the punctuation and spelling are far above the normal first-grade level.”

With growing trepidation, Mark began to read.

My name is Victoria Hathaway. People call me Vicki. I am six years old and in the first grade at Woodside Elementary school. I am the only girl in my class who doesn’t have a mommy.

Mark’s heart stuttered. He’d known Vicki was growing more resentful of her single parent status, but seeing her unhappiness articulated like that on the paper in front of him… He was shocked that, instead of trying to talk to him more about it, she’d decided to share it with the population of Woodside! What had Bobby been thinking to help her with this?

My daddy is Mark Hathaway. He is a good man, but a not so good cook. My mom went to heaven. He needs a new wife, but he never ever goes on dates.

Was it possible to keep one’s face from turning red through sheer force of will? He kept his gaze locked on the humiliating paper in his hand and away from the lovely blonde who watched him silently.

I think my dad is shy. Can you help us? It will be Valentine’s Day soon, and he is very lonely. If you are a lady who is not too old and don’t already have a husband, maybe you could be Daddy’s valentine. Please let him know if you would like him. He is gone at the store a lot, but he is fun when he is home. It would also be good if you have a dog. I really want one. But not as much as I want a mom.

Thank you,

Victoria Kathryn Hathaway

Mark was mortified. And aching for his daughter. And fully prepared to ground both her and her cousin for the rest of their natural lives. Well, she had tried to warn him that morning. Don’t worry, Daddy, I have a plan. He was flooded with reactions, from grudging admiration of his daughter’s problem-solving ingenuity—hell, maybe she could help brainstorm ideas on how to save the store—to renewed anger that his wife had been taken from them so young.

He heard his own rusty chuckle. In his struggle to formulate a response, he’d unconsciously chosen laughter. “Maybe I could just get her a puppy?”

“I’m not sure making jokes is the best way to handle this,” the principal countered gently. “Your daughter obviously—”

“Have you even met my daughter?” he asked. Mark wasn’t normally rude, but he was still reeling at the idea of Vicki feeling so desperate that she’d taken action behind his back. He always read the weekly notes from her teacher, Mrs. Frost, and Lord knew he’d listened to hours of advice from Dee because he accepted that his sister-in-law had Vicki’s best interests at heart. But he resented the condescending tone from a woman who might not even recognize Vicki if she saw her.

Shay squared her shoulders, rigid in her chair. “I go into all of the classrooms, occasionally reading stories to the kids or picking a table to have lunch with, but no, I have not been individually introduced to your daughter. And, before you ask, no, I don’t have any children of my own. What I do have are years of classroom experience working with kids and a Master of Education. I may be younger than Principal Ridenour, but I assure you I’m qualified for my job.”

Mark shoved a hand through his hair, aware that he’d botched this meeting so far. “Of course you are, Ms. Morgan. I apologize. I got defensive because this is personal.”

Her posture eased slightly, but her expression didn’t soften. “I understand why you would feel that way, but this email was sent to everyone on the PTA mailing list. I haven’t spoken to Vicki yet, or her aunt, for that matter. I wanted to make sure that you, as the responsible parent, were fully aware of the situation first. But I am going to send out a concise email addressing the situation.”

In other words, Mark translated, his “personal” matter had become quite public.

“Before we call her into the office, though,” the principal added, “I wanted to talk with you for a few minutes. Are you aware that there’s a community support group for single parents that meets in the school cafeteria the first and third Wednesday nights of every month?”

“I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but I’m not going to give up another night with my daughter. Tuesday evenings she has ballet, and Friday, inventory at the store sometimes goes pretty late, so—”

“That would be the store mentioned in Vicki’s letter, when she says you’re away a lot? Mr. Hathaway, as someone who’s never been married, I can’t know precisely what it’s like to lose a spouse. But I realize it must be very difficult for you and Vicki. Maybe this wasn’t so much a plea for a new mom as a cry for more attention.”

“Vicki knows how much I love her.” Doesn’t she? “I tell her every single day. She’s the most… She’s my world, Ms. Morgan.” He recalled a promise he’d made to Jess, when they’d known how little time she’d had left. He’d told her that he’d love Vicki enough for both of them. Was he failing?

“I don’t doubt that.” Radiating sympathy, the principal laid her hand atop his on the table. Then she blinked, as if she were as surprised by the physical contact as he was. She withdrew immediately. “Maybe it would help if you supplemented your words with actions, with your time. The first-grade classes have already been on a couple of field trips this year. Were you able to chaperone any of those?”

“I have a store to run.” This woman had no idea what kind of pressure he was under to keep the place afloat and to keep Vicki here in Braeden. Was he really being condemned as a bad father because he hadn’t accompanied a bunch of six-year-olds to a petting zoo?

“You also have a daughter who needs you,” she said. “There are numerous studies that show how much a child benefits, both emotionally and academically, when a parent is able to volunteer at the school.”

Those studies weren’t going to pay his mortgage. But he tamped down the sarcasm. If his showing up for the occasional field trip would help Vicki, he’d find a way to do it. But it seemed that Ms. Morgan had even bigger ideas.

She handed him a blue folder. “That contains information on different ways you can get involved in the classroom. We’re always in need of parental support for our activities. Our fall book fair, normally a week long, only ran three days this year because we couldn’t staff all of the available shifts. And the Campside Girls who’ve traditionally had their weekly troop meetings here had to disband this year because they couldn’t find a leader.”

“A shame,” he muttered. “I would have been happy to give the troop discounts on gear for—”

“Mr. Hathaway! We’re discussing your daughter’s well-being, not your store. Study the list I’ve given you. There must be something on it that you’re suited to, a way you can chip in and show Vicki that she’s just as important to you as your job.”

Maybe the two could dovetail—his principal-mandated community service and his promise to Bennett to boost business.

“Actually, it’s a funny coincidence,” Mark said, flashing her a smile. He tried for charm but it was difficult to gauge whether or not he succeeded. “I wanted to talk to you about getting involved with Woodside this spring.”

“Really?” Her tone was suspicious.

“Honest. I know Woodside’s hosting that Fitness Fair and as you may know, at Up A Creek, we—”

“That’s the name of your store?”

“It’s the store I manage, yes. I’m not the owner.” And if he didn’t find a way to boost profits enough to appease the owner, then—

“Mr. Hathaway, I believe you are missing the point.” Her tone was wooden. “Your daughter needs you.”

This judgmental blonde didn’t think he was aware of that fact every second of every day? Vicki needed him to braid hair, which he couldn’t do, and provide dinner, which he usually messed up; the matter-of-fact criticism in her email that he was a not so good cook stung more than he would have predicted. But she also needed him to provide food and shelter and the clothes she seemed to outgrow every other week.

The responsibility had been weighing heavily on his shoulders lately. Now, with Shay Morgan poking at his flaws, he wanted to yell that he was doing the best he could. Ironically, it was the very fear that his words might be true that kept him silent.

What if this was the best he had to offer and it wasn’t enough to truly keep his daughter healthy and happy?

He tightened his grip on the folder, sucking in his breath at the resulting paper cut. “I’ll read everything in here and find a way to participate.”

“Wonderful! I look forward to working with you,” Shay lied unconvincingly. She sounded as if she’d rather be buried beneath a rock slide than deal with him again.

He could relate. That was pretty much how he felt about her right now, too.

AS SHE WAITED ALONE IN her office for Mark Hathaway’s return, Shay took a moment to compose herself. They’d asked Roberta to call for Vicki via the classroom intercom system, but Mrs. Frost had answered that the class was outside with the gym teacher and that it would take a few minutes to find Vicki and escort her to the office. Meanwhile, Mark had stepped outside to phone his store—the cell reception was lousy in the school—so he could let his employee know it would be at least another half an hour before he returned to work. He’d excused himself with a note of challenge in his voice, as if expecting Shay to come down on him for being a diligent boss.

She sighed, staring sightlessly at her computer monitor. Well, you’ve handled this like a real pro.

No doubt startled by his daughter’s attempts to engineer his love life, Mark Hathaway had been prickly throughout their meeting. It hadn’t helped that instead of defusing the situation, Shay herself had felt defensive, unbalanced. Her original intention had been to phone the man and discuss Vicki’s email, but Roberta had acted preemptively, summoning him to the office on Shay’s behalf. Would their conversation have gone more smoothly if it hadn’t been face-to-face?

Get a grip. He’s hardly the first good-looking man you’ve ever met.

True, but she wasn’t reacting just to Mark’s tall, athletic build or the handsome face framed by inky-black hair. She was responding more to his reaction to her. The way his gaze had traveled over her in the front office… If she’d been out somewhere socially, instead of at a place of work where she was trying to establish her authority, the appreciation in those gray eyes would have made her shiver. And she hadn’t missed his staring at her legs once they sat down together.

But despite the temptation to be flattered as a woman, she was annoyed as a professional. You’re not what I expected, he’d said, comparing her to Principal Ridenour. Was Mark Hathaway one of those people who would underestimate her as a pretty face, too young and not up to the serious responsibilities of her job? He certainly wouldn’t be the first. Her thoughts flickered from the mothers gathered outside her office this morning to her own father, but she shut down that line of contemplation. This morning was about little Victoria Hathaway, not Shay.

Sometimes this job called for deciding what was best for students as a whole, implementing policies that would affect the nearly three hundred kids at Woodside, but other days, it was far more personal, trying to help each child one at a time. And, as exasperating as her parents could sometimes be, Shay loved them both and couldn’t imagine how difficult a time this was for the motherless first grader.

Though her door was open, Mark Hathaway rapped his fist against the doorjamb, looking tentative. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t interrupting a phone call or anything,” he said as he walked back into the office. Instead of regaining his seat, he stood behind the chair, shifting his weight.

“I asked Roberta to hold my calls until after we talked to Vicki. I figure she’ll be unnerved enough without having to sweat it out while I’m talking to someone else. Barring any sudden emergencies on campus, you two have my undivided attention.”

Frankly, Mark Hathaway probably had women’s undivided attention no matter where he went. Now that she’d been able to put a face with the name, it was a bit surprising that this man “never ever” went on dates. Was his daughter exaggerating? Or was he still in mourning for his late wife?

Shay cleared her throat. “Mr. Hathaway, I apologize if this is a difficult question, but do you mind if I ask when your wife passed? I’m just trying to get a handle on Vicki’s state of mind.”

His knuckles tightened on the back of the chair. “About two years ago. She—”

“Ms. Morgan?” The secretary’s voice crackled through the phone on Shay’s desk. “I’m sending back Vicki Hathaway now.”

“Thank you.” Shay stood and returned to the table by the door so that they could all sit together.

A little girl who looked absolutely nothing like Mark appeared in the doorway. Judging from their facial features, one wouldn’t even guess them related. Where his dark hair was silky, her ginger-colored hair was a profusion of curls. Shay’s hair had always been naturally straight, requiring determined use of a curling iron and lots of hair spray to achieve any kind of body. Vicki Hathaway was adorable and, Shay suspected, probably a miniature of Mark Hathaway’s late wife. Did it comfort him, seeing part of Mrs. Hathaway live on, or did looking at a version of her face make him miss her even more keenly?

Vicki’s chin was bravely raised even though her lower lip quivered and her brown eyes were huge with trepidation. “Hi, Daddy.”

Still standing, he turned to wrap an arm around his daughter’s slim shoulder. “Hi, Bug.”

“Would you like to sit down with us, Vicki?” Shay pointed to the empty seat between herself and Mark. “I’m Principal Morgan.”

Vicki nodded solemnly.

“Do you know why your dad and I want to talk to you?” Shay asked softly.

Vicki slouched down in the chair. “B-because of the letter that Bobby and I—I mean, the letter I sent?”

Mark exhaled with a huff. “We already know your cousin was your partner in crime. This was his idea, wasn’t it?”

“No.” Despite her trembling lip, Vicki’s expression was resolute when she swiveled her head to look at her father. “It was my idea to help you meet a nice lady. I had that idea even before Christmas. You’re too shy, Daddy. You need my help! You and Aunt Dee and Pasture Jack—”

“Pastor Jack,” her father corrected automatically.

“You all say we should help people, right?”

“Well, yes,” Mark conceded, “but we have to be careful how we do it.” He cast a beseeching glance in Shay’s direction. The expression in his gray eyes clearly read Help! which, she had to admit, was enormously gratifying. This parent had gone from questioning just what she knew about his daughter to seeking out her expertise.

She cleared her throat. “Vicki, do you remember when that policeman visited the school last week and talked to us about 9-1-1? He said it was important to know your phone number and address but that we don’t share that information with strangers.”

Vicki nodded. “Wanna hear my phone number?”

“Maybe another time. Right now, I need you to understand that email addresses are a little like phone numbers. People want their privacy. When they filled in their personal contact information for the PTA, we promised that they would only get emails with official PTA updates. You and your cousin didn’t have any right to use that mailing list. And I think you know that it was wrong to go behind your dad’s back like that. Don’t you?”

Vicki’s gaze fell momentarily to her lap, where she was wringing her hands. But she made one last attempt to plead her case. “Do you think little girls should have a mommy?” She raised her head, hitting Shay with the full force of those chocolate-brown eyes.

Shay had worked with children for enough years to understand that the smart ones started trying to manipulate adults from an early age—testing the grown-ups around them and testing boundaries. To some extent, she was being played. Still, even if they were being exaggerated for effect, the pain and frustration in Vicki’s small voice were real. Shay had the urge to scoop the girl into a hug.

But she hadn’t become principal by letting children wrap her around their little fingers—not even supercute, resourceful, motherless children. So she chose to answer Vicki’s question with one of her own. “Do you think your mommy would have wanted you to do things that upset your dad or other adults?”

“No, ma’am,” Vicki whispered.

“Can you promise me that nothing like this will happen again?” Shay asked gently.

“Yes. But someone has to do something,” she whined, foreshadowing what she was likely to sound like as a teenager.

“I know it’s difficult not having your mother around,” Shay said. “But you still have a dad who loves you very much.”

“Very,” Mark interjected, taking his daughter’s hand.

“And he wants to spend even more time with you.”

“He does?” Vicki whipped her head around, looking to her dad for confirmation.

The first grader seemed blatantly skeptical, which proved Shay’s earlier point. Part of this mom search probably stemmed from the little girl’s feeling neglected. If Mark made a concerted effort to be more involved in his daughter’s life, not only would it be good for her emotional well-being, it would save him a lot of trouble in the long run.

Shay nodded emphatically, addressing Vicki but shooting a pointed glance toward Mark. “Yep. He’s going to find some ways to help out at the school.”

“Just like Lorelai’s mom,” Vicki said excitedly.

Oh, let’s hope not. One Carolyn Moon was more than enough for any administrator.

Shay suppressed a grimace, instead offering a smile of encouragement. “Before I send you back to class, I need you to make us one more promise. You and your cousin used those email addresses without permission and what you did was a violation of privacy. I need you to write an apology.”

Vicki scrunched up her face. “I can’t spell violation!”

“I’ll help you, just like I help with your homework,” Mark said. He said it so quickly, with a sidelong glance at the principal, that Shay felt like he was trying to redeem himself. The subtext of his declaration seemed to be We read, we do math. See? I don’t suck as a father.

Shay experienced a twinge of guilt. Had she been too hard on him earlier? She shook off the thought, deciding not to second-guess herself. After all, her tough love approach had worked. She’d won a grudging concession from him to be more involved with his daughter and Vicki already looked delighted by that idea.

By the time they wrapped up their conference, Mark had promised that the principal would have Vicki’s written apology in hand by Monday morning. And Vicki had sworn—“cross my heart”—that she would never send out another unauthorized email again. Shay bid them both a warm farewell, adding that she was always available if they needed to talk.

Once they were gone and she’d sat back down at the computer, she couldn’t help the unbidden thought that if Vicki had really wanted to make her Valentine email effective, she should have attached a JPEG image of her father.

FOR HIS MEETING WITH the principal, Mark had turned off his cell phone. As he crossed the frigid parking lot toward his car, he switched the phone back on and discovered that he had four voice-mail messages from Dee. He dialed her number, unsurprised when she answered on the first ring.

“I am never letting Bobby near a computer again,” she said immediately. “I’m serious. His days of commandeering my PC for homework purposes are over. I’ll buy him a typewriter, an abacus and an encyclopedia set.”

Mark laughed. “Far be it from me to tell you how to raise your kid, but tossing the boy back into the Stone Age might be overkill. Grounding him and making him apologize should do it. In fact, Vicki and I just met with Principal Morgan, who wants a written apology on her desk by Monday morning. You’ll probably be getting a call from her.”

“Oh, Mark—the two of you got summoned to the principal’s office? You just wait until Robert Joseph gets home,” she said, annoyed enough to use her son’s full name. “I had a doctor’s appointment first thing this morning and was running late for car pool, so I didn’t even check email before I left. He was safely at school before I found out what he’d done. What were those children thinking?”

Her question, although probably rhetorical, was followed by a deeply awkward pause as they both acknowledged what the scheming duo had been thinking. They’d been reasoning that kids deserved two parents and that Vicki missed her mother. And that Mark had failed abysmally when it came to rejoining the dating world of singles.

“As your daughter pointed out, Valentine’s Day is right around the corner,” Dee said. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone special you were interested in ask—”

“Not you, too!” Mark protested. If his daughter broadcasting his supposed romantic ineptitude to hundreds of people was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him, then discussing his love life with his late wife’s big sister ran a close second.

“Is it because of Jess?” Dee asked quietly. “If you’re not ready for another relationship, I understand. But if something else is keeping you from… We spend a lot of time together and there are pictures of her all over my house. I wouldn’t ever want you to feel guilty about seeing someone else. Jess would want you to be happy, and Frank and I would be completely supportive if that’s what you wanted.”

“It isn’t,” Mark said. “Not right now, anyway. You know that things haven’t been going too well at the store? The owner, Bennett Coleridge, is in town for the weekend. He’s thinking about shutting me down, Dee.”

She sucked in her breath. “Oh, no.”

“So I’m a little preoccupied right now. Besides, a woman in my life shouldn’t be a Band-Aid. If I go out with someone, it should be because we’re interested in each other as two adults, not because I need her in order to bond with my own daughter.”

Maybe the principal had been right today, damn it. While he resented the implication that he wasn’t there for his daughter, maybe he wasn’t there for her in the ways that made the most sense to a six-year-old. Obviously it was imperative that he provided for her, but maybe—in her view—it was equally imperative that he watched some of her ballet lessons or read to her class.

“Vicki and Bobby were sneaking off to do this,” he continued, “and I never had an inkling that she was up to something.” When she’d flat out admitted this morning that she had “a plan,” his brilliant parenting strategy had been to dismiss what she was trying to tell him. Dumbass. “Before I think about any romantic relationships, I should probably strengthen my relationship with my daughter.”

“All right. But you know if you ever do want to take someone out for the evening, we’re happy to babysit.”

“Thank you. You and Frank have been amazing. I don’t think I tell you that enough, but we’re so blessed to have you.” Even Bobby had arguably acted out of love for his cousin. Mark couldn’t fathom what it would be like for himself and Vicki to start over from scratch somewhere else, without their invaluable support network.

I won’t let that happen, he vowed to himself as he disconnected the call. He would simply redouble his efforts to keep the store open. But he wouldn’t let those efforts stop him from being the father that Vicki deserved.

Chapter Three

“Oh, it’s you.” Since the store was currently deserted, Mark’s words carried.

From just beneath the bell that jangled to announce patrons, six-foot-five Cade Montgomery raised his eyebrows. “Dude, stop falling all over yourself with elation whenever you see me. People will talk.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sound unhappy that you’re here,” Mark said. “I was just hoping…”

“That I was a paying customer?” Cade commiserated. In years past, the dark-haired bear of a man had earned a full-time living with guided rafting excursions, but in the current economy, he had to supplement that income with carpentry odd jobs.

“Yeah.”

“It’s the middle of a weekday,” Cade pointed out. “People are either at work or at lunch. You’ll get more business tomorrow.”

“I know.” But would it be enough business? Since Mark had reached the store after this morning’s meeting at Woodside, he’d been consulting vendor catalogs, trying to decide if he could cut costs by dropping certain brands that weren’t selling well or switching distributors.

“Speaking of lunch. I was in the area delivering some shelves to a client and swung by to see if you wanted to grab a burger with me.”

“But that would mean closing the store for an hour.”

Cade glanced meaningfully at the reversible Open sign hanging in the window; the back featured an adjustable clock face. “Gee, if only you had one of those signs that said something like ‘Will Return In….’”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Smart-ass. I was planning to work through lunch because I missed some time this morning. I got called into an unexpected meeting with the new principal at Woodside.”

“About that Fitness Fair?”

“No, about Vicki.” The tiniest matchmaker. Mark had seen movies where children of single parents schemed to get their folks together. But those were always specific matches—one man, one woman. His overachieving daughter had tried to hook him up with the entire damn PTA!

“Vicki? Is she winning an award or something?” Cade asked, unmistakable affection in his voice.

“Not unless the school gives out awards for most inappropriate use of email.”

Cade’s brows shot up. “Don’t follow.”

Mark sighed. “Come on. Let’s get lunch, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

RECAPPING THE MORNING’S ego-bruising events for his friend’s entertainment did not improve Mark’s mood. Even though it had been Cade’s idea to go eat, the man had mostly ignored his bacon burger in favor of laughing at Mark.

“I had no idea your daughter was so proficient with the internet,” Cade said, still chortling. “If I’d known, I would have friended her on Facebook. Hey, think she could talk me through a problem I’ve been having with Outlook?”

“Glad you find this so hilarious,” Mark groused.

“And you don’t? You have to admit, what she did was really cute.”

“Says the man who wasn’t getting lectured by Principal Morgan first thing this morning.”

“That’s right, I remember hearing a new principal moved here from the opposite end of the school district. What’s she like, the female version of Ridenour?” Even though Cade didn’t have any young relatives at the elementary school, it was a small town and everyone had at least a passing acquaintance with Jonathan Ridenour, one of Braeden’s most involved citizens until his heart attack.

At the idea of comparing Shay to Ridenour, Mark finally cracked a grin. Cade was a good guy, but a bit of a hound dog. He’d dated at least half of the attractive single women in the tricounty area yet had no idea that a beautiful blonde had recently taken up residence nearby. “No, she’s not much like Ridenour. Younger, for one thing.”

“Makes sense. Why replace him with someone who would just retire in another year or two?”

Mark frowned, remembering his encounter with Shay. “And I think Jonathan would have been slower to assume it was my fault. He’s got kids, grandkids. He understands that sometimes they just… Do you think I’m a bad father?”

“Hell, no. You adore that little girl. But you know enough to tell her when it’s time to go to bed and not give her whatever she wants just because she throws a fit. Not that I’ve ever seen her throw one,” Cade qualified. “Of course, that’s probably just because you’re such a good dad you’ve taught her better manners than that. Look, don’t ask me about parenting. What do I know? Talk to your sister-in-law if you’re really worried.”

That made Mark feel better. After all, no one questioned that Dee was a great parent, even though her son had been Vicki’s accomplice. Somewhat mollified, he admitted, “It’s not that I think Principal Morgan is wrong, per se, about my getting involved. I just don’t think she can fully appreciate the pressure I’m under as a single dad. She’s never been in the parenting trenches herself.”

Cade swiped a fry through some ketchup. “You think maybe she’s bitter? Got into teaching because she loves kids but never had any of her own? Maybe she’s jealous of people with families.”

Mark opened his mouth to correct his friend’s misconception that Shay was a woman well past her prime, but the waitress came back to refill their drinks and Cade spent the next few minutes flirting with her. Once she was gone, conversation turned to Mark’s store and his idea about contacting nearby lodges and resorts like Hawk Summit.

“You know, there’s actually been some buzz about trying to reopen the campsite on the edge of Braeden,” Cade said. “If that happened, it could indirectly benefit you. Stop by the town meeting next week, make a case for why it would be good for all of us.”

“Maybe.” Mark suspected he could get Dee to babysit, but if he was going to publicly address his fellow towns-people, he needed to come up with something convincing. I don’t want my poor kid to have to move probably wasn’t the most effective argument. Then again, thanks to her email, the general public was already aware that she was unhappy. Surely they wouldn’t want to further traumatize the motherless, dogless child.

“And you could always check out some of those SBA classes offered through the county seat,” Cade added. “Registration fees are minimal and even though you aren’t technically a small business owner, they might have some economical marketing tips you can implement. The more professionally defined your prospective partnership when you approach places like Hawk Summit, the better the chances they’ll accept.”

Mark shook his head, chuckling. “You may have the largest collection of flannel shirts in North Carolina, but I swear you wore a suit in a previous life.”

“Who, me?” Cade sipped his soda, avoiding the implied question. He’d only been in Braeden for four or five years and rarely talked about where he was from or what had brought him there. “Dude, I build cabinets in my garage. But I did date an MBA once. Maybe I picked up some pointers from her.”

As they exited the Burger Shop, automatically bracing against the biting wind, Cade suggested, “Maybe you should date an MBA. Totally solve all your problems—get some informal consulting on the store and make Vic happy. Don’t you think the kid deserves a mother figure?”

Mark ground his back teeth together. “Some of us have an ethical problem using women.”

“I don’t ‘use’ anyone!” Cade sounded legitimately offended. “I may not be looking for anything serious, but that doesn’t mean I’m not fond of the women I spend time with.”

“Sorry. But don’t you think trying to appease my six-year-old would be a pretty crappy reason to ask someone out?”

“Fair enough.” Cade unlocked his truck. “So ask someone out for you. I’ve never busted your chops about living like a monk—statistically speaking, I’m probably dating your share of ladies as well as mine—but it’s been about two years.”

“Are you suggesting there’s a statute of limitations on how long I love my wife?” Mark growled.

“Of course not. If you’re still carrying a torch, that’s your business. I’m just saying…if the problem is you’re nervous about getting back on the horse—”

Mark snorted.

“So to speak.” Cade flashed a grin. “Allowing more time to slip by isn’t going to ease your nerves. It’s like jumping in a pool. Don’t stand on the edge staring down into the deep end, just close your eyes and do it.”

Cade turned the keys in the ignition and neither man spoke as they pulled out of the parking lot. Mark couldn’t help tossing his friend’s advice around his head, though.

After a few minutes, he blurted, “I’ll always love Jess, but I think it would be possible to love someone else, too. In theory.”

“But in practice?”

“Jessica and I met in high school.” He’d only kissed three or four girls before he’d started dating his future wife. “We were together a long time. After the first year she’d been gone, I felt obligated to try again. I went on a few dates over the course of three months and they were so awful that I quit. What’s the point of trying to find room for it in my schedule when it was only making everyone involved miserable? One woman reached over during a movie and held my hand wrong.”

Cade snickered. “How can you hold hands wrong?”

“It’s like having a side of the bed, I guess, but with fingers. Shut up,” Mark said when his friend continued to laugh at him. Okay, it sounded stupid when he tried to explain it out loud, but the truth was, he and Jess had fit seamlessly after so many years together. It wasn’t just that when they held hands his thumb was always on the outside, it was everything.

On one of his ill-fated dates, he and the woman had gone by a drive-through restaurant to grab food for an outdoor concert and he’d reflexively asked the employee to leave the mayonnaise off her burger. Explaining that he was used to ordering for his late wife had done nothing to ease the first-date tension. Another time, he’d attempted a good-night kiss but they’d both leaned in on the same side, banging their noses together.

“I feel like one of those people who got the full-on amnesia, where they have to relearn everything from words to how to hold a spoon. It’s so damn frustrating.”

Cade considered this. “Maybe it’s all in how you choose to look at it. Take me—learning all about a new woman is part of the fun. It’s exciting. No two are alike.”

That kind of “excitement” held little appeal for Mark. Besides, it wasn’t just getting to know strangers that made dating difficult. He and Jessica had grown up together; in a lot of ways, she’d shaped the adult he became. Because he’d been blessed in finding the woman he wanted to be with so young, he’d never had experience with a breakup or how different women liked to be touched, the types of relationship lessons many guys learned by the time they finished college. When he was out with someone now, it wasn’t only that Mark didn’t know her, he felt like he barely knew himself.

“I admire your confidence with women, but not all of us can be Mr. Smooth,” Mark said wryly. “Turns out, I’m more the stammering and second-guessing type.”

“You don’t know that! Jess clearly thought you were Prince Charming and I’ll bet lots of other women would agree. Three or four awkward evenings in the course of your lifetime is hardly definitive proof that you suck at dating.”

“How comforting. Look, if it will shut you up, I’ll make you a deal. Drop the subject until April, when Coleridge makes a decision about the store. After that, if I’m still here, you can set me up with every single female you know.”

“Every?” Cade laughed. “Better clear your summer calendar.”

“I was being figurative, not literal. Just give me until April.”

“Deal. But I’m not your problem. What kind of deal are you planning to make your daughter?”

Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. He definitely needed to follow Principal Morgan’s advice—get more involved with Vicki, keep her busy and happily occupied with other aspects of her life. Because left to her own devices, by April she’d probably be going through the Braeden phone book, calling women individually to ask if they would be interested in dating her daddy.

WHEN MARK WALKED THROUGH the door leading in the house from the garage, Mrs. Norris looked up quizzically from her knitting at the kitchen table and Vicki, who appeared to be doing her homework, squealed with delight.

“Daddy!” She bolted out of her chair and barreled toward him. “Why are you home early?”

“I asked Roddy to come in at four-thirty instead of seven. He said that just this once, he can handle inventory by himself.” Which meant that instead of sleeping in tomorrow, Mark would have to double-check the numbers in the morning, but it seemed like a fair trade-off in order to spend an extra evening reassuring his kid. “Is it okay with you that I’m here already?”

Nodding enthusiastically, she hugged him. But then she pulled away, biting her lower lip and glancing back toward Mrs. Norris. “We were gonna order a pizza for dinner.”

“Sounds good to me.” He extricated himself from his daughter enough to set his laptop case on the kitchen counter, then handed Mrs. Norris the envelope with her weekly paycheck. “Everything going okay here?”

“Vicki was no trouble whatsoever. We made cutout gelatin shapes for afternoon snack and read a chapter book together.” The elderly woman grinned, her cloudy blue eyes suddenly flashing with an impishness that made her look far younger. “But your phone’s been ringing a lot today. Took some mighty interesting messages for you.”

Mark groaned. Were people calling to complain about Vicki’s email…or to answer it? Surely the women of Braeden had more sense than that. Her letter had been a child’s act of desperate whimsy, not a legitimate solicitation in the Braeden Bugle personal ads!

After Mrs. Norris had wished them both a great weekend and headed home, Mark sat in one of the kitchen chairs, studying his daughter. “Any hard homework tonight?”

She shook her head. “Not on Fridays. Just a word search on tall tales and legends. But I can’t find Paul Bunyan.”

“Really? That’s strange. Isn’t he like ten feet tall?”

After looking at him blankly for a second, she giggled. “The word, Daddy. I can’t find the word Paul Bunyan.”

“Ah.” He set up his laptop as she continued her search, wondering if he still got credit for coming home early to be with his daughter even if he planned to work tonight.

A few minutes later, she triumphantly declared, “Finished!”

“Way to go.” He waited until she’d put the sheet back into her red Return to School folder. “Part of the reason I came home early is because we need to talk about some stuff, Vicki-bug.”

Her face fell. “Am I still in trouble?”

“Well, we need to work on that apology you promised Principal Morgan, and—”

“She’s pretty,” Vicki interrupted.

Mark frowned, not sure if was just a random observation—which he’d discovered were not uncommon from six-year-olds—or if she had a specific purpose for saying so. “Yeah, I guess she is.”

“I thought principals were scary. And mean, like in that cartoon Bobby watches. Our principal is a lot more better.”

They’d had the “cartoons are not accurate” discussion a year and a half ago when Vicki tried to color a tunnel on the wall with black marker. “I’m sure Ms. Morgan likes you and the other kids. Why else would she get a job at a school?”

“I like her, too. Did you like her, Daddy?”

Not particularly. But that was a knee-jerk reaction to her criticism, not the whole truth. The woman was undeniably attractive, but beyond that, he’d been touched by the empathy in her voice when she asked about his wife and he’d admired the way Shay had handled Vicki. She’d addressed the situation with the exact right combination of kind understanding and sternness.

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