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A Time To Forgive
Darlene Gardner
Every moment counts…When Connor Smith has to unexpectedly care for his nine-year-old niece, he isn' t prepared. In fact, he' s overwhelmed. Blending their lives poses one problem after another until Jaye' s violin teacher throws them a lifeline.Abby Reed not only knows how to get through to his niece, she also makes an impression on him. Soon their time together means everything to Connor–and the tragedy his family faced a decade ago begins to have less power over him. Then he discovers Abby' s family' s connection to his own…Can their love survive Connor' s bitterness and Abby' s insistence that her brother isn' t the awful person he' s been branded?



“I don’t care what you do to me, do you hear me?”
Connor stood speechless, shocked into silence by his niece’s onslaught of emotion. Jaye resembled a cornered, injured animal ready to strike out at anyone who tried to help her.
Abby crouched down beside the nine-year-old, her eyes steady on the girl’s face.
“So scared, Abby,” Jaye said between hiccuping sobs. “Couldn’t figure out how to buy a bus ticket. Walked here to the library. Nobody talked to me. So alone.”
“It’s okay, honey.” Abby smoothed the hair back from his niece’s despondent face and made soothing noises. “Connor and I are here now. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Something thickened in Connor’s throat as he watched them—the innocent girl who’d been abandoned by her mother and the woman who refused to desert her guilty-as-sin brother.
But at that moment Abby Reed didn’t seem like the half sister of the man who’d murdered his brother.
She seemed like somebody who was on their side.
Dear Reader,
A Time To Forgive represents a departure for me. While many of my previous books were lighthearted, this one involves a ten-year-old murder and its lasting repercussions. It’s as much about hate as it is about the amazing power of love.
It’s also a book I’ve wanted to write for years, fueled by the tales of forgiveness I’d sometimes read about in the newspaper. Who hasn’t marveled at the people who ask judges and juries to be merciful toward the murderer of one of their loved ones? How, I wondered, could anyone forgive such a terrible crime?
In my book, Connor Smith faces a question that’s equally difficult. Can his love for the sister of the man who killed his brother survive the hate eating away at him?
I’m grateful to have been given the chance to write about the flip side of love—and the enduring truth that love is the strongest force of all.
All my best,
Darlene Gardner
P.S. Please visit me on the Web at www.darlenegardner.com.

A Time to Forgive
Darlene Gardner


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For those who can find it within themselves to forgive.
But even more, for those who can’t.

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
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PROLOGUE
THE KILLER WALKED into the courtroom not with the shoulder-rolling swagger Connor Smith had expected, but with his head down, his eyes cast to the floor.
He was maybe five foot nine, not nearly as tall as Connor imagined he would be, and he was handcuffed and dressed in a prison-issue jumpsuit that was a garish orange. An armed guard stood on either side of him.
Connor gripped the armrest of his wooden chair to keep himself from surrendering to the impulse to leap from his seat and attack, reminding himself that the wheels of justice were about to turn.
He’d left the fragrant beauty of a sunny spring afternoon for a preliminary hearing in the austere interior of Laurel County District Court. Very shortly, the Honorable Preston A. Hodgkins would determine whether probable cause existed to believe the defendant had committed murder.
Judge Hodgkins wasn’t expected to do anything more than hand over the case to trial, yet the courtroom gallery was nearly full with members of the news media and spectators who had been shocked by the crime.
Connor didn’t pay attention to any of them.
He sat between his parents. He was peripherally aware of his mother clutching his surgically repaired right knee, which would probably give him trouble when he stood, and his father sitting stoically. But Connor’s eyes never left the killer as he shuffled to the defense table. Once there, he lowered himself into a seat beside the tired-looking public defender who’d been assigned to his case.
Connor waited, barely breathing, for the killer to lift his head. The newspapers had run his photograph a half-dozen times in the last ten days, but they used a police mug shot slightly blurred around the edges.
Connor wanted to see what evil looked like in the flesh.
The killer shifted in his seat, stared down at the table in front of him and stroked his forehead as though his head hurt. Finally, at long last, he raised his head, then briefly glanced at the gallery behind him.
His eyes were a startling blue, a fact Connor hadn’t been able to determine from the black-and-white newspaper photo. His face was pale and unlined, his mouth wide and almost gentle looking, his nose long and straight. His cheeks were apple-red and his dark hair freshly cut.
The killer’s name was Drew Galloway. Three weeks ago, he had turned eighteen, the age at which he could legally be charged as an adult.
Eighteen days ago, Galloway had plunged a knife deep into the chest of Connor’s seventeen-year-old younger brother and left him to die. A pair of teenagers had found J.D.’s body under the bleachers adjacent to the high-school football field where he regularly covered himself in glory.
The story was that the two boys had scuffled over a girl the day before and that Galloway had lured J.D. to the field to rid himself of the competition.
The night, Connor was told, had been black. He didn’t doubt that Galloway’s soul was the same shade.
Dressed in his prison jumpsuit with his cherub’s cheeks and sky-blue eyes, Drew Galloway didn’t look evil. A middle-aged woman with shadowy circles under her eyes and a teenage girl with long, dark hair and a tear-streaked face sat behind the defense table. Probably Galloway’s mother and sister, they furthered the illusion of normalcy.
Connor wasn’t fooled.
Galloway had not only robbed his brother of life, he’d stolen the heart from Connor’s family. Connor’s mother spent her days alternating between grief and rage, and his father walked around in a fog, barely able to function.
Neither parent had the energy to do anything about Connor’s sixteen-year-old sister Diana, who stayed out until all hours of the night, not caring that she was flunking out of school. Connor didn’t even know where she was right now.
No. His family would never recover from the loss of J.D. He’d been the family favorite, so full of life and athletic talent that he’d been headed to Penn State on a football scholarship. But today, when the judge upheld the charge of first-degree murder, the path toward justice would begin.
A bailiff commanded all rise and announced that court was in session. Judge Hodgkins swept in, his black robes flowing, and took a seat behind the bench. He asked counsel to state their appearances in the case of the state of Maryland versus Drew Galloway.
Connor sat patiently through the introductions. The only lawyer who mattered, in his opinion, was State’s Attorney Douglas Benton. A tall man with a head of prematurely gray hair, Benton was a descendant of the town’s founding father. Murders weren’t common in sleepy Laurel County, nestled in the state’s southwest corner less than an hour’s drive from the nation’s capital, but the state’s attorney had a reputation for being as tough as a piece of white Maryland marble.
Judge Hodgkins shuffled some papers, then peered over his reading glasses. “I understand that the parties involved have reached a satisfactory plea agreement. I’ve reviewed the signed document. I gather you’re ready to proceed with a plea hearing and disposition. Is that correct?”
Douglas Benton stood. “That is correct.”
The bottom dropped out of Connor’s stomach as a murmur of excitement rushed through the crowd. A plea agreement? He turned to his mother and whispered, “How could this happen? Did you know about this?”
She stared at him, her face white, her eyes teary. Before she could answer, Judge Hodgkins pounded the desk with his gavel. “Order. Order.”
The murmuring died down and Connor watched with growing horror as Judge Hodgkins proceeded through a series of questions meant to make sure Galloway understood what he had signed. Finally, the judge reached the heart of the plea.
“This agreement specifies that you, Mr. Galloway, are pleading guilty to second-degree murder. It further states that the length of your sentence of incarceration should be twenty years, the first ten without the possibility of parole.”
The blood rushing through Connor’s body turned icy as the gallery erupted with shouts and angry murmurings. Twenty years, the judge had said. A chance at parole after ten. Galloway could be out on the streets as early as age twenty-eight. He would not rot in prison. But J.D. was already rotting in his grave.
The judge banged the gavel once more. “Order. Or I’ll have the bailiff clear the courtroom.”
Connor stared at his brother’s killer. Something that had been coiled in Connor’s gut unfurled, like the body of a snake venturing from the sunlight to the shadows. It reached out to every part of him, thick and sour and filling.
The emotion was so alien that Connor couldn’t identify it until it wrapped around his heart and dipped into his very soul.
Then he knew, with sudden and vicious clarity, what had cloaked his world in darkness and blackened his heart.
It was hate.

CHAPTER ONE
Nearly ten years later
CONNOR SMITH HAD SPENT the last decade attempting to outrun the past, but it caught up with him. Again.
The pattern was as familiar as the long, straight rows of gravestones in a cemetery. Just when he thought he’d relegated J.D.’s murder to a terrible memory and started to live in the present, something happened to pull him back into the abyss.
The latest something was his niece, Jaye, an unusually pretty little girl with pale blond hair swept back from the widow’s peak on her high forehead and gray-green eyes that were reminiscent of his dead brother’s. She’d got her first name from J.D., too.
The girl sat on a stool at the counter-height island in the kitchen nook of his Silver Spring town house picking at the piece of toast and jam he’d fixed her. Her skinny, nine-year-old legs dangled well above the porcelain-tile floor.
He stood between the island and the state-of-the-art black microwave that was built into his golden-maple cabinets, cradling his second cup of black coffee of the morning and waiting for a bagel to defrost.
On an ordinary Saturday morning, he’d already be at the office figuring out how to make one of his clients money. But there was nothing routine about a morning in which his sister chose to abandon her daughter.
“Where’s Mom?” Jaye asked.
There it was, the question Connor had been dreading. The microwave beeped, signaling that the bagel had thawed.
He ignored the summons and kneaded the throbbing space between his brows. He’d found his sister Diana’s note more than an hour ago but still hadn’t figured out how to break the news to Jaye that her mother had taken off for God only knew where.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” Jaye asked abruptly in a hard voice that didn’t sound as if it belonged to a child.
“Yeah, she’s gone,” Connor said softly, futilely wishing he could soften the blow. “I think she needed to be by herself for a while.”
He expected Jaye to dissolve into tears, the way he imagined any young girl would react upon hearing that her mother had cast her off and left her with an uncle who was essentially a stranger.
Jaye’s chin quivered slightly, but her eyes were dry, her petal of a mouth pinched. “What’s going to happen to me?”
That was the question that had been swirling around and around in his brain since he’d read Diana’s note. She’d claimed she’d be in touch but made no promises about when she’d be back for Jaye. He doubted it would be any time soon.
Diana had nearly jumped out of her skin every time he’d asked her a question last night. He’d recognized that something was wrong, but had unwisely decided to wait until this morning to confront her about it.
He swallowed his anger at his sister and focused on the sad girl with the hard eyes. “Your mother left a note asking me to take care of you.”
How, he wondered, had Diana managed to look after Jaye for this long? She’d given birth less than a year after J.D.’s murder, when she was barely seventeen. She’d had sex with so many boys, she said, that she couldn’t figure out who the father was. Their parents, still drowning in grief over J.D.’s death, hadn’t been able to deal with a new blow.
After arguing bitterly with their mother, Diana had run off. Connor had spent a night and a day looking for her before their great-aunt Aggie had called to say that Diana had turned up at her house outside Roanoke in southwest Virginia.
There Diana had stayed for the next four years until Aunt Aggie’s death, when she’d cashed in her meager inheritance and simply taken off with Jaye. She’d called now and then to let the family know she was alive but hadn’t resurfaced until last night at ten o’clock when she rang the doorbell at his town house.
And now she was gone—again—but this time she’d left her daughter behind.
“My mom said I have a grandma,” Jaye continued, still in that tough, cold voice. “Maybe I should stay with her.”
“No,” Connor said. His mother could barely take care of herself, let alone a granddaughter. His father, re-married and living in Richmond, was only a slightly better choice. All his energy went to his second wife and their young son.
“Then where am I going to stay?” Jaye asked.
He looked around at the interior of his pricey three-story town house, which a maid cleaned twice a week until it sparkled. It was no place for a child, and he was a poor choice for a guardian.
He worked upwards of sixty hours a week at a high-powered brokerage firm in Washington, D.C., where he was so well regarded he’d recently been fielding offers from Wall Street. The rest of his waking hours, he spent at the gym or on the bar and restaurant scene with his girlfriend, Isabel Pennington, who’d been making noises about moving in with him.
He didn’t know anything about raising a child, especially one he wouldn’t have recognized as his niece until a few hours ago.
Though, for the moment, there was no other option. He was it.
He swallowed the lump of trepidation in his throat and strived to make himself sound self-assured. “I already told you that I’m going to take care of you. So you’ll stay here. With me.”
Jaye’s mouth flattened in a mutinous line, then she hopped down from the stool and shoved it so hard that it overturned. Without another look at him, she ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the guest room where she’d slept the night before.
Connor dragged a hand through the hair on his throbbing head. He made snap decisions involving tens of thousands of dollars every day, but he was lost in how to deal with a nine-year-old child. Should he follow her? Explain that he wanted her with him but had grave doubts about his ability to care for her?
“Diana, how could you do this?” he asked aloud.
The hell of it was that Connor didn’t blame Diana for abandoning her daughter. He blamed Drew Galloway.
Galloway hadn’t been in direct contact with anyone in the Smith family other than J.D., but the knife he’d thrust into J.D.’s chest had ripped the family apart. It had certainly precipitated Diana’s tailspin.
The hate that always simmered beneath the surface of Connor’s skin boiled up, nearly singeing him. Even though Galloway had been in prison for almost ten years, the killer was still leaving a trail of victims in his wake. The latest was the discarded little girl who pretended she didn’t want to cry.
Connor tamped down the surging hatred. He needed to focus on Jaye, not on Galloway. It was mid-February, more than halfway through the school year. He’d have to figure out which was the nearest elementary school and find out how to get Jaye enrolled. More immediately, he needed to visit the grocery store so the refrigerator contained something healthier than leftover pizza and beer.
Deciding to give Jaye time to get used to being stuck with him, he walked to the table and righted the chair she’d overturned.
He’d have a much tougher time righting the wrong that had been done to Jaye.
He had a fleeting thought of the teenage girl and the sobbing woman who had sat behind Drew Galloway that dark day in the Laurel County Courthouse.
Had Galloway’s family suffered even a fraction of the pain and the ramifications as Connor’s family?
Somehow, Connor didn’t think so.

ABBY REED WAS GOOD at spotting troubled children.
She should be. She’d lived with one for fifteen years until he’d been sent away for murder to the maximum-security Maryland Correctional Adjustment Center.
She’d had nearly ten years to come to terms with what her only sibling had done, but still couldn’t accept that he was a cold-blooded killer. In her gut she knew there was more to what had happened that night than had come to light.
Her heart bled for the boy who’d died and the people who’d loved him, but the Drew who used to read her bedtime stories while their single mother worked two jobs hadn’t been evil. He’d been a kid in trouble.
After the murder, hardly anybody in the small Maryland town of Bentonsville had agreed with that assessment.
Her mother had moved their family of three from inner-city Baltimore to Bentonsville two years before the boy’s death in a failed attempt to get Drew away from the potential to do wrong. After Drew was convicted, sentiment against him had run so high and so hot that Abby and her mother had had to move again.
They’d gone to Wheaton, a suburb of Washington, D.C., that was only fifty miles from Bentonsville but lacking in the acres of unspoiled countryside that had made the little town such a beautiful place to live. The trade-off, though, had been worth it.
Nobody directed hateful looks at them or pointed and whispered behind their backs.
Nobody recognized Abby as the frightened fifteen-year-old half sister of the boy who’d been labeled a murderer.
Nobody maintained that the sister of a convicted killer shouldn’t be hired to teach in the Montgomery County public-school system.
Abby had secured the job after graduating from Towson University with a major in music and minor in education. She spent the bulk of her time running the orchestra program at Blue Moon Middle School, but once a week taught a beginning class for fourth-and fifth-graders at the neighboring elementary school.
Montgomery County, with the nation’s capital on its southernmost border, was among the nation’s richest. The students Abby taught were largely the carefree children of privilege.
The fourth-grader in her strings class at Blue Moon Elementary was not happy-go-lucky. She wasn’t in the deep, dark trouble that Abby’s brother Drew had found himself immersed in, but trouble nonetheless.
Abby heard a new story about the girl every week. She’d splattered paint on the wall in art class, refused to participate in PE and wrote pithy sayings on classroom blackboards like School Stinks, Down With Learning and Reading Is Wrong. Considering she’d arrived at Blue Moon just four weeks before, it was quite a résumé.
Two weeks ago, she’d noticed the girl standing at the door to Abby’s classroom wearing a wistful expression. Abby had impulsively offered to work it out so she could take the class, even though in reality it was much too late to enroll.
After finding all the music stands overturned on the girl’s first day, Abby feared she was in for a long couple of months.
But then the girl had taken her violin from the case and followed Abby’s simple directions about how to coax sound from it. The violin had sung, the girl had been enchanted and Abby’s problems with the difficult child had been over.
Until today when she’d turned in a forged permission slip to hear an ensemble of National Symphony Orchestra musicians perform at the Kennedy Center.
She stood in front of Abby in the empty classroom, looking adorable in her pink Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt and designer jeans. Abby handed her the permission slip.
“I know your father didn’t sign this so don’t bother telling me he did,” Abby stated.
The child looked down at her feet, which were encased in brand-name tennis shoes. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears when she gazed back up at Abby. “Am I in trouble?”
Sympathy rose in Abby like the Potomac River after a rainy season. The girl had recently confided that she’d come to live with her father after her mother had died. It wasn’t any wonder she wreaked so much havoc at school.
“You’re only in trouble if you don’t tell me why you forged the signature.”
“Because I really want to go on the field trip,” she said in a plaintive voice, sniffling not so delicately.
“Did your father say why he wouldn’t sign it?”
She nodded. “He says I don’t deserve to go because I’m bad.”
Abby bit down hard so she wouldn’t call the girl’s father-come-lately a cuss word. The nerve of the man. She supposed she should give him some credit for taking in his daughter after her mother’s death, but he shouldn’t have shirked his responsibilities in the first place.
“You’re not bad. You’ve done some things that are wrong. But you’re a good girl with a good heart. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
The girl blinked back tears, not inspiring much hope that Abby’s message had gotten through. “He doesn’t understand how much I want to hear the symphony, Miss Reed.”
Abby understood. Of all the students she’d taught in the four years since she’d worked in Montgomery County schools, this one loved music the most.
The child reminded Abby of her own young self. During the darkest times of her childhood, Abby had turned to the violin and let the music lift her soul. The music could fill a similar void in this child if only her hardheaded jerk of a father would let it.
Abby vowed in that instant to do whatever possible to gain permission for the girl to attend the field trip, even if she disliked what it would entail. “Would you like me to talk to your father, Jaye?”
Jaye Smith smiled, the misery on her face turning to hope. “Oh, yes, Miss Reed. I’d like that very much.”

CONNOR SMITH WAS NOT HAVING a good day.
It had started off on a sour note when Jaye had “accidentally” dumped his potted amaryllis onto the cream-colored carpet in his living room, throwing their uneasy morning routine so out of whack that she’d missed the bus.
He’d gotten snarled in traffic on the way to Blue Moon Elementary, causing him to deposit the silent-as-a-stone Jaye to school after the bell had rung. Then somebody had rear-ended his Porsche on the way to the office. And now one of his clients was talking nonsense.
“I think we should dump it, Connor.” The panicked, masculine voice belonged to a bank president who had trusted Connor with his investments for the past three years. “I checked the paper this morning and the price of a share is down eight cents.”
Connor leaned his head on the backrest of his office chair and stared at the white ceiling. He usually had more patience with Daniel Mann, who called every time the market fluctuated. This time he was panicking about an emerging pharmaceutical company in which he’d invested.
“Remember how I told you that checking the markets is my job, Daniel? The fluctuations can drive you crazy if you let them. But trust me on this. If the FDA approves the drug the company’s developed, the stock will go way up. Sit tight and wait to see what happens.”
By the time Connor ended the connection ten minutes later, Daniel Mann had heeded his advice. But then most of his clients did, as well they should. Connor had made impressive amounts of money for himself and his clients since he’d passed the stockbroker exams and joined the Capital Company six years ago.
Connor glanced up at the flat-screen television in his office that was tuned to the financial news network, satisfied himself on the status quo and reached for another client portfolio. If he was going to get off work by six so he could spend time with Jaye, he needed to cram as much into the day as possible.
Before he could open the folder and dial the number listed inside, his secretary’s smooth, professional voice came over the intercom.
“Ms. Abby Reed is here to see you, Mr. Smith.”
The name was naggingly familiar, but Connor couldn’t place it. He glanced down at the list of appointments scheduled for that day, but didn’t find an Abby Reed. Had his usually efficient secretary added an appointment she hadn’t told him about?
He pressed down on the intercom button. “Does she have an appointment, Mary Beth?”
“She says she’s here about Jaye.”
Connor grimaced, although he wasn’t surprised. In the five rocky weeks Jaye had lived with him, every day brought a new problem. He depressed the intercom button. “What was her name again?”
“My name’s Abby Reed.” The voice that traveled over the intercom and filled his office had a low, sultry quality even though it was heavily laced with annoyance. “I’m Jaye’s strings teacher. And I’m not leaving until you see me.”
Of course. Abby Reed was the Ms. Reed who had been leaving messages at his office and home, trying to get him to reconsider his refusal to allow Jaye to attend a field trip. He’d neither the time nor inclination to call her back because he had no intention of changing his mind.
But what was she doing here? The Silver Spring office of the Capital Company was only a mile from Blue Moon Elementary, but he’d never known a teacher to make office calls.
Jaye’s reign of terror on the fourth grade must have taken a turn for the worse.
“I can vouch that she’s serious when she says she’s not leaving until you see her,” his secretary added.
Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. He really did not have time for this, but he couldn’t send the child’s teacher packing.
“Send her in,” he said and took off his headset.
The door flew open, and a slender, dark-haired woman marched to his desk with a determined stride. Her hair was cut so short it fell shy of her collar, giving her face a gamine quality and making her resemble the young Audrey Hepburn in the old movies he liked to watch. Her lips were unpainted, her makeup minimal and brown eyes angry.
He wasn’t a stupid man. Recognizing the signs of an imminent verbal eruption, he took the offensive. “I don’t intend to make excuses for Jaye, Ms. Reed. So just tell me what she’s done now.”
She recoiled. “Excuse me?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “What’s Jaye done? Gone on musical strike? Bashed in an instrument? Bloodied a classmate’s nose?”
“What makes you think she’s done any of those things?”
“She’s no angel,” Connor said, wondering at the narrowing of her eyes. “And you wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t done something wrong.”
She placed her palms flat on his desk and leaned forward. She couldn’t have been much older than twenty-four or twenty-five, but projected an air of authority a senior statesman would envy. “The reason I’m here, Mr. Smith, is that you haven’t returned my calls.”
He quickly rationalized away his flash of guilt. She’d clearly stated the unsigned permission slip as her reason for calling.
“If you had phoned me about a problem with Jaye instead of about a field trip, I would have called back,” he said.
Her lips thinned and her low voice grew even lower. “The problem I’m having isn’t with Jaye. It’s with you.”
“Excuse me?”
She removed a sheet of paper from her handbag, unfolded it and slapped it down on his desk. He picked it up, recognizing it as the permission form he’d refused to sign. Somebody had forged his signature with a childish scrawl.
“Son of a bitch,” he said, then raised his eyes to where Abby Reed leaned over his desk. “So how much trouble is Jaye in?”
“You haven’t been listening, Mr. Smith,” she all but hissed. “You’re the one I’m having trouble with.”
“I didn’t forge a signature.”
“Jaye wouldn’t have felt the need to forge one either if you’d signed the form in the first place.”
“So you’re not here about the forgery?”
“I’m here to make you understand how badly Jaye wants to go on the field trip. She’s the only student in the class who doesn’t have permission.”
Connor blinked. Was Abby Reed for real? Had she actually stormed his office because he had the sense to realize his niece didn’t deserve to go on a field trip?
“You must know how disruptive Jaye has been since she started school this year,” he said slowly. “Who knows how she’d act on a field trip. She’s not what you’d call well-behaved.”
She straightened from the desk and placed her hands on her hips. She was dressed the way a teacher should dress, in a modest-length dark skirt and nondescript blouse, but he still noticed her gentle curves. Her voice wasn’t gentle. “Then you chaperone the trip and make sure she acts the way she’s supposed to.”
Connor blew out a breath. “Why would I reward her with a field trip? She’s flunking almost all her classes.”
“It’s hard to move to a new school in the middle of the year. And she’s not flunking strings.” Abby Reed seemed to stand up even straighter. Still, she wasn’t very tall. Five foot four tops, he guessed. “She’s one of the best students in the class.”
Connor wasn’t nearly as surprised as he’d been when Jaye had asked if he’d rent her a violin so she could take the strings class. He knew his niece practiced because he’d heard muffled musical sounds from behind the closed door in her bedroom. So far, she refused to play for him.
“I’m pleased to hear she’s doing well, but I still won’t sign the permission slip.”
She released a short, harsh breath. She seemed to be making an effort to hold on to her temper. She failed. “You are a piece of work.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re talking about a child who’s confused.”
“I know that she’s—”
“This is a child who needs to feel passionate about something. The field trip is to hear an ensemble of National Symphony Orchestra musicians. Do you know how inspiring that could be?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Jaye’s only started to learn and she already loves playing the violin. You’d recognize how much music could come to mean to her if you paid her any attention at all.”
He felt his blood pressure rise and his head pound, the dangerous signs of his own temper about to erupt. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know that Jaye goes to after-school care, which she hates, and that you don’t pick her up until it closes at six o’clock. And that half the time your girlfriend picks her up for you. A girlfriend who told her, incidentally, not to get too comfortable because she wouldn’t be staying with you for long.”
He breathed sharply through his nose. “I can’t believe Isabel said that.”
“How do you know what anybody says to Jaye when you’re never around her?”
“I’m a busy man, Ms. Reed,” he said, holding on, just barely, to his temper.
“Too busy to go on a field trip, obviously.”
“I have a demanding job,” Connor said in his defense.
“Your most important job is to take care of Jaye,” she said and his head spun. His job wasn’t the reason he’d refused to sign the slip.
“I am taking care of her.”
“Not well enough. You should understand that she needs extra attention after losing her mother.”
Connor might have asked how much she knew about Jaye’s situation if her insult hadn’t registered. “I’m doing the best I can,” he said tightly.
“Then help to nurture her interest in music. Jaye’s heading toward trouble. She needs something to care about. That something could be music.”
“I don’t disagree,” he said.
“Then sign the permission slip and chaperone the trip,” she challenged.
The concert was three days from now. That was a Friday, which was no less busy than any other weekday. He’d have to reschedule a business lunch and no fewer than three appointments.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Smith?” she asked. “Are you too busy for Jaye?”
The dare was in her stance as well as her eyes. Somehow he’d failed to convey that he was a well-meaning uncle doing the best he could for a child he loved but hardly knew. He didn’t know why Abby Reed’s opinion mattered so much, but he hated that she thought so badly of him.
He picked up a pen, scribbled his name and handed her the permission slip. “Satisfied?”
She took it without the smile of triumph he’d expected.
“If I let myself become satisfied so easily, Mr. Smith, I hardly would have come to your office. The bus leaves Friday at nine-thirty sharp. Chaperones should arrive at nine-fifteen.”
Without another word, she swept out of the room. The quiet was absolute when she was gone, as though she’d taken all the life and energy of the day with her.
He sat stock still behind his desk, thinking about his jam-packed workweek.
Why, then, had he signed up to chaperone a field trip he hadn’t wanted Jaye to go on in the first place?

ISABEL PENNINGTON WAS a striking woman. Tall, dark and willowy with high cheekbones, an exotic slant to her eyes and a flawless complexion, she’d modeled extensively in her teens and early twenties before opening a boutique in Georgetown.
Connor had started dating her after she’d hired him to build her stock portfolio. In the nine months since then, he’d never seen her look anything but her best.
That included tonight. Despite the pout she wore, along with her beaded, curve-hugging designer dress, she still managed to look beautiful. “What do you mean you can’t go? We’ve been planning this for weeks.”
By this, she meant a two-hundred-dollar-a-plate dinner supporting the D.C. Professional Women’s Association at a venerable downtown hotel. She’d offered to swing by and pick Connor up since his place was en route to the hotel, and she now stood in the foyer of his town house.
She’d arrived at a bad time.
Thirty minutes after he’d told Jaye to pick up her dirty clothes, he’d found his niece lying on her bed listening to her CD player with the clothes still on the floor. She was testing him, he knew. The school guidance counselor had told him to choose his battles. He’d been considering whether this one was worth fighting when the doorbell rang.
“I’m sorry, Isabel.” Connor brought his focus back to her lovely pouting face. “My neighbor just called a few minutes ago to say she can’t babysit.”
“Can’t you call somebody else?” Her voice was persuasive, her smile coaxing. “I was really looking forward to tonight.”
He ran a hand over his smooth-shaven chin. He’d been getting ready for the benefit when he’d gotten the call from Mrs. Piper, a widow in her sixties who lived next door. “I don’t know anybody else to call. I’m lucky to have the one babysitter.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” Her lower lip thrust forward a fraction more. “Go to the dinner by myself?”
“Not if you don’t want to. I already paid for the dinners so we’re covered there. I was going to order out for Chinese for Jaye and me. You could join us.”
She ran a hand down the cloth of her expensive dress. “In this? I don’t think so. I’ll go to the benefit myself and take my chances that someone will want to have dinner with me.”
She knew very well she wouldn’t be dining alone and wanted Connor to know it, too. Wherever Isabel went, men followed. It was a fact of life he couldn’t get worked up about.
“Have a good time, then,” he said, without a touch of the jealousy he suspected she’d tried to arouse.
“Oh, believe me, I will. But before I go, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” She carefully and unnecessarily brushed her hair back from her face with long, slender fingers. He noticed that her nails were tipped with white in what looked like a fresh manicure. Abby Reed’s nails, he remembered, had been unpainted. “How much longer will you be taking care of Jaye?”
He shrugged. “Like I’ve told you before, I don’t know. It depends upon how long it takes Diana to get her act together.”
“What if she never gets it together?”
The question was one Connor hadn’t considered but supposed he should have thought about before now. Diana wasn’t a kid anymore. She was twenty-seven, past the age when he could chalk up her actions to immaturity.
“Then I’ll keep on taking care of Jaye. I’ll become her legal guardian or adopt her if I have to.”
“Are you serious?” Her voice turned disbelieving. “You’d raise somebody else’s child?”
“I’d raise my niece.”
“But why is she your responsibility? You have parents, Connor. Why can’t your mother take her? Or your father?”
He’d explained his family situation to Isabel before. He wasn’t about to do it again. “The best place for Jaye right now is with me.”
“I understand that, and I’m trying to be patient. But can’t you see what a strain this is putting on our relationship? We talked about living together, getting to know each other better, but how can we do that with your niece around?”
“I’m getting to know you better than I want to,” he said in a low voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He thought of Abby Reed standing in front of his desk, censure on her face. “Did you tell Jaye she wouldn’t be staying with me for much longer?”
“I thought I was doing her a favor,” she said, pasting on a look of innocence. “I never dreamed her stay here didn’t have an end date.”
Connor shook his head, wondering why he hadn’t picked up on this aspect of Isabel’s character before. Probably because he’d been so blown away by her good looks.
“Jaye can stay here as long as she needs to.” Connor crossed his arms over his chest, wondering what he’d ever seen in her. “You’re the one who should go.”
Her lovely eyes widened. “Are you breaking up with me?”
He didn’t need to think about his answer. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
Isabel even looked beautiful when her mouth thinned. “This is unbelievable. One day you’ll realize that you just threw away the best thing that ever happened to you.”
He let her have the last word. It was the least of his concerns. The angry click of her high heels on the hardwood of the foyer followed by the slam of the door echoed in his ears as he trekked upstairs to deal with Jaye and the pile of dirty clothes.
Isabel was wrong.
He’d never come to believe that a woman who couldn’t open her heart to an unhappy, displaced child was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
He was more likely to think of her as one of his many mistakes.

CHAPTER TWO
ABBY STOOD IN FRONT of the school bus, her arms crossed over her chest, the sole of her right shoe tapping on the pavement. All of her students and two of her three chaperones were on the bus, not so patiently waiting for her signal that they could leave.
She checked her watch, the face of which showed one minute before she’d told her third chaperone the bus was leaving. It was well past the time she’d instructed him to arrive.
Damn it. Where was that arrogant Connor Smith?
She had half a mind to hop on the bus and tell the driver to head out, but the other half warned her of the consequences.
The principal had made it crystal clear that Jaye Smith couldn’t attend the symphony unless Connor Smith chaperoned. If Connor didn’t show and she allowed Jaye to come along anyway, Abby would be in a world of trouble.
She had no intention of denying the child an opportunity to hear the symphony, but she’d prefer accomplishing that without jeopardizing her job.
She leafed through a folder, searching for the emergency care form on file for Jaye. Hopefully it would list a cell-phone number for Connor Smith.
Abby was pulling the form from the stack when a sleek silver sports car slid into the parking lot. She didn’t need to see the driver to know who was behind the wheel.
Blue Moon Elementary School was in Silver Spring, one of the priciest communities in prosperous Montgomery County. A fair number of well-to-do families sent their children through the excellent public-school system, but almost all of them drove sensible vehicles.
A Porsche 911 Turbo was not sensible, but then in her estimation neither was its driver.
She waited impatiently while he unfolded his long length from the car and walked unhurriedly to the bus with a limp so slight she wondered if she imagined it. Probably. He was so perfectly put together, he could have been plucked straight from an ad in a magazine aimed at the young, affluent professional.
She couldn’t recognize brand names but his dove-gray suit was expertly cut to flatter his tall, leanly muscular frame. His burgundy tie—silk, of course—perfectly complemented his dark gray shirt. His leather shoes were a tasteful cordovan.
The wind gently gusted through the parking lot, rustling his coffee-brown hair. It was skillfully cut, not too long, not too short. It looked just right, like the rest of him.
His handsome face—with the requisite square jaw, dark eyes spaced the perfect distance apart and sculpted cheekbones—split into a smile when he spotted her. As he got closer, it surprised her that his grin was slightly crooked and that his nose wasn’t entirely straight. She wasn’t about to give him points for his physical imperfections, though. Especially when they only served to make him more attractive.
“You’re late,” she said.
His smile disappeared, and a crease appeared between his brows. He looked down at his watch, which was probably a Rolex.
“It’s exactly nine-thirty,” he said as he reached her. She expected him to reek of expensive cologne but she smelled soap and warm male skin. “That’s right on time.”
“I told you the bus was leaving at nine-thirty,” she said. “Chaperones were supposed to arrive fifteen minutes ago.”
He shrugged. “As long as I’m not holding anybody up, I don’t see the problem.”
“Are we ready now, Miss Reed?” the bus driver called, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin. His name was Mr. Greeley, and he was a retiree who’d been married for thirty-five years. During the wait, he’d confided that his wife had urged him to apply to drive a bus three months into his retirement because she was tired of him following her around the house.
Abby swallowed the urge to argue with Connor Smith. Although she had a fiery temper, she could usually keep it under control, but this man had gotten under her skin and burrowed.
“We’re ready, Mr. Greeley,” she said.
Connor indicated the school-bus stairs with a sweep of his hand. “After you.”
She trudged up the stairs before he could do some other faux-gallant thing, like offer her a boost. The murmuring on the bus died down and the children, all of them fourth-and fifth-graders, gazed at her expectantly. She smiled at the sight of their eager young faces, her mood instantly brightening.
“Are you ready for some symphony?” she shouted, and at least half of them cheered. “Then let’s go.”
The bus driver chuckled as she settled into the seat behind him. “That was priceless, Miss Reed. You make going to the symphony sound as much fun as a football game.”
“That’s because it is,” she told him, then became aware of Connor hovering over her.
“Mind if I sit down? Jaye’s back there, but she didn’t save a place for me, and I don’t see any other spots.”
Before she could answer, he slid into the seat beside her. She scooted over, the side of her body slamming uncomfortably against the wall of the bus.
“I don’t know about the symphony beating out a good football game,” Mr. Greeley said conversationally, “especially if you drink a couple of beers while you’re watching.”
The bus pulled out of the parking lot onto the highway, and the children resumed their happy chatter. Abby preferred to believe they were in high spirits because they looked forward to the symphony, but realistically knew they’d celebrate any reason to get out of school.
The soft strains of Bach’s Fifth Sonata filled the bus. She’d asked Mr. Greeley to tune the radio to a classical music station before they left, but Bach didn’t have his usual calming effect on Abby. Not with Connor Smith sitting so close that their shoulders almost touched.
“I’m a football-and-beer guy myself,” he announced in a voice loud enough for both her and Mr. Greeley to hear.
She gazed at him, thinking she’d never seen a man who looked less like a beer drinker in her life. “Oh, yeah. Which brand?”
“I usually drink whatever’s on tap,” he said.
“Really? And here I would have guessed you drank a specialty brand from some microbrewery.”
“I’d guess that you drink milk.”
She frowned at him, and he smiled as though he’d gifted her with a compliment. She had a sneaking suspicion, though, that it had been backhanded.
She straightened her spine, annoyed at herself for letting Connor Smith get to her. Normally she’d be eagerly anticipating the performance. She’d attended the symphony countless times, but every time was a treat.
Music had been a major part of her life since her childhood when she’d found her grandmother’s violin and fallen in love hard and fast. Her cash-strapped mother, who was too sentimental to hock the instrument, couldn’t afford to get her private lessons.
So Abby had taught herself to play, filling the hours with music while her mother had worked two jobs and Drew had been off getting into mischief.
Abby’s love of music had turned out to be a godsend, getting her through her darkest days. There’d been a lot of them, none darker than when Drew had been accused of murder and subsequently convicted.
Abby supposed she should take the milk-drinker comment as a compliment, after all. Connor might not have issued it if he knew about her family.
“I like milk,” she said, hating the defensiveness that crept into her voice.
“And chaperones who arrive early.”
“Arriving fifteen minutes before the bus is scheduled to leave is not early. It’s on time.”
“You ever heard the one about time being money? Those fifteen minutes, which I spent getting a floor broker on the New York Stock Exchange to dump some shares, made my client a lot of it.”
“And yourself a healthy commission, I’m sure.”
He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s how I make my living.”
“Hey, you a stockbroker?” Mr. Greeley asked without taking his attention from the road.
“Sure am.”
“You any good?”
“Yes, I am,” he said.
She was prepared to erect another black mark against him for boasting but he didn’t sound like he was bragging. He sounded confident. Since she tried to instill that quality in her students every day, she couldn’t fault him for that.
“Maybe I can hire you to give me some financial advice,” Mr. Greeley said.
Abby waited for Connor to dissuade the bus driver of that notion. She’d seen his pricey office and doubted he catered to the common man.
“Be happy to,” he said instead. “Remind me to give you my business card later.”
He leaned back against the bus seat, looking completely relaxed. Abby felt herself vibrating with suppressed energy.
He tilted his head and gave her a lazy look. His eyes were hazel with little flecks of gold in the irises. He was clean shaven but she could tell he wouldn’t be for long, another hint of imperfection.
“I’m hoping you’re right about letting Jaye go on this field trip,” he said in a soft voice. “Because I’m still not sure it’s a good idea.”
“It is a good idea,” Abby said with the same confidence she’d displayed earlier.
She swiveled her head and located Jaye in the back of the bus. Because of her blond hair, the child was easy to spot. She sat perfectly still, giving the impression that she was all alone even though she was surrounded by classmates. They laughed and sang and talked, but Jaye didn’t seem to be part of any group.
Abby turned back around. “She’ll be just fine. You’ll see.”
She’d barely finished her sentence when a shrill, childish voice rang out. “Row, row, row your bus, gently down the stream. Throw your driver overboard and listen to him scream.”
Abby whipped her head around to locate the culprit but already knew who she’d find. Jaye Smith’s mouth formed a perfect O as she sang at the top of her pretty little head.

CONNOR NEVER TOOK PLEASURE in saying “I told you so,” so he kept quiet.
It was hardly Abby Reed’s fault that he’d caved in to her pressure to sign that permission slip, not when Connor had suspected his niece would create some sort of scene.
He could have stood his ground. He damn well should have. But he hadn’t, so now the bus was pulling up in front of the Kennedy Center at barely ten minutes before the performance was to begin.
It had taken a good fifteen minutes to deal with Jaye’s outburst. When Jaye wouldn’t stop singing, Mr. Greeley had pulled the bus over to the side of the road. She’d quieted quickly then, but had resisted Abby Reed’s order to trade seats with a student at the front of the bus. Jaye had only complied when Connor had insisted, but then it was Connor who’d ended up in the other student’s seat with Jaye sitting next to Abby.
Now it was up to Connor to see that Jaye suffered the consequences of her actions. When the bus stopped, he’d call a taxi and instruct the driver to drive them home. A girl who erupted into spontaneous song on the bus couldn’t be trusted not to do so at the symphony.
He made sure he got off the bus before Jaye, then put a restraining hand on the girl’s arm so she couldn’t lose herself among the crowd headed for the Kennedy Center.
“You’re not going anywhere, young lady,” he said.
She directed a mutinous glare at him but held her ground while her classmates disembarked. Abby was at the back of the group, organizing the students into a cohesive pack and issuing orders about walking in an orderly manner.
“Miss Reed,” he called, “can I have a word?”
Her eyes widened. “Now? We don’t have much time. The performance is starting soon.”
“This won’t take long,” Connor said.
She hesitated, casting a glance over her shoulder at the impatient group. But then she nodded to a stern-faced chaperone Connor had overheard say she was retired military.
“Mrs. Bradford, would you see to it that the group gets to the Concert Hall?” Abby asked. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”
“I’ve got it,” Mrs. Bradford said before assuming her position at the front of the class and issuing orders for one of the other chaperones to bring up the rear.
The group hurried off. Abby Reed, her foot tapping and her body coiled for flight, obviously longed to join them. She gazed at him expectantly. “What is it?”
“I’m calling a cab and heading home with Jaye.”
Abby’s expression fell, but Jaye was the one who exclaimed. “No!”
He directed a hard look at the child. “After that outburst on the bus, Jaye, you don’t deserve to see the performance.”
Jaye’s chin lifted, and her expression turned mutinous. “See if I care. It’s just a stupid concert.”
“Then you won’t mind missing it.”
“Why would I? Who cares about the stupid violin anyway?”
“Then it’s settled.” Connor switched his gaze to Abby. Her brows and the corners of her mouth were turned downward in a classic expression of disapproval. But what else was new? She’d disapproved of him from the first.
“Excuse us for a minute, Jaye,” she said.
She took Connor’s upper arm in a surprisingly firm grip and led him away from the defiant child. It was the first time she’d touched him, causing his awareness of her to heighten. She looked lovely in a simple slim-fitting navy skirt topped with a dark pink sweater that complemented her dark hair and creamy complexion. But her eyes were flinty.
“Let me guess,” he said on a sigh. “You don’t agree with me.”
“Normally I would agree that you shouldn’t award that kind of behavior,” she whispered, meeting his gaze head on, “but I’m afraid Jaye will never pick up her violin again if you take her home.”
“She’ll learn a lesson.”
“At what cost? You already know she’s not headed in the right direction. Weren’t you listening to me in your office? The violin could save her.” Her voice grew impassioned, her eyes shone, her hand on his arm tightened. “Kids like Jaye need to care about something. When their troubles get too big, they need something to bring them out of the darkness into the light. Music can do that. It lifts the spirit with its beauty. It makes the world seem like a better place.”
He stared at her, this attractive, accomplished young woman who seemed so very sure of herself. When she’d made a similar speech in his office, he’d thought she was talking only about Jaye. But now he was certain there was more to what she was saying. She had layers, and one of them had peeled away as she made a case for Jaye.
“Is that what music did for you?” he whispered. “Gave you a refuge from your troubles?”
A shutter closed over her face. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about Jaye.” She nodded toward his niece. “Punish her some other way,” she said in an urgent tone, “but don’t take the violin away from her.”
He glanced at Jaye. The girl’s small chin was still raised stubbornly, but she was blinking rapidly, as though fighting tears.
“If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss the start of the performance.” Abby leveled him with another of her challenging looks. “Are you and Jaye coming?”
She expected him to say no. He could see the resignation in her eyes, as though she believed he couldn’t possibly understand that nurturing Jaye’s love of music could benefit her.
“Yeah, we’re coming,” he said, enjoying her look of surprise. In a louder voice, he called to Jaye, “C’mon, Jaye. We don’t want to miss the beginning of the concert.”
The child’s defiant expression lifted, replaced by hope. “Do you mean I can go?”
“As long as you understand this is the last place you’ll be going all week. You’re grounded, young lady. You also have to sit next to me and promise to behave yourself.”
She seemed about to protest, but then nodded. Walking past Connor, Jaye told her teacher, “Thanks, Miss Reed.”
Abby smiled, transforming her face from merely attractive to beautiful. Connor wondered if she’d ever smile at him that way.
“You’re welcome,” she said and took the girl’s hand. “But now we have to dash if we’re going to make it on time.”
Connor followed them into the Kennedy Center as they hurried down the red carpet of the Hall of Nations past the walls draped with the colorful flags of foreign countries en route to the Concert Hall.
Before Abby had pleaded for Jaye outside the Kennedy Center, he’d thought of the teacher mainly as a nuisance to bear. But something had changed in that instant when she’d pleaded his niece’s case and he’d gotten an inadvertent glimpse into her soul.
This was a complicated woman, with hidden depths that made her the most interesting person he’d met in a very long time. The passion she could interject into a simple sentence got his juices flowing the way no woman had for as long as he could remember.
Somewhere along the line, the annoyance she’d inspired had turned to attraction. Abby Reed was somebody he’d very much like to know better. A hell of a lot better.

“THAT WAS TOTALLY AWESOME. Wasn’t that totally awesome, Miss Reed?”
Jaye Smith didn’t try to contain her excitement as the bus barreled away from the Kennedy Center north on New Hampshire Avenue toward Silver Spring.
“Totally awesome,” Abby agreed. The only thing that had prevented Abby from completely sharing in her enthusiasm had been the feel of Connor Smith’s eyes on her throughout the performance.
She’d ensured he didn’t sit next to her by positioning him at the flank of the group of students. But every time she’d turned her head, she’d caught him looking at her.
She wasn’t sure why she noticed. He was exactly the kind of man who didn’t interest her. Even though she gravitated toward the world of music, she wasn’t drawn to the sophisticated, moneyed sort of male who inhabited that world. The men she’d dated in the past had been simpler, the sort who took her to a pizza place for dinner and ordered beer.
Despite his earlier attempt on the bus to portray himself to Mr. Greeley as the common man, Connor Smith seemed like he’d order champagne. Probably at a five-star restaurant. He’d given in and allowed Jaye to come to the concert, but she had a dozen other reasons to dislike him. The way he put his work before his daughter, for one. He’d left the performance at one point to take a call. The phone hadn’t rung, but she’d seen him remove the slim device from the pocket of his suit jacket and check a number.
She turned her head. Connor was sitting two rows behind the seat she shared with Jaye on the opposite side of the aisle. Their eyes locked, and she quickly broke the contact.
“I’ll never be able to play like that.”
She transferred her full attention to the girl, dismayed at how quickly the excitement had leeched from her voice. “Why would you say that, Jaye?”
“Didn’t you hear them? They were totally awesome.”
“If you want it bad enough, you could be awesome, too.”
The eyes that raised to hers looked hopeful. “You really think so?”
“I really think so. But you’d have to put your mind to it and practice hard.”
The hope disappeared from Jaye’s face in another lightning-quick change of moods. “I’m not allowed to practice.”
“Oh, I can’t believe that,” Abby said. “I’ve never heard of a parent who didn’t encourage their child to practice.”
“Mine doesn’t.” Jaye’s mouth set in an obstinate line. “And he was really mad about me singing on the bus. He says he’s going to punish me. He’ll probably take away my violin.”
“He won’t do that, Jaye.”
“How do you know?”
Abby hesitated. “I’ve talked to him. He seems like a reasonable man.”
“He locks me in my room without supper,” she announced. “And he makes me go to sleep at seven o’clock.”
Jaye’s pronouncements reeked of exaggeration, however tempted Abby was to believe the worst of Connor Smith. By the same token, Abby could tell that father and daughter were not as close as they should be. That was evident in the rebellious slant of Jaye’s mouth.
She tried to put herself in Jaye’s position. After all, she’d grown up without a parent, too. But in Abby’s case, that parent had been her father and he’d been absent by choice. It was far worse to be forced to deal with the death of a mother. Especially at Jaye’s young age.
She was no guidance counselor, but she longed to help the girl. She couldn’t do that without more information. All Jaye had told her so far was that her mother had succumbed to cancer. “How long has your mother been gone?”
Jaye sniffed. “About a month.”
Abby bit her lip. She’d known the loss had been recent but hadn’t realized how recent. “How long had it been before then that you’d seen your father?”
“A long time,” Jaye said. “Years.”
“One or two years?” Abby pressed.
“More.” Jaye turned her face away and stared out the bus window. They were passing through a particularly lovely section of northwest D.C. Rock Creek Park was immediately to the west, and large colonial and Tudor-style houses lined the street, their lawns losing the dullness of winter and starting to turn a richer shade of green. Abby doubted Jaye saw any of it. “Mom and I lived in Tennessee.”
Physical distance, in Abby’s opinion, was no reason to keep emotionally distant from a child. Especially when it was your own. But she was jumping to conclusions without all the facts. She didn’t know for certain that Connor Smith hadn’t kept in touch with his daughter.
“It must have been tough living so far away from your father,” she said, leading into her question as tactfully as she could. “It’s a good thing for telephones.”
“He never called me,” Jaye muttered, her face still turned to the window.
Abby’s estimation of Connor plummeted, but then she reminded herself that he was trying to do right by Jaye now. Whatever his sins of the past, he had an opportunity to atone for them.
“He’s here now, Jaye.” She tried to dredge up something encouraging to say. “He probably wants to make up for lost time.”
Jaye’s head shook violently back and forth. Her shoulders trembled, as though she were fighting tears.
Abby laid a hand on her arm, unsure of what she’d said wrong. “What is it, honey?”
Jaye looked at her then, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “My dad doesn’t want to make up for lost time. He doesn’t want me at all.”
Emotion clogged Abby’s throat, making it tough to speak. She’d run out of words anyway, not that anything she’d said so far had made Jaye feel the slightest bit better.
The cheerful chatter of the children behind them contrasted vividly with the despair on Jaye’s face. Abby stroked the girl’s arm as resentment built inside her toward Connor Smith.
She knew his type all too well.
Her father hadn’t wanted her, either.

CHAPTER THREE
WHEN CONNOR SMITH MADE UP his mind to do something, he followed through. The practice had served him well both in business and in his personal life.
As he’d listened to the symphony perform in the gilded Concert Hall, somewhere between the bull-fighter theme from Bizet’s Carmen and the finale from Rossini’s William Tell Overture, he’d set his mind on getting to know Abby Reed better.
His venue of choice would have been a quiet dinner for two at his town house, but with the addition of a nine-year-old, his home was no longer so private.
When he’d caught Abby peeking looks at him during the concert, he thought that accomplishing his mission wouldn’t be difficult. But something imperceptible had changed since the concert’s end, because the looks she’d stolen on the bus seemed more like glares.
The bus had arrived at Blue Moon Elementary five minutes ago. An hour remained in the school day, so Abby had already sent the protesting students back to their classes. Connor had called a goodbye to Jaye, but she’d given him her back. Neither of them, it seemed, looked forward to the punishment he’d mete out tonight.
He waited for the ex-military chaperone to finish telling Abby how much she’d enjoyed the field trip before he approached Abby, who was heading for the brightly colored main hall of the school. “Miss Reed, can I talk to you for a minute?”
He thought she might ignore him and keep on walking, but then she turned. It was a windy day, and her short dark hair had gotten slightly tousled in the brief walk from the bus to the school. The appealing disarray should have made her seem more approachable, but he read reluctance in her stance. “What is it, Mr. Smith?”
It had been a long time since he’d been so nervous at the prospect of asking out a woman. He cleared his throat, thinking it best if he eased into the subject. “You were right about letting Jaye stay to hear the concert. I could tell she was enraptured.”
He sensed some of the tension leaving her body and imagined she looked a fraction more relaxed.
“She was. You should look into getting her private lessons.” Her gaze sharpened. “You do let her practice, don’t you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
She hesitated, then said, “No reason. As I was saying, extra lessons would help her. There’s only so much I can teach her when she’s part of a group. If you’re interested, I have a sheet with names and phone numbers of private teachers that I’ll send home with her.”
“That’d be great.”
“Fine.” She seemed to think the conversation was over and started to turn away.
“But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”
She regarded him so coolly, it felt as if the temperature in the elementary school had dropped. Now was probably not the optimum time for what he had in mind, but he wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
One of the inspirational quotes J.D. used to spout during football season sprang to mind. The kid had a ton of them, all meant to motivate himself to become the best athlete he could be. They’d worked, too. J. D. Smith had been well on the road to athletic glory before that son of a bitch had robbed him of his life. Biting back the familiar rush of anger, Connor thrust his brother from his mind and concentrated on the saying.
“I’ll get straight to the point. Would you have dinner with me this weekend?”
If he’d asked if she’d cut off her right arm and give it to him, she couldn’t have looked more appalled. “No.”
He rocked back on his heels, surprised at the firmness of her response. He’d been refused before, but never so baldly. But maybe he’d made a mistake. Once again he checked her left ring finger. Yes, it was still bare.
“Are you involved with someone else?” he asked.
“No. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my classroom.”
She took two steps before Connor recovered enough to find his voice. “Wait.”
Reluctance written plainly on her face, she turned back to him. “What’s the matter, Mr. Smith, aren’t you used to being turned down?”
“It’s not that. It’s the way you did it.” He scratched his chin. “You could have softened the blow, said something about how it’s against your policy to date relatives of students.”
“I don’t have a dating policy,” she said. “But if it bothers you that much, let me rephrase my answer. Thank you for the invitation, but no thank you.”
He frowned. “If I’ve done something to offend you, I’d sure like to know what it was.”
“You mean besides not signing the permission slip until I came to your office and then showing up late for the bus?”
He was about to point out that technically he hadn’t been late, but they’d already covered that ground. “Besides that.”
Her chest rose, then fell. Clearly she wanted to be rid of him. “Jaye’s told me some things.”
“What things?” he pressed.
“I know you hadn’t seen her in years until recently.”
“That’s right,” he said slowly, wondering where she was going with this.
“And I know you felt like you had to take her in.”
“That’s right, too,” he said. “The alternative was foster care, and I couldn’t let that happen.”
“Am I supposed to give you points for that?”
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“It was your responsibility to take her in after her mother died. You—”
“Hold on a minute,” he interrupted, trying to make sense of her tirade. “Jaye’s mother isn’t dead.”
“But Jaye said…” Abby’s voice trailed off, and her brow knotted before understanding dawned on her face. “I take it her mother never had cancer, either?”
“No cancer, as far as I know. But then I don’t know a lot about the situation. She and Jaye showed up at my place one night a month or so ago. The next morning, Diana was gone.”
“She just left Jaye without a word?”
“Without a word to Jaye. She left a note for me, saying she needed time to work things out and get her head on straight.”
Abby shook her own head. She clearly didn’t understand what would drive a mother to abandon her child, but neither did Connor. “No wonder Jaye’s having such a tough time.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. I’m doing the best I can, but it doesn’t seem to be enough.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed that you’re now doing what you should have been doing all along?” Her voice held an edge.
“I’m not trying to impress anybody.” He felt as though he were defending himself, but he wasn’t sure for what. “Jaye’s family. It’s my responsibility to help her out.”
“It was your responsibility to work harder at keeping in contact with her,” she snapped.
He cocked his head, wondering at the cause of the unfriendly glint in her eyes. “Do you have a problem with me?”
“Yes, I do,” she retorted. “Don’t you think Jaye knows that you don’t really want her? That’s a hard thing for any daughter to swallow about her father.”
Connor gaped at her as her resentment toward him finally made sense.
“Jaye’s not my daughter,” he said. “She’s my niece.”

ABBY WAS SURE SHE’D BEEN struck speechless before, but couldn’t remember when.
She stared at Connor, suddenly viewing him in a brand-new light. He wasn’t a deadbeat dad. He was a bachelor uncle who’d taken in a young girl who had nowhere else to go.
“If you’re not her father,” she said slowly, “where is he?”
“Diana—that’s my sister—doesn’t know who Jaye’s father is. She had Jaye when she was seventeen. Rumor was that most of the boys in town had Diana before that.”
He related his sister’s history in a flat voice Abby suspected hid a wealth of emotion.
“After she got pregnant, Diana went to stay with our great-aunt near Roanoke. She lived there until Aunt Aggie died about five years ago. Then she just took off with Jaye. She’d call from time to time to say she was okay but we didn’t know where they were until last month.”
“When they showed up on your doorstep,” Abby finished.
He nodded mutely.
“But why leave Jaye with you? Why not leave her with your mother?” Something occurred to her. “Your mother is alive, isn’t she?”
“Very much alive,” Connor assured her, “but she and Diana, they clash. I guess Diana thought I was the best choice.”
The next time Abby was alone with Jaye, she’d take her to task for the outrageous lies she’d told about her uncle and mother. But tattling on the girl now would be like heaping kindling onto a fire. Jaye was already in enough trouble with Connor for her behavior on the bus.
Abby bit down on her lower lip. She’d been so off the mark that she was tempted to find the nearest desk so she could crawl under it. But that wasn’t the way she lived her life. She owned up to her mistakes.
“I owe you an apology,” she said and gulped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”
He nodded, keeping his eyes on her face. “I know of a way you can make it up to me.”
She felt her heart slamming against her chest wall. He couldn’t possibly mean to renew his dinner invitation, could he? Not after she’d unfairly accused him of neglecting a daughter he didn’t even have?
“You can give Jaye private lessons,” he said. “You are one of the teachers on the list, right?”
Disappointment shot through her that he hadn’t asked her out again, followed by annoyance at herself. High-powered stockbrokers who worked long hours weren’t her type, even if they did take responsibility for their nieces.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m on the list.”
“Great,” he said. “How does Saturday morning sound?”
“Just in case my neighbors want to sleep in on weekends, I don’t teach on Saturday mornings. I don’t take students late on weeknights, either. I live in a duplex converted into apartments. I’ve managed to schedule all my students Monday through Thursday before six o’clock.”
He grimaced. “I couldn’t get Jaye to you until six at the earliest.”
She did some quick mental calculations. Most of her neighbors didn’t arrive home from work until after seven. In the two years she’d taught private lessons and practiced her own music, they’d yet to complain that they could hear her through their shared walls. “I can work with that.”
“Then we have a deal. When you send home that list, write down whatever night fits into your schedule.”
“Okay,” she said.
He nodded in agreement. It appeared as though he might say something else, but then he turned and walked away. She stared after him, rationalizing away the lingering disappointment.
She’d treated him unfairly so it was only logical for her to make amends. She’d done that by agreeing to adjust her teaching schedule in order to give Jaye private lessons.
Wishing he’d given her a second chance to accept a dinner date that would probably have turned out badly did absolutