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Crossroads
Irene Hannon
After uprooting her teenage son from their small town to the big city, single mom Tess Lockwood discovers that Bruce has fallen in with a gang of troublemakers at school and she finds herself paying a visit to the principal' s office. But the rugged man behind the desk is not what she expected.…Handsome ex-cop turned educator Mitch Jackson has a mission to help all the kids at his school. But the vulnerable Tess gives him another reason to help Bruce. She touches a place deep inside him– stirring up emotions he' s not felt in a long time– and as they work together to save Bruce before it' s too late, he can hope she' ll come to believe that God has brought them together for a reason.



“I have a feeling you’re being too hard on yourself.”
“No. It’s true. I was too caught up with being a cop. I loved Dana—but my job always came first. And a lot of things suffered because of that.” Mitch gazed at her, his face somber. “There are a lot of regrets in my past, Tess.”
“All we can do is learn from our mistakes and move on.”
A ghost of a smile touched the corners of his lips. “You sound like my uncle.”
She smiled in return. “And have you taken his advice?”
“I’m trying.”
“Speaking of your uncle, won’t you be late…?”
Mitch glanced at his watch. There was no way he’d make it to his uncle’s farm before dark. But somehow he didn’t care. “He’ll understand. Besides, when it comes to regrets, the past hour spent with you isn’t one of them.”

IRENE HANNON
has been a writer for as long as she can remember. This prolific author of romance novels for both the inspirational and traditional markets began her career at age ten, when she won a story contest conducted by a national children’s magazine. Today, in addition to penning her heartwarming stories of love and faith, Irene keeps quite busy with her day job in corporate communications. In her “spare” time, she enjoys performing in community musical theater productions.
Irene and her husband, Tom—whom she describes as “my own romantic hero”—make their home in St. Louis, Missouri.

Crossroads
Irene Hannon


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
You changed my mourning into dancing; you
took off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness.
—Psalms 30:11
To my precious niece, Catherine Moira,
who has been such a blessing in our lives.
May all your tomorrows be filled with joy and love.
Dear Reader,
As I write this letter, the school year is ending—and I find myself envying the students who have a carefree summer ahead, with no worries over tasks yet to be completed or issues to be resolved. For someone who has spent many years in the corporate world, that kind of closure seems very, very appealing. As does the opportunity to make a fresh beginning each fall.
Life is filled with such endings and beginnings, many of them externally imposed and out of our control. Like moving from one grade to the next. But sometimes we have to take the initiative and recognize that it’s up to us to make the decision to move on.
In Crossroads, Mitch and Tess face that challenge. So do Bruce and Uncle Ray. Though their challenges differ, they must each choose to end one way of life before they can start another.
Such choices are not usually easy. They require us to take a long, hard look at our priorities, our fears and hopes. They also require trust—in ourselves, in others and in God. As you face such turning points in your life, may you take comfort in knowing that you are never alone. For as the Lord promised, “I am with you always, even to the end of time.”



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 One
B ruce Lockwood banged the door and stormed into the kitchen, his eyes flashing. “Mr. Jackson is a—”
“Bruce!” Tess gave her fourteen-year-old son a stern warning look. She knew exactly what he was about to say, and she didn’t allow that kind of language in the house.
“—creep!” Bruce finished more tamely, slamming his books onto the table.
Tess cringed. She hadn’t exactly had the best day herself, and she wasn’t sure she was up to another tirade about Southfield High’s principal. She took a deep breath, willing the dull ache in her temples to subside.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Bruce gave her a sullen look. “He’s just a creep, that’s all.” The boy withdrew a card from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. “He wants you to call and make an appointment with him.”
Tess frowned and reached for the card, her stomach clenching. The adjustment from small-town school in Jefferson City, Missouri, to big-city school in St. Louis had been difficult for him, particularly midyear. If there had been any way to delay their move until the end of the term, she would have. But the unexpected merger of her newspaper with a larger chain had left her a victim of downsizing, and the offer from a community newspaper in suburban St. Louis had seemed the answer to a prayer. She’d been able to find a comfortable apartment near the office in a quiet suburb, and had hoped that the small-town feel of the area would ease the transition to their new environment. It had worked for her, but not for Bruce.
Tess glanced down at the card. “Mitch Jackson, principal.” Her frown deepened. Parents weren’t usually contacted unless there was a good reason. The ache in her temples began to throb, and she looked over at her son. He was watching her—his body posture defiant, but his eyes wary.
“Why does he want to meet with me?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Bruce countered.
Tess folded her arms across her chest, her lips tightening into a thin line. “I didn’t say you did. I just asked why he wants to see me,” she replied, struggling to keep her temper in check.
“Because he’s a creep!”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s true! Ever since I transferred to that dumb school he’s been watching me, just waiting for me to mess up. He should still be a cop, the way he’s on me for every little thing.”
Tess held the card up. “What ‘little thing’ prompted this?”
Bruce glared at her. “You’re as bad as he is. Always asking questions, always breathing down my neck. Why can’t people just leave me alone?”
Tess stared at her son. How had her relationship with Bruce deteriorated in two short months? There was a time when they used to talk, when he shared things with her. But since coming to St. Louis he’d withdrawn, shutting her out of his life and his thoughts. She’d tried to draw him out, but the demands of her new job had left her too little time to spend with her son during this critical transition period. Whatever his problems at school, she knew she shared the blame. Slowly she sat down on the kitchen chair, drew a steadying breath and looked up at him.
“Maybe because people care.”
Bruce gave a dismissive snort. “Mr. Jackson doesn’t care. He’s just nosy.”
“I care.”
He was disarmed by her quiet tone and steady gaze, and his expression softened briefly. But a moment later the defiant mask slipped back into place. “You’re too busy to care.”
His words cut deeply, and Tess’s stomach again contracted painfully. “That’s not true, Bruce. You always come first in my heart. But I have to put in a little extra time at the beginning to learn the ropes. You know I need this job.”
He shoved his fists into the pockets of baggy slacks that hung on his too-thin hips. “Yeah. Thanks to…Dad.” His tone was bitter, the last word sarcastic. He turned away and stared out the window, his shoulders stiff with tension. “I wish we still lived in Jeff City,” he said fiercely.
Another painful tug on the heartstrings. “I do, too. But this was the best offer I had. I’m still here for you, though. You know that, Bruce. I may be your mom, but I’m also your friend.”
He shrugged. “I have other friends.”
And you aren’t one of them. The message was clear. And it hurt, even though she was glad that he’d finally connected with a group at the school, where cliques were already well established. But she was also a bit uneasy. He never talked about his friends, never brought them home, never even introduced her to any of them. “I’d like to meet them,” she replied.
“They’re my friends, Mom,” he said tersely, turning back to her. “Do I have to share everything?”
She looked at the gangly teenager across from her and wondered not for the first time where her sweet young son had gone. She missed the endearingly protective little boy with the touching sensitivity and wise-beyond-his-years perceptiveness. She’d always known Bruce would grow up. She’d just never expected him to grow away, she realized, her eyes misting.
When Bruce spoke again, his voice was gentler. Maybe the sensitivity wasn’t gone entirely, Tess thought hopefully.
“I’m okay, Mom. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Tess fished in the pocket of her slacks for a tissue. “Worrying is part of the job description for motherhood,” she replied, dabbing at her eyes. “Look, Bruce, I need to know what Mr. Jackson wants to talk to me about. I don’t want to be blindsided. You’ve been avoiding the question, and I need an answer.”
He shrugged dismissively. “It was nothing to get excited about. Some of the guys had been smoking in an empty classroom, and Mr. Jackson showed up. He could smell the smoke, and he said he was going to put us on report and talk to our parents.”
Tess stared at Bruce. “You were smoking?”
He looked at her in disgust and reached for his books. “See? Even you jump to conclusions. I said some of the guys were smoking. Not me. Why does everybody always think the worst?”
Tess watched with a troubled expression as he strode down the hall and disappeared into his room. She’d heard that many adolescents developed an attitude, but somehow she’d never expected it of Bruce.
Wearily she rose and set the kettle on the stove. A soothing cup of tea would help, she decided, though what she really needed was someone with whom she could share her concerns and frustrations about single parenthood and adolescent boys. She’d tried prayer, which usually anchored her. But this time her prayers hadn’t had their usual calming effect. She still felt unsteady—and unsure. About a lot of things. Was Bruce’s behavior normal for his age—or was it indicative of more serious problems? Did all teenage boys get involved in minor infractions as they tested their wings? Did they all shut out their parents? Would it help if he had a father figure?
Tess poured the water into a mug and carried it back to the table, propping her chin in her hand as she absently dunked the tea bag. That last question had popped up over and over again during the past six years, and always she came to the same conclusion. Yes, it would help if he had a father figure. But only if it was a good father figure. And her ex-husband, Peter, certainly hadn’t been it. Not by a long shot. She’d stayed with him far too long as it was. Might still be there if she hadn’t found…
Impatiently Tess dismissed that line of thought. Peter was history. He’d done so much damage to his son’s self-esteem that Tess still spent sleepless nights wondering if it could ever be truly undone. As for her own self-esteem…he’d done a number on that, too. At least she’d been older and, with her strong faith, better equipped to deal with it. She was a survivor. Even so, years later, the scars remained with her, as well. Peter had destroyed her confidence, leaving her unsure of her intelligence, of her talents…of herself as a woman. The only things she had been sure about were her mothering skills.
Tess’s gaze fell on the principal’s card, and slowly she picked it up, her spirits nose-diving.
She had been sure. Until now.

“Have a seat. Mr. Jackson is just finishing up another meeting. He’ll be with you in a moment.”
Tess nodded at the receptionist in the small ante-room outside the principal’s office and headed toward a chair in the far corner. As she sat, she took a deep breath and nervously hitched her shoulder bag into a more secure position. Thanks to her son, she’d received the dreaded summons of her childhood. She’d been called to the principal’s office.
Memories came flooding back of stern-faced Mr. Markham, whose very presence had intimidated even the most self-assured students, let alone someone like bookish, shy Tess. She’d lived in fear of committing some transgression that would call her to his attention and result in a humiliating penalty. Strange how those childhood fears could sweep back so compellingly. In a way, she felt as if she was ten years old again. And she didn’t like it.
Suddenly the door to the inner office opened, and Tess’s heart began to hammer painfully in her chest. She took another deep breath as her fingers clenched around the strap of her shoulder bag. This is ridiculous, she admonished herself. You’re an adult. He can’t do anything to you. Calm down!
A bored-looking woman in a suit that Tess figured cost more than she made in a month crossed the threshold, followed by a slightly balding man. He glanced impatiently at his watch, then turned back to speak to someone just out of sight inside the doorway.
“We’ll consider your suggestion,” he said coldly.
“I told you all along that a private school would be better for Jerome. I never did think he’d do well in a…public…environment,” the woman said with undisguised disdain.
She swept out without a backward glance, followed by the balding man.
The receptionist watched them leave, then glanced at Tess. Her raised eyebrows and the slight shake of her head spoke more eloquently than words.
“I take it sometimes the parents are worse than the kids,” Tess commiserated with a rueful smile, hoping some levity might quell the butterflies in her stomach.
The woman rolled her eyes and rose. “That’s putting it mildly. I’ll tell Mr. Jackson you’re here.”
The woman stepped up to his door, knocked softly, then entered. As she disappeared inside and closed the door, Tess took a deep breath and braced herself.
Inside the office, the receptionist regarded the tall, broad-shouldered man who stood gazing out the window. “Tess Lockwood is here, Mitch,” she said. “Think you can handle one more parent today?”
Mitch turned, and the late-afternoon sun highlighted the glints of auburn in his dark hair. “That depends on her mood,” he said with a sigh.
The woman tilted her head consideringly. “I’d say she’s nervous. Maybe even a little scared. Actually, she doesn’t look much older than some of your students. My guess is she was one of those good kids who always went out of her way to avoid being called to the principal’s office, and is none too happy—or comfortable—about finding herself in one at this stage in her life.”
One corner of Mitch’s mouth twitched up. “You missed your calling, you know that? You should have been either a psychologist or a psychic.”
She grinned. “No ring, either. And she’s alone. Single-parent household.”
“Or a detective.”
“I’ll remind you of those many career options next time I ask for a raise. So should I send her in?”
Mitch hesitated. “Give me five minutes, okay? I want to make a few notes about that last meeting—or should I say confrontation?” he added with a grimace.
“That bad, huh?”
He reached up and massaged the back of his neck. “Karen, let me ask you something. Was I too hard on the King boy?”
She gave an unladylike snort. “I don’t think you were hard enough. I would have expelled him.”
Mitch smiled. “Thanks for the reality check.”
“You’re welcome.” Karen tilted her head and studied him for a moment. “You look tired.”
“Goes with the territory.”
“Nope. Don’t buy it. You push yourself way too hard. You worry about these kids like they were your own. That’s way above and beyond the job description for principals.”
He shrugged. “Somebody has to worry about them. And parents don’t always do the best job.”
Karen shook her head. “I admire your commitment. The world could use more principals like you. Only do me a favor, okay? Try not to take their problems home—at least not every night. You need a life, too.”
“I have a life.”
“Right,” she said dryly. “You spend your days—and a lot of nights—here, then help your uncle on his farm every weekend. Some life.”
“It works for me.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re a lost cause, Mitch Jackson.”
As she closed the door behind her, Mitch shoved his hands into his pockets and turned back to the window, his gaze troubled. Karen was right. He didn’t have much of a life. And he wasn’t sure his sacrifice was making much difference. Since switching careers from law enforcement to education, he’d run into far too many parents like those who had just exited his office. Overprotective. Unwilling to admit their offspring might be wrong. Blaming the system for their child’s problems.
There were good parents, too. But in his job he saw mostly the ones who really didn’t care. Or who were too busy to pay much attention to what their kids did. Or who were so absorbed in their own lives or careers that their priorities were screwed up. Or who abdicated their parental duties by treating their teenagers like adults instead of like the kids they were—desperate for guidance despite their facade of confidence and bravado. They were the same type of parents he’d run into as a cop. Only in his previous career, he’d usually run into them when it was too late—because that’s when the law generally got involved. He knew that firsthand—not only as a cop, but as a parent.
The sudden, familiar clench in his gut made him suck in his breath, and his hands knotted into fists as memories came flooding back. Nightmare memories that haunted his dreams and far too often jolted him like an electric shock during his waking hours. He closed his eyes as the pain washed over him. Dear God, will it never go away? he cried in silent anguish. The searing pain was as fresh as it had been six years before. A pain so intense it had motivated him to switch careers. Had driven him to try to catch kids’ problems at an early stage, before it was too late. Had compelled him to transform the job of principal from deskbound administrator to one of hands-on involvement and intervention. His atypical methods had raised more than a few eyebrows. But they were often effective. And those successes were what made his job worthwhile, what gave his life meaning.
A discreet knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced toward it as Karen stuck her head in.
“Ready?”
No, he wasn’t. But he couldn’t put if off any longer. After the meeting with Jerome’s parents, Mitch wasn’t optimistic about that boy’s future. But maybe Bruce had a better support system. That was one of the big differences between his job and his personal life, he reflected as he drew a deep breath. There was always another chance with his job.
“Yes. Send her in.”
As Karen ushered in Tess Lockwood, Mitch did a rapid assessment. His secretary had been right about the woman’s appearance. Though she had to be in her mid-thirties, she could easily pass for a college student. Her boxy pantsuit couldn’t quite hide her slender curves, nor could the staid barrette at her nape successfully restrain her shoulder-length russet hair. A few tendrils softly framed her face, which would be lovely if it wasn’t so tense. But even the strain in her eyes couldn’t take away from their vivid green depths, framed by a thick fringe of lashes.
Karen also seemed to be on target about Ms. Lockwood’s attitude. She obviously didn’t want to be here, and she was clearly nervous. But why? Was it due to legitimate worry about her son, inconvenience to herself or anger at a system that she believed was the real cause of the problem, as Jerome’s parents did?
Mitch didn’t know, but he’d find out soon enough. And in the meantime, some subtle nuance that he couldn’t put his finger on told him to handle this woman with kid gloves. Maybe it was the fine lines of fatigue around her eyes. Or the death grip she had on her purse strap. Or the caution in her eyes, which seemed to speak of past hurts that had left her unwilling to trust. He had no idea why the warning bell had gone off in his mind. But his instincts had saved his life on more than one occasion when he was a cop, and he wasn’t about to question them now.
He smiled and stepped forward, extending his hand. “Ms. Lockwood? I’m Mitch Jackson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Tess placed her cold fingers in his firm, warm clasp, and for a moment she simply stared at the tall man in front of her. This was Bruce’s ogre? she thought incredulously. This dark-haired man with the compassionate, deep brown eyes and cordial manner, whose face reflected character and humor and intelligence? This was the hated principal? She’d prepared herself for another Mr. Markham, someone pinched-faced with beady eyes and an intimidating demeanor who, with a single look, could make her feel nervous and incompetent as a parent. She had not been expecting a handsome contemporary with kind eyes and the rugged physique of an athlete, who radiated virility—and who suddenly made her feel nervous and incompetent on a very different level.
Tess realized that he was waiting for her to reply, and somehow she found her voice. “Th-thank you. Please excuse me for staring,” she stammered. “It’s just that you aren’t exactly…that is, I had a different image of…well, from what Bruce said…” She felt hot color steal onto her cheeks. So much for eloquence and poise. She sounded like an idiot!
But if the man across from her thought so, he was gallant enough not to show it. Instead, a smile twinkled in his eyes as he gestured toward a seating area next to his desk. “Let me guess. From what Bruce said, you expected a monster with eyes in the back of his head, a fire-breathing dragon intent on burning anyone who comes close, an evil version of a Superman/Santa Claus with X-ray vision and a checklist of bad deeds—or all of the above.”
That description pretty much fit her image of Mr. Markham, for whom nothing less than absolute compliance and perfection had sufficed. Thank heaven Mitch Jackson seemed to be cut from different cloth, Tess thought with relief as she sat in one of the upholstered chairs. For one thing, he didn’t appear to take himself too seriously. For another, he seemed warm and personable.
“You just described the principal at my grade school,” she confessed with a smile.
For a moment Mitch was stunned by the transforming effect of her smile. She looked even younger now, her features relaxing as they softened. Though she wore almost no makeup, her face had a natural loveliness and a certain intriguing—and appealing—wistful quality. Her eyes radiated warmth and intelligence, and for just a moment he found himself drowning in their depths. It was an unexpected—and disconcerting—experience. So he forced himself to focus on the shadows beneath those amazing eyes instead. Shadows that didn’t appear to be the result of one sleepless night, but spoke more of long-term strain, stress, overwork—or all three. For some reason, those shadows bothered him more than they should. Which was odd. And way off the subject, he reminded himself.
“I think we all have a principal like that somewhere in our memory bank,” Mitch commiserated, struggling to regain his balance.
He had an engaging dimple in his left cheek when he smiled, Tess noted distractedly, trying to focus instead on the conversation. “Though they probably weren’t quite as bad as we remember,” she admitted.
“Maybe not. But I’m certainly not the most popular man on campus with some of my students. Bruce happens to be one of them.”
“Why not?” She hadn’t meant to be quite that direct, but this man was easy to talk to, and the words were out before she could stop them. Fortunately Mitch didn’t seem to mind.
“For a lot of reasons. Number one, I enforce the rules. Number two, I care about my students, and I make it a point to keep my eye on the ones who seem to need a bit of extra supervision. Number three, I used to be a cop, and I can spot trouble—and the potential for trouble—pretty quickly. That’s why I’ve been watching Bruce. He seems to be a basically good kid who just needs a little more help than most to stay on the straight and narrow.”
Tess stiffened at what she perceived to be criticism. “You make it sound like he’s on the verge of becoming a delinquent. Don’t you think you’re overreacting to one little smoking incident? Which Bruce tells me he didn’t even participate in, by the way. Most kids experiment with cigarettes at some point or other. I don’t approve, but I don’t think it’s necessarily a sign of serious trouble.”
Mitch frowned. “Is that what he told you? That this meeting is just about a simple smoking incident?”
Now it was Tess’s turn to frown. “Isn’t it?”
Mitch rose to retrieve a folder from his desk. As he rejoined her, he flipped it open. “The smoking situation was only the latest in a series of incidents,” he informed her, the seriousness of his tone and demeanor in sharp contrast to his initial conversational manner. “Though even that was more than you’ve been led to believe. Those guys weren’t smoking cigarettes. They were smoking a joint.”
Tess stared at him incredulously. “You mean marijuana?”
He nodded. “Yes. There was no sign of it when I showed up. But the odor is unmistakable—and lingering.”
“Marijuana?” Tess repeated the word in shock. “Drugs? You mean Bruce is involved with drugs?” Now there was a note of panic in her voice, and her fingers tightened convulsively on her purse.
Mitch wished he could bring back her smile of moments before, erase the twin furrows of worry on her brow and ease the tension that had made her skin go taut over the fine bone structure of her face. But his job wasn’t to make parents feel good, he reminded himself. It was to help kids.
“I don’t think he’s into drugs,” he replied carefully. “At least not yet. But he hangs around with a rough, older crowd, and sooner or later they’ll pull him down to their level. Kids like Bruce are easy prey, Ms. Lockwood. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of self-confidence, and it’s tough to break into established cliques, especially midyear. That makes him vulnerable to groups that are on the fringe. They offer a haven of friendship that can be very powerful—someone to sit with in the cafeteria, a sympathetic ear, somewhere to belong. A ‘home,’ if you will.”
“Bruce has a home,” Tess protested, a tremor of fear running through her voice.
Mitch studied her for a moment. He knew he was venturing onto shaky ground, but the more information he had, the more likely he could help. “May I ask a question?”
Tess eyed him cautiously. “What is it?”
“Is there a father figure in Bruce’s life?”
Tess’s eyes went cold. “No.”
“Any friends outside of school?”
She swallowed and shook her head. “Not that I know of. It’s…hard for him to make friends. His self-esteem isn’t…isn’t all that high.”
“Why not?”
She took a deep breath, and her eyes shuttered. “That’s a long story, Mr. Jackson.”
“And not a pleasant one, I take it.”
“No.”
The answer was terse—and telling. For a long moment there was silence, and then Tess spoke again.
“Look, Mr. Jackson, I do the best I can. I’m a single mom who has to work full-time to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I try my best to be mother, father and friend. Lately Bruce has been shutting me out. He obviously didn’t tell me the whole truth about the smoking incident.” She paused and took a deep breath, bracing herself. “You said there were others?”
Mitch nodded and consulted his file. “We haven’t caught the perpetrators, though we have strong suspicions. And in all cases I suspect that Bruce was involved, either as a participant or bystander. Five weeks ago we found obscene graffiti on the wall in one of the boys’ rest rooms. The next week several cars in the parking lot were vandalized during a basketball game—tires slashed, rearview mirrors ripped off, long scratches on the sides. Two weeks ago some software disappeared from the computer lab. The smoking incident is the latest problem.”
Tess began to feel ill. “But you said you have no proof that Bruce was involved in those other things,” she pointed out faintly, a touch of desperation in her voice. “Why do you think he is?”
“Because of the group he hangs out with. I won’t go so far as to call it a gang, but it’s borderline.”
The principal had just confirmed the suspicion that had been niggling at the edge of Tess’s consciousness for the past few weeks, and her spirits slipped another notch—as did her confidence. She was trying so hard to juggle the demands and responsibilities of her life. But clearly her best simply wasn’t good enough. She was failing Bruce, the only person in the world who mattered to her. And she didn’t know what to do about it.
Mitch watched the play of emotions on the face of the woman across from him. Pain. Despair. Panic. On one hand, he hated to put her through this. On the other hand, he felt a sense of relief. The presence of those emotions told him that she cared—truly cared—about her son. She might not know how to help him, but she wanted to—and that was the key. He could work with parents like Tess Lockwood. Because they were generally willing to work with him.
“I’m sorry to upset you, Ms. Lockwood. But it’s better to find out now rather than later. And we can work this out, I’m sure.”
At the man’s gentle tone, Tess’s gaze flew to his. She’d expected to be read the riot act from a stern disciplinarian with a shape-up-or-ship-out stance. She hadn’t expected warmth, caring and the offer of assistance.
Tess’s throat tightened and her eyes filmed over with moisture at this stranger’s unexpected compassion. She glanced away on the pretense of adjusting the shoulder strap on her purse, willing herself not to cry. She blinked several times, fighting for control, and when she at last looked up, her voice was steady, her gaze direct.
“I agree that sooner is better. I just hope we’re soon enough. Bruce is a good boy at heart, Mr. Jackson. And I’ve tried to be a good parent. But I can see now that I need help. Obviously, parenting isn’t one of my talents, and I’d appreciate any advice you can offer.”
Mitch caught the glimmer of unshed tears, clearly held in check by the slimmest of control, and frowned. His gut told him that she really was trying her best. But she was clearly stressed to the limit. “I didn’t mean to imply that you aren’t a good parent, Ms. Lockwood. On the contrary. I can see you care deeply about your son’s welfare.”
“But that’s not enough.”
The despair in her voice went straight to his heart, and he had a sudden, unexpected impulse to reach out and take her hand, to reassure her that she wasn’t quite as alone as she seemed to feel. But that kind of gesture would be completely inappropriate, he reminded himself sharply. So before he could act on it and embarrass them both, he rose abruptly and walked over to his desk.
The flyer he wanted was right on top, but he made a pretense of shuffling through some papers, buying a moment to compose himself. For some reason, this woman had touched a place deep in his core, nudged feelings that had long lain dormant. He wanted to help her, and not just because it was his job. Which was crazy. After all, he’d just met her. Besides, he wasn’t in the market for personal involvements of any kind—especially with mothers of troubled students. And he’d better remember that.
The expression on her face when he turned back almost did him in. Clearly, his abrupt movement had disconcerted her. She looked vulnerable and uncertain and in desperate need of comforting. It took every ounce of his willpower to calmly walk back to his chair and simply hand her the flyer he’d retrieved.
“Caring is the most important thing, Ms. Lockwood,” he said, his voice a shade deeper than usual. “But sometimes it does take even more. You might want to attend this meeting next week. Chris Stevens, one of our counselors, is going to talk about the pressures teens face and how parents can help. There’ll also be an opportunity for discussion and questions. I think you’ll find it worthwhile.”
Tess glanced down at the sheet of paper. It had been a long time since anyone had offered a helping hand, and once more her throat constricted with emotion.
“Thank you. I’ll do my best to make it.” She folded the paper and put it in her purse, then rose. Mitch was instantly on his feet, and when he extended his hand, she once more found her fingers enveloped in his warm grasp.
“In the meantime, I’ll keep my eye on Bruce. And don’t hesitate to call if you have any other concerns.”
Tess gazed up into his kind eyes, and for the briefest moment allowed herself to wonder what life would have been like if Bruce had had a father figure like Mitch Jackson in his life these past few years. Somehow, in her heart, she knew that things would have been a lot different. For him—and for her.
Suddenly afraid that he would read her thoughts, she withdrew her hand and lowered her gaze. “I appreciate your interest,” she said, her voice quavering slightly as he walked her to the door.
“It goes with the territory. Goodbye, Ms. Lockwood. And try not to worry. I have a feeling that things are going to improve.”
She gazed at him directly then, and once more something in her eyes reached to his very soul. “I hope so, Mr. Jackson. And thank you for caring.”
Mitch watched her speculatively as she walked across the reception area and disappeared out the door. Unlike the parents from his previous conference, Tess Lockwood seemed to have taken his comments to heart. He had a feeling that she wouldn’t easily dismiss their encounter.
And for reasons that had nothing at all to do with her son, Mitch didn’t think he would, either.

Chapter Two
“O kay, let’s talk.”
At Tess’s no-nonsense tone, Bruce looked up from his desk, his eyes wary. “About what?”
She moved to the side of his bed and sat down. “Guess.”
“I suppose Mr. Jackson told you a lot of garbage.”
“‘Garbage’ is a good word for the behavior he discussed.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Bruce declared defensively.
“You know what? I believe you. But from what I heard, you’re heading in the wrong direction.”
“Mr. Jackson just wants to get me in trouble.”
“Wrong. He wants to keep you from getting in trouble.”
Bruce looked at her defiantly. “So now you’re on his side.”
“That’s right. Because he happens to be on your side.”
“That’s a bunch of—”
“Bruce!”
He clamped his mouth shut and stared at her sullenly.
“That’s exactly the kind of behavior I’m talking about. Since when did you start using language like that?”
“Like what?”
“Come off it, Bruce. You’ve let enough slip these last few weeks for me to realize that you’ve expanded your vocabulary. And I don’t like it.”
“Words don’t hurt anything.”
“I disagree. They hurt your character. And they can also give you a juvenile record if you scratch them on the walls in the boys’ rest room.”
Bruce’s face grew red. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“I didn’t say you did. And I don’t believe you vandalized the cars or stole the computer equipment.”
“I wasn’t smoking, either.”
“Maybe not. But when it comes to drugs, the cops bust you first and ask questions later.”
He looked at her in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Mr. Jackson gave me a few more details about the smoking incident.”
He still looked confused. “What does that have to do with drugs?”
Tess stared at him, and slowly the light began to dawn. He honestly didn’t know! Relief coursed through her and the tension coiled deep inside eased ever so slightly. “That wasn’t just a cigarette, Bruce,” she said gently. “It was a joint. Marijuana.”
His face blanched. “Who told you that?”
“Mr. Jackson.”
“I don’t believe it! Besides, how does he know? He didn’t see anything.”
“He was a cop, remember? He could tell from the smell. You’re lucky he contacted me instead of the police.”
Bruce frowned. “He didn’t have a case, anyway,” he said slowly, some of his cockiness returning. “There wasn’t any evidence. And the smell would have been gone by the time the police got there.”
Anger flashed in Tess’s eyes. “Maybe the next time you won’t be so lucky.”
Bruce glared at her defiantly. “I can take care of myself.”
“Really? So what are you going to do when they pass around the next joint?”
His gaze skittered away. “I don’t have to smoke. They’ll be my friends even if I don’t.”
“They’re not your friends now, Bruce. They’re bad news, and they’re going to drag you down with them. Can’t you see that?” she pleaded, a note of desperation creeping into her voice.
“No! I like them! They’re nice to me! They’re the only ones who are at that dumb school. Do you know what it’s like not to have anyone to sit with at lunch? It su…it stinks! I sat by myself every day until they invited me. I owe them,” he said fiercely.
An ominous chill went down Tess’s spine. The scenario Bruce had just described was exactly the one Mitch Jackson had used as an example. By drawing him in, by accepting him, the group he’d hooked up with had evoked not only a sense of gratitude, but of obligation. Which could be very dangerous.
“You don’t owe them a thing,” Tess shot back, but she could see that her words fell on deaf ears. She rose, trying to control her panic. “Okay. Until further notice, you’re to come home right after school.”
Bruce sent her a venomous look. “You’re grounding me?”
“You got it.”
“Why? I haven’t done anything wrong. You said you believed me.”
“I do. But I think you’re on dangerous ground.”
“So you’re going to lock me up? I bet that was Mr. Jackson’s idea,” he said angrily.
“As a matter of fact, it wasn’t. I thought it up all by myself.”
“I’ll still see the guys at school,” he countered defiantly.
“That’s true. But I think Mr. Jackson will be keeping his eye out for you there.”
“I should have figured you two would team up,” he said bitterly. “Adults always stick together.”
Instead of responding, Tess simply left the room. Once out of sight, she leaned against the wall, struggling to control the tremors that ran through her body. Please, Lord, help me! she prayed desperately as another wave of panic washed over her. She had no idea how to deal with this situation. But she knew she needed help. The counseling session Mitch had invited her to couldn’t come soon enough. Because Bruce was in way over his head.
And so was she.

“Morning, Tess. Have I got a story for you!”
Tess glanced up at the managing editor and smiled. Caroline James was about the same age as Tess, but she was light years ahead of the paper’s newest reporter in terms of sophistication and polish. Why someone with Caroline’s experience, abilities and contacts was content to be the managing editor of a suburban newspaper was beyond Tess’s understanding. She was just grateful to have the chance to hone her skills under the guidance of a true pro.
“Hi, Caroline. What’s up?”
“A great coup for our little paper, that’s what.” Caroline sat on the single chair in Tess’s cube and crossed her legs, revealing their shapely length under her fashionably short skirt. As she leaned back, her silk blouse shimmered in the overhead light, as did her simple but classic gold necklace. Style. Class. Poise. Caroline had it all, Tess thought wistfully. In her tailored slacks and baggy sweater, Tess felt dowdy and plain by comparison. Not to mention awkward. Even on her best days, Tess didn’t move with the lithe grace that came so naturally to Caroline. Yet her boss was completely down-to-earth, without a pretentious bone in her body, and she had gone out of her way to make Tess feel at home on the paper. It was hard to be envious of someone so nice.
“Sounds promising,” Tess replied.
“More than promising. A sure thing. It seems we have a man of great distinction right here in our midst.”
“Really? Who?”
“One Mitch Jackson, local principal.”
Tess stared at Caroline in shock. “Mitch Jackson?”
“Yeah.” Caroline tilted her head and gazed at Tess. “You look funny. Do you know him?”
Tess nodded and cleared her throat. “Yes. Sort of. That is, we’ve met. Briefly. He’s the principal at my son’s school.”
“Great! A connection! That will make it even easier to scoop the daily. Hopefully he’ll give us first crack.”
“At what?”
“A feature profile. He’s just been chosen to receive the governor’s award for excellence in education. He’s introduced some really innovative programs at the school. We’ve tried to do a story on him before, but apparently he prefers to stay out of the limelight.”
Tess tried to calm the sudden pounding of her heart. “So what makes you think he’ll be any different this time?”
“The school board,” Caroline informed Tess smugly. “My sources tell me they’ve been after him for quite a while to be more forthcoming with the press about his programs. Good publicity for the school district, which is handy when it comes time for funding. They aren’t going to let him get away with a ‘no comment’ this time, I guarantee it. Besides, if you know him, we already have an in.”
“I don’t really know him, Caroline. We only met once.”
“That’s okay. He’ll remember you.”
Tess frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you are one attractive gal. You have terrific eyes, gorgeous hair, a great figure—even if you do hide it under oversize clothes—and you’re single. What guy wouldn’t notice?”
Tess felt hot color creep onto her cheeks. “I think maybe you need to get your contacts changed,” she said with an embarrassed smile.
“Trust me on this,” Carolyn said with a grin. “By the way, I understand he’s single. Not to mention handsome, if you can believe this picture that just came over the wire.” She tossed a clipping onto Tess’s desk. “Probably make a great catch.”
“Maybe you should interview him,” Tess suggested. “I’m not in the market.”
A shadow passed over Caroline’s eyes, so brief Tess almost missed it. “Me, neither. I already had my taste of heaven,” she said lightly, but Tess heard the whisper of sadness in her voice. “Anyway, personal stuff aside, you’re one of our best feature writers. You’ll be able to do this story justice. What do you say?”
Tess frowned. She hadn’t counted on another opportunity to spend time one-on-one with Southfield High’s principal. In fact, she was still recovering from their last encounter. She’d lain awake far too many nights thinking about Mitch Jackson. And that was based purely on a meeting that had focused on Bruce. Now she was being asked to get “up close and personal” with him for a profile. The mere thought of it sent a delicious, anticipatory tingle down her spine. Which was silly, of course. She would be dealing with him in a purely professional capacity, much as he’d dealt with her the last time.
Yet the yearning to see him again was inexplicably strong. For some reason, just being in his presence made her feel…tingly was the word that came to mind. For the first time in years she’d felt more like a desirable woman than a mom. And it was renewing, quenching a place in her heart that had long been parched and lifeless. Though she wasn’t in the market for romance, she was enough of a romantic to want to have that feeling again, if only for the duration of one more meeting.
“Don’t think so hard, Tess,” Caroline advised her with an understanding smile. “I can see you’re interested in the story—and maybe in the man. Just go for it.” Before Tess could reply, Caroline stood and made her way to the door, pausing on the threshold. “In case I haven’t told you lately, we’re really glad to have you aboard here. Not only are you an excellent writer, you’re smart and intuitive, and you have a warmth that makes people open up. We’re lucky to have someone with your talent. So give this a shot, okay?”
Tess watched Caroline walk away, then slowly reached for the clipping and studied the grainy picture of Mitch Jackson. Her boss was right—he was one handsome man. But he was also much more. She had seen and felt firsthand things that the picture didn’t reveal. The caring and compassion in his insightful eyes. His ability to make you feel that your problems were his problems. The innate strength and sense of honor that seemed to radiate from his very core. His total dedication and commitment to his students. None of those things could be captured by a picture.
Nor could his almost tangible virility. It awakened yearnings in her that had long lain dormant, yearnings she thought had slowly withered up and blown away like a once-beautiful autumn leaf. It was frightening—and intimidating—to discover that those yearnings could so unexpectedly be brought back to life. Not that it mattered, of course. Despite what Caroline had said, someone like Mitch Jackson would never give her a second look. Even if she wanted him to. Which she didn’t, she told herself firmly. The last thing she needed in her already complicated life was another complication. Or distraction. And she knew instinctively that Southfield High’s principal could definitely be both.
Tess deliberately shifted her attention to the sketchy text that accompanied the photo. There wasn’t much in it that she didn’t already know. He’d been a cop earlier in his career, had moved to St. Louis two years ago, was a hands-on principal who believed in getting involved in the lives of his students. The only new piece of information she gleaned from the write-up was that prior to coming to St. Louis he’d lived in Chicago.
Tess’s face grew thoughtful. Clearly there was a whole lot more to Mitch’s story. Whether or not he’d reveal it, however, remained to be seen. But she did seem to have a knack for getting people to open up and reveal more about themselves than they’d planned to. And she liked challenges, especially intriguing ones.
Tess glanced back at Mitch’s picture. Intriguing was a good word for Southfield High’s principal. Other words came to mind as well, but she chose to ignore them. She didn’t have the time or inclination for romance, she reminded herself. What she did have was a son to raise—a job that required her full-time attention. And she would do well to remember that.

Tess glanced around the crowded meeting room, relieved to see that other parents also seemed to feel the need for more information about raising teenagers. It helped a bit to know that she wasn’t alone.
Her quick scan revealed few available seats, but she spotted one in the middle of the last row and quickly made her way toward it. As she carefully edged past those already seated, trying not to step on toes as she went, she glanced at her watch. She’d made it with two minutes to spare.
Tess was still settling in when a familiar voice over the microphone drew her startled gaze. She hadn’t expected Mitch to extend his workday by attending the evening meeting. Once more she was impressed by his dedication.
“Good evening. For those of you I haven’t met, I’m Mitch Jackson, the principal,” he said, looking completely at ease in front of the crowd. “I’d like to welcome you to tonight’s program and thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to attend. I think you’ll find it very worthwhile. As you know, we are extremely fortunate to have Chris Stevens on our staff, and even more fortunate that she agreed to make this presentation tonight. Let me review her credentials for you and I think you’ll agree.”
As he did so, the resonant, well-modulated timbre of his voice reflected both warmth and competence. Despite his casual attire of open-necked shirt and sport jacket, he radiated a quiet confidence and authority that marked him for leadership and engendered respect. He seemed to be a man in absolute control of his life, who had found his place in the world and had his act together, Tess reflected.
“And when Chris is finished, we’ll both be happy to answer any questions you might have,” he concluded, once again surprising Tess as he took a seat in the front row. Not only had he kicked off the meeting, he intended to be there when it finished. Did he always work such long hours? Tess wondered, filing the question away for the hoped-for interview. Since receiving the assignment that morning, she’d simply been too busy to call and discuss it with him. Perhaps she’d have a chance tonight, she mused. Though it would probably be difficult to single him out in this crowd.
An hour later, when the presentation ended, Tess realized she’d just spent one of the most worthwhile evenings of her life. Chris Stevens was good, just as Mitch had promised. She had touched on many of the fears and uncertainties that Tess had been feeling. Clearly Tess’s experience with Bruce wasn’t unique. But just as clearly, kids that age needed a strict set of rules and lots of one-on-one discussions with a caring adult. Chris had hammered home those points throughout her talk.
Which only made Tess realize just how remiss she’d been on both counts since coming to St. Louis. In Jefferson City, Bruce had never seemed to need rules; he’d just done the right thing without prompting and had always hung around with a wholesome group of friends. As for one-on-one talks, she’d never had to earmark certain times. They’d always eaten breakfast and dinner together, so those talks had evolved naturally.
Things had been different since they’d moved to St. Louis. For one thing, since Tess was the new kid on the block, her job schedule was somewhat erratic. She was frequently assigned stories that required coverage at undesirable times—evenings, weekends, holidays. As a result, dinners with Bruce were infrequent. And he’d stopped eating breakfast, so that talk time was gone, too. She’d also been too lax on rules.
Tess resolved to make some immediate changes, both in her life and Bruce’s. He wouldn’t like it, but if what Chris said was true—and Tess instinctively sensed that it was—kids actually did better when there was more rather than less parental intervention in their lives. Not so much that you stifled them, but enough to let them know that you cared deeply and had standards by which you expected them to live. It was clearly a tough line to walk, but Tess was determined to find it.
When the applause died down, Mitch stood and rejoined Chris at the front of the room, and for another twenty minutes they adeptly answered questions, concluding with an invitation to stay for coffee and a snack.
As Tess gathered up her purse and notebook, she wearily glanced at her watch. Nine-thirty. It had been another long day. Late in the afternoon she’d had to cover a story that had run much longer than she expected, and she’d come to the meeting directly from there. Her stomach rumbled ominously, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, when she’d grabbed some yogurt and an apple. She gazed longingly toward the coffee table, where a crowd was now gathering. Sweets weren’t exactly a healthy dinner, but she knew by the time she got home she’d be too tired even to nuke a microwave dinner, let alone eat it. A cookie or two would have to suffice, she decided.
The food line inched along slowly, and by the time she reached the table the crowd had thinned considerably. She hesitated at the display of sweets, debating the merits of chocolate chip versus oatmeal cookies, when a deep, rich chuckle distracted her.
“Take both. I am.”
She turned to find Mitch smiling at her, and her heart did a little somersault.
“Are you planning to eat and run, or would you like to sit for a minute?” he asked.
Tess looked at him in surprise. “I, uh, hadn’t actually thought about it.”
“Well, I for one don’t do especially well when I have to juggle coffee in one hand and food in the other. Seems like you need a third hand to eat. Would you like to join me over there?” He nodded toward a couple of unoccupied chairs against the back wall.
“Sure.”
“I’ll get the coffee. Just pile some cookies on a plate, and I’ll meet you,” he said, flashing her a grin as he headed for the coffeepot at the other end of the table.
Tess automatically did as he asked while she tried to figure out why he had approached her. Had something else happened with Bruce? she suddenly wondered in panic. After tonight’s presentation, it was clear that she’d made some bad mistakes. And she intended to correct them. But maybe it was too late. Maybe Bruce had done something that…
“You must be hungry,” Mitch teased, interrupting her train of thought as he settled into the folding chair beside her.
Tess glanced down, and a flush rose on her cheeks at the sight of the tall pile of cookies on her plate. “Good heavens, I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said faintly.
“Don’t worry, I can help you put a dent in them,” Mitch assured her as he handed her a cup of coffee and reached for a cookie. “Dinner was a long time ago. Probably for you, too.”
“Actually, this is dinner,” she admitted with a wry smile as she reached for a chocolate chip cookie.
He frowned. “Seriously?”
“Yes. I don’t make a habit of this, but some days there just doesn’t seem to be time to eat.”
His frown deepened as his discerning gaze briefly swept over her. Last time he’d seen her she’d worn a boxy pantsuit that revealed little of her figure. Tonight she had on an oversize sweater that again effectively hid her curves. But her slender hands and the clearly defined bone structure in her face suggested to him that his original assessment of her as slender might need to be modified to too thin.
Tess was embarrassingly aware of his discreet perusal and sought to divert his attention. “I have a feeling you know what it’s like to be time-challenged,” she remarked. “You’ve obviously had a long day, too.”
His gaze returned to her face. “True. But I always find time to eat,” he added with an engaging smile as he bit into his cookie.
He wasn’t bringing up his reason for singling her out, Tess realized. Perhaps he was trying to lead up to it gradually, as he had in his office. But at this point she preferred the bad news up front. She took a steadying breath and gazed at him directly.
“Has something else happened with Bruce, Mr. Jackson?”
Mitch noted her tense grip on the coffee cup and looked at her quizzically. “Not that I know of.”
Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “Then why…? I mean, there are a lot of people here who would probably like to talk with you, so…well, I guess when you took me aside I just assumed that there was a problem,” she finished, flustered.
Mitch looked at the woman across from him, a faint frown marring his own brow. Why had he sought her out? If he’d had any sense he would have left as soon as the group of parents around him had dispersed. He was beat, and the weekend ahead at his uncle’s farm would be taxing. In fact, he’d planned to make his exit as quickly as possible. So what was it about Tess Lockwood that had made him suddenly change his mind when he’d seen her in line for coffee?
For one thing, she’d been on his mind a lot since their meeting, he admitted. Though he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to explain—or dismiss—the odd effect she’d had on him that day. He’d gone to sleep more than once with her vivid but troubled green eyes as his last conscious image. It was oddly unsettling, considering that over the past few years he’d built up a pretty thick skin when it came to women. Yet somehow Tess had gotten under it. But he couldn’t very well say that, he realized, struggling to come up with a suitable response.
“I figured you wouldn’t know anyone here, and I wanted to make sure you felt welcome,” he replied at last, striving for a conversational tone.
“Oh. Well, I appreciate that. And thank you for telling me about the program. It was very good.”
“Chris does a terrific job,” he agreed, relieved to be back on safer ground.
Tess suddenly realized that this was as good a time as any to broach the subject of the interview, so she took a deep breath and plunged in.
“You both do. In fact, I understand that you’ve just won the governor’s award for excellence in education.”
He looked at her in surprise. “How did you know?”
“It came over the wire at the newspaper where I work.”
“Ah. No secrets from the press, I guess.”
“Actually, the write-up wasn’t very detailed.”
He shrugged. “It was enough for most people.”
“That’s not what my editor thinks.”
He eyed her speculatively. “What do you mean?”
“She’d like me to do a feature story on you.”
He took a moment to respond, and she was suddenly afraid that he was going to turn her down flat. Instead, his reply was noncommittal. “I usually stay away from publicity.”
“So we’ve heard,” she admitted. “But when I mentioned that we’d met, my boss was hoping you might agree to talk with me. She thought you might feel more comfortable with a familiar face.”
Mitch took a slow sip of his coffee as he considered the request. Frankly, he wasn’t all that comfortable—with the story or the woman. He was a private person, for good reason. Few people knew the painful details of his past. Few people needed to know. He’d have to sidestep a lot of questions if he agreed to this interview, and that could be uncomfortable. So would being one-on-one with Tess Lockwood. She had already touched his heart in places that were best left undisturbed, and he barely knew her. Further contact could only be more disruptive to his peace of mind.
At the same time, he suspected that she was working hard to build a new career and a new life in St. Louis. Having to go back to her editor and say that she’d failed to nab an interview couldn’t be good for her. It would just add more stress to what already appeared to be a stress-filled life. And he couldn’t bring himself to do that.
“All right, Ms. Lockwood. Let’s give it a try,” he agreed.
Tess smiled. There was relief—and something else he couldn’t quite identify—in her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Call me tomorrow and we’ll set something up. I may live to regret this, but at least the school board will be happy,” he said with a lopsided grin.
“So will my editor.” She shifted her purse onto her shoulder, and Mitch reached over to relieve her of her plate and cup.
“I’ll take care of these.”
“Thanks. And thank you again for telling me about this meeting. And for agreeing to the interview.” She tilted her head and gave him a rueful smile. “I guess I’ll be in your debt big time.”
He smiled, and his gaze deepened and connected with hers in a way that left her a bit breathless. “I’ll remember that.”
For a moment she actually felt lost in his eyes, and the buzz of voices around her seemed to recede. It was only with great effort that she finally dragged her gaze away from his, mumbled goodbye and beat a hasty retreat.
As Tess made her way to her car, she tried to figure out what had just happened. Or, more accurately, she tried to figure out if anything had happened. She’d probably read far too much into a simple look, she told herself. After all, there was nothing about her to rate any special attention. She was just one more parent with a troubled teen. Bruce was Mitch’s main concern. And that was exactly as it should be.
Tess knew that. And accepted it. But it didn’t stop a sudden surge of bittersweet longing from echoing softly in her heart.

Chapter Three
“H ow about a cup of coffee to go with that pie?”
Mitch looked up at the older man and smiled. “You spoil me, Uncle Ray.”
“No such thing. Your visits give me a good excuse to visit the bakeshop in town. Course, their pies aren’t as good as Emma’s. But they’re sure a sight better’n mine.”
“I do miss Aunt Emma’s pies,” Mitch agreed.
“Me, too. And a whole lot more,” Uncle Ray said, his eyes softening briefly before he turned away to fiddle with the coffeemaker.
Mitch glanced at his uncle, still spare and straight at seventy-six. Only a pronounced limp, the result of a bad fracture from a severe fall over two years before, had slowed him down. Mitch knew the older man found the limp burdensome, though he never complained. And he still tried to put in a full day in the fields. Mitch had been trying to convince him to slow down, but as Uncle Ray always reminded him, farming was his life. He liked working the land.
Besides, Mitch reflected, the land had been the one constant in a life that had known its share of loss and grief. So he couldn’t bring himself to force the issue. Instead, he’d found a job in St. Louis and spent his spare time helping out on the farm. It was the least he could do for the man who had been his lifeline six years before, who had shown him the way out of darkness step by painful step, who had helped him reconnect with his faith and find solace in the Lord. He owed his life—and his sanity—to Uncle Ray, and whenever the work began to overwhelm him, he only had to think back to that nightmare time to realize just how deeply in debt he was to this special man.
“So what’s on the schedule this weekend?” Mitch asked when the older man turned to place a cup of coffee in front of him.
“There are still a couple of fields that need to be turned over,” Uncle Ray said as he sat down across from Mitch. “I figured I’d get to them during the week, but I don’t move quite as fast as I used to.”
Mitch frowned. “I thought we agreed that we’d do the heavy work together, on weekends?”
Uncle Ray shrugged. “I have time to spare, Mitch. You don’t. What little free time you have shouldn’t be spent out here on an isolated farm with an old man.”
“We’ve been through this before, Uncle Ray. I told you, I like coming out here. It’s a nice change of pace from the city.”
“Can’t argue with that. It is a great place. Nothing beats the fresh air and open spaces. But you need some time to yourself, son. Companions your own age. You aren’t going to find those things out here.”
“I have everything I need,” Mitch assured him. “My life is full. I have no complaints.”
Uncle Ray looked at him steadily. “You know I don’t interfere, Mitch. I learned my lesson on that score the hard way years ago.” A flicker of sadness echoed in his eyes. “But I care about you, son. I don’t want you to be alone.”
Mitch reached over and laid his hand over his uncle’s slightly gnarled fingers. “I’m not alone.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Mitch sighed. “I know. But I had my chance once, Uncle Ray. And I threw it away.”
“You’re a different man now.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I can’t risk it.”
“Well, it’s your life, Mitch. I can’t tell you how to live it. I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy, Uncle Ray.”
“Can I ask you one other thing?”
“Sure.” Mitch’s reply was swift and decisive. In a friendship forged in pain, there were few secrets and even fewer off-limit questions.
“In all these years, has there ever been anyone…special in your life?”
Mitch took a sip of his coffee and forced his lips into a smile. “I assume you mean a woman.”
“That’s what I had in mind.”
Mitch thought of all the women he’d met in the past six years who had made it clear that they were available if he was interested. But he hadn’t been. Not even remotely. Not after… His pretense of a smile faded and he shook his head.
“No.”
“Hmm.” Uncle Ray pondered that for a moment as he scooped up another bite of pie. “So no one’s ever caught your fancy, made you second-guess your decision to stay single?”
For some disconcerting reason the image of Tess Lockwood suddenly came to mind, and Mitch frowned. How odd. He barely knew the woman. They weren’t even on a first-name basis. True, she’d somehow managed to touch a place in his heart that he’d carefully protected all these years. But it had to be just some weird quirk. What else could it be when they were essentially strangers? Mitch looked over at his uncle to find the older man gazing at him quizzically.
“What’s wrong, son?”
Mitch shook his head. “For some strange reason the mother of one of my problem students just came to mind.”
“A friend of yours?”
“Hardly. We’ve only met twice. She’s a single mom who’s got her hands full with a troublesome teen and a new job. I’m not sure why I thought of her just now.”
“The mind works in mysterious ways,” Uncle Ray said noncommittally. “Well, I just don’t want to take up all of your free time. I can try to find one of the local boys to help me out.”
“We’ve been down that road before,” Mitch reminded him. “They’re either all working on their family’s farm or they don’t know one end of a plow from the other.”
“Good help is hard to find,” Uncle Ray conceded.
“So let’s just go on as we have been,” Mitch concluded, savoring the last mouthful of pie. “It works for both of us. You get a farmhand, I get three square meals and fresh air, and we both get great conversation.” He wiped his mouth and grinned as he laid his napkin on the table. “And if you ask me, that’s a pretty good deal all the way around.”

The building was hot. And still. And ominous. A prickle of apprehension skittered across the back of his neck, and he tightened his hold on the gun. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He could sense it. And he’d been a cop long enough to respect his senses. Especially in abandoned warehouses.
At least he wasn’t alone. Jacobsmeyer was circling in the other direction, only a shout away. And his partner was good. The best. Mitch drew a deep breath. Whatever was wrong, they’d find it. And fix it.
He stopped at a closed storage door, listening intently. Nothing. He tried the knob. Unlocked. Carefully he eased it open. Darkness. An even stronger feeling of foreboding. He swept the beam of his flashlight over the floor. Trash. Empty cans. A sport shoe protruding from a pile of boxes. A beat-up shopping cart. Some… He suddenly went still, then slowly swung his light back to the shoe, his stomach clenching. God, let me be wrong! he prayed. But his eyes hadn’t lied. The shoe was attached to a leg.
He sucked in his breath, his heart hammering in his chest. He’d been here before, and it was never pretty. But it was his job. Steeling himself, he picked his way over the trash to the boxes. Hesitated. Took another breath. Slowly let the arc of light travel up the body. Hesitated again. Finally moved it up to the face. Felt his world tilt. Crash. Shatter into a thousand pieces. And then he screamed. And screamed again. And again. And…
Mitch jerked bolt upright in bed, shaking violently. Dear God, the nightmare was back. Just when he’d begun to believe that it had released its hold on him. But now it had returned, stronger than ever.
“Mitch? You okay?”
Uncle Ray’s concerned voice came from the other side of the door, and Mitch sucked in a ragged breath. “Yeah. I’m…fine,” he called hoarsely, his voice as tattered as his nerves.
“You need anything?” Though his uncle’s voice was calm, it was laced with worry.
Mitch took another deep breath, forcing air into lungs that didn’t want to expand. “No. I’m okay, Uncle Ray. Sorry I woke you.”
“I wasn’t really sleeping anyway. Try to go back to sleep.”
“Yeah, I will. Thanks.”
Slowly Mitch eased himself back down, damp with sweat. He’d put his uncle through this drill more times than he could count. But the older man never seemed to mind. He’d been through his own hell. He understood.
Mitch wanted to let go of the nightmare. Wanted to find a way to put it behind him and move on, as Uncle Ray had. He’d always hoped that in time the memory would fade. But he was less and less convinced that it would. Because while both men shared a legacy of regret, only Mitch’s included an unspeakable horror.
And no matter what he had done in the intervening years to make amends, no matter how often he’d prayed for release from the guilt and the pain, deep in his heart he knew that he didn’t deserve a reprieve from the traumatic memory of that night.

At the sound of a knock, Mitch looked up. “Come in.”
Karen opened the office door. “Ms. Lockwood is here.”
Mitch glanced at his watch, then at his piled-high desk. As usual, the day had flown by and he’d finished only half of what he’d set out to accomplish. “There aren’t enough hours in the day, Karen,” he lamented with a sigh.
“That’s because you take on too much.”
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “True,” he conceded agreeably. “But what do you suggest I eliminate from my schedule? Tony Watson, who’s picked me for the father figure he so desperately needs? The live teen chat room I host twice a week? The meetings with parents of problem kids? The budget?” He paused and tilted his head thoughtfully. “Actually, I could do without the budget, but I don’t think the school board would approve.”
Karen made a face. “I see your point.”
He smiled and leaned forward again. “I thought you would. Okay, show Ms. Lockwood in. I might as well get this over with.”
She hesitated and looked at him quizzically. “In the interest of curiosity, how in the world did she get you to agree to this? You hate publicity.”
He shrugged. “I guess she caught me at a weak moment.”
Karen planted her hands on her hips. “You don’t have weak moments.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an opinionated woman?” he teased.
She tilted her head thoughtfully and counted off on her fingers. “Let’s see. My mother. My husband. My kids. The guy at the car repair shop. The director of the—”
“Enough!” Mitch interrupted with a laugh. “Just show Ms. Lockwood in.”
Karen grinned. “You got it, boss.”
Mitch smiled and shook his head as he repositioned the stacks of papers on his desk. He’d inherited Karen when he’d taken on this job, and she’d been a godsend, serving as secretary, administrative assistant, sounding board, reality check and mother hen all rolled into one. Not to mention comic relief. He couldn’t have gotten along without her.
“I hope that smile is a good omen for our interview.”
Mitch glanced up, and the perfunctory greeting died on his lips. He knew the woman in the doorway was Tess Lockwood. He would recognize those eyes anywhere. But everything else about her was different. Her hair hung loose and free, softly brushing her shoulders. She was wearing makeup—not much, but enough to enhance her already lovely features. And her clothes—gone were the boxy suit and baggy sweater. They’d been replaced by a short-sleeved silk blouse that clung to her curves and a sleek black A-line skirt that emphasized her trim waist and shapely legs. The transformation was stunning.
The seconds ticked by, and Mitch suddenly realized that he was staring. A hot flush of embarrassment crept up his neck, and he cleared his throat, struggling to recover.
“Come in, make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing toward the chairs they’d occupied at their first meeting.
Tess made her way across the room, well aware of Mitch’s reaction to her new look, though he’d recovered admirably. But while that brief, slightly dazed expression had done wonders for her ego, she suddenly regretted her impulsive purchase of the stylish new outfit. She’d been out of the dating game far too long to remember the rules, she realized in panic. What if Mitch actually…well…did something about that look in his eyes? Like ask her out. What would she do then? Bruce already thought she’d sided with the enemy. She could imagine his reaction if Mitch and she saw each other socially. Her relationship with her son was strained as it was, especially after their long talk this weekend about the new house rules. Good heavens, what had she been thinking? she berated herself. She should have just stuck with her serviceable, if dowdy, wardrobe.
But as she sat down and turned to Mitch, her doubts and uncertainties melted in the warmth of his eyes.
“I hope you won’t take offense if I say that you look especially nice today,” he said as he sat across from her, intrigued by her becoming blush—a reaction more typical of a schoolgirl than a once-married woman.
The husky quality in his voice did odd things to her stomach. “No, not at all,” she replied a bit breathlessly.
He leaned back and propped an ankle on his knee. “Okay. Where do we start? I’m new at this, so you’re going to have to walk me through it step by step.”
Tess smiled and reached for her notebook. She might not be comfortable in the role of desirable woman, but she was quite comfortable in the role of reporter. “I like to think of an interview as simply a conversation. Except I get to ask most of the questions. Why don’t we start with the award? Tell me what led to it.”
He did so easily, talking about the innovative intervention programs and one-on-one involvement he encouraged between students, parents, administration and teachers. Under Tess’s astute questioning, he revealed his passionate commitment to the kids, his concern about societal pressures on teens and on the American family, and the satisfaction he found in his work.
“I’m impressed, Mr. Jackson,” she said honestly. “The world could use more people who care so deeply. And I’m also curious. I understand that you were once a police officer—in Chicago, I believe. This is quite a career switch. What prompted you to make the change?”
Tess sensed his sudden, almost imperceptible withdrawal.
“I saw a lot on the street,” he said carefully, his words slower and more guarded. “Almost always too late for prevention. I wanted to find a way to intervene earlier. This kind of work seemed to offer that opportunity.”
Tess’s job had taught her to be attuned to nuances, and there were plenty here. There was something very important that he wasn’t revealing, and she was both curious and intrigued. But pushing usually just made a wary subject back off more. And she didn’t really need to go any deeper for this interview. So, regretfully, she moved on. “What brought you to St. Louis?”
She could sense his slight easing of tension. “My uncle. He has a farm about an hour south of St. Louis, and a little over two years ago he had a bad fall that left him with a limp. I came that summer to help, and when it was obvious that he’d need ongoing assistance with the farm, I got a job here.”
“You must have been there this weekend,” she said with a smile.
He looked at her in surprise. “How did you know?”
“Your tan. When I saw you Thursday, your face didn’t have nearly as much color.”
He grinned. “Your powers of observation are admirable, Ms. Lockwood. You’re right. We worked in the fields this weekend. I spend most of my free time there, especially in the nice weather.”
“Any other family locally?”
“No.”
“How about back in Chicago?”
An intense flash of pain ricocheted across his eyes. “No. My parents are both gone and my…my wife died seven years ago.”
Mitch frowned. He hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t intended to reveal anything about Dana. Wasn’t sure why he had.
“I’m so sorry,” Tess said softly, taken aback by that fleeting glimpse of anguish. “I had no idea….” Her voice faltered. She’d wondered about a wife, found it difficult to believe someone like Mitch would have remained single all these years, had speculated there might be a divorce in his past. But she hadn’t expected this. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories,” she apologized.
He took a deep breath. “It’s okay.” And surprisingly, it was. It didn’t hurt nearly as much to talk about it as he’d expected. “It was cancer. It hit out of the blue and, mercifully, took her quickly. But it was still a terrible thing to watch. For a long time afterward I was…lost.” For a lot of reasons, he thought, his gut twisting.
“I can understand that,” Tess empathized. “I went through something similar with my father five years ago.” She paused and took a deep breath. “It’s awful to watch someone you love slip away.”
“Yes, it is. But it helps to have a support system. I had my mother and Uncle Ray. How about you?”
“I had Bruce. And my faith, which was a great comfort.”
“What about Bruce’s father?”
Tess looked at him in surprise. She almost brushed aside the question, but for some reason decided to answer it. “We divorced six years ago.”
His gaze softened in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Tess. Divorce can sometimes be as painful as death.”
“More so, in some ways,” she said sadly. “And don’t be sorry. The divorce was long overdue.” She tilted her head and forced herself to smile. “Now, how did things get turned around? I thought we were talking about you?”
He grinned. “You already know the story of my life.”
Hardly, she thought. The man across from her had secrets, which he clearly didn’t intend to reveal, she realized. Besides, she had plenty of material for her story. It was time to wrap things up.
Tess smiled and closed her notebook. “Well, at least enough for my story,” she amended.
“You know, this wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected,” Mitch admitted as they both rose and walked toward the door.
“I’m glad to hear it.” She paused on the threshold and turned to hold out her hand. “And thank you. My editor will be very pleased.”
He smiled as he took her hand in a firm grip. “I hope your readers will feel the same way. I’m afraid they might be bored by the story of a dull school principal.”
At first Tess thought he was kidding, but as they said their goodbyes she realized he was dead serious. Dull? she thought incredulously. Mitch Jackson? No way. Intriguing would be a more apt description, she decided as she walked down the hall. She’d thought that by the end of the interview she’d know all the important things about the principal. But she had a feeling that she’d barely scratched the surface of this fascinating man. Instead of satisfying her curiosity, today’s interview had made her want to find out more.
Unfortunately, there wouldn’t be much opportunity for that, she admitted with a pang of regret. Any future contact with the principal would be related to Bruce. Because to Mitch, she was just another mother dealing with a problem child.
Except at the end of the interview he had called her “Tess,” she realized suddenly, stopping abruptly. That was a good sign. Wasn’t it? Didn’t it mean he thought of her as a person in her own right, not just as a mother?
Tess wasn’t sure. Wasn’t even sure if she wanted him to think of her that way. It was too scary. And complicated. And probably unwise.
She knew all that intellectually. And accepted it.
But for some reason, her heart just wasn’t listening.

“So how was your day?”
“Okay.”
Tess sighed. So far the new dinner-hour-together rule hadn’t spurred the conversation and sharing she’d hoped for with Bruce. It was the old “You can lead a horse to water…” scenario. And Bruce wasn’t drinking. But she wasn’t going to give up.
“Did you look into the art club?” she asked, trying again. Chris Stevens had run through a list of supervised after-school activities at the meeting, and Tess had suggested the club to Bruce, who’d always shown strong artistic aptitude and interest.
“They’re a bunch of geeks.”
“How do you know?”
At his disgusted look, she let it drop.
They ate in silence for a few moments before she worked up the courage to introduce a new subject. “Guess who I interviewed today?” she asked, her tone a little too bright. When he didn’t respond, she plunged in. “Mr. Jackson.”
That got his attention. “Why?”
“He just received the governor’s award for excellence in education.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. He’s doing good work at the high school.”
Bruce gave a disdainful snort. “Right.”
“So you don’t think he’s a good principal?”
Bruce shrugged. “He’s too ‘in-your-face.’”
“Meaning?”
“He’s always hanging around with the kids. And watching what we’re doing. I thought principals were supposed to stay in their office and run the school.”
“Maybe he’s trying to change the rules.”
“Why?”
“I asked him that in the interview.”
“Yeah?” Bruce looked interested. “What did he say?”
“He said that when he was a cop, he saw a lot of kids on the street who were in trouble. But by the time the police got involved, it was usually too late. He said he wanted to find a way to help kids before they got to that point. That’s why he became a principal. And why he’s changing the rules, I expect.”
“He was probably a better cop than he is a principal,” Bruce said.
“Do all the kids think so?”
He shrugged. “The geeks seem to like him. The guys I hang around with don’t. Except maybe Tony Watson. But he’s got problems. I think he figures Mr. Jackson can help him.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Stuff at home. His parents don’t get along. I think his dad drinks, and his mom’s never around. She travels a lot for her job.”
“Doesn’t sound too great,” she agreed. “So what does Mr. Jackson do?”
“He just talks to him. After school sometimes. Tony seems to be okay for a while after that. But it never lasts long. I feel sorry for him.”
“Maybe you could invite him over some time.”
Bruce gave her another disgusted look and changed the subject. “I saw your name on the sign-up sheet for the food booth at the school carnival. Did you really volunteer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I thought we could spend some time together there.” Which was true enough. But she’d hoped it would also give her a chance to meet some of his elusive friends.
He looked appalled. “Mom! Even if I go, I was going to hang around with the guys.”
“I don’t expect you to spend the whole day with me, Bruce. But I thought we could have a hot dog and soda or something when I finish working. And what do you mean, even if you go?”
“I’m not sure about it. I have to check with the guys.”
“But what do you want to do?” she pressed. “You used to like carnivals, especially the rides.”
He shrugged. “That’s kid stuff.”
But that’s what you are! she wanted to cry out. Just a kid. Instead, she reached for his empty plate. “I don’t know. I still like carnivals, and I’m no kid,” she said, striving for a conversational tone.
He considered that. “Well, I might go. For a while.”
“I hope so. It would be fun. And you know what else I was thinking? Maybe this weekend we could go to the art museum. I hear it’s great, and there’s an exhibit right now that I thought you might especially like. It’s on the—”
“I’ll have a lot of homework this weekend,” Bruce cut her off.
“You have to have some time for fun, too.”
“Joe’s having a party Saturday night at his house. Maybe I could go to that,” he said hopefully.
“Maybe. Will his parents be home?”
“Oh, Mom!”

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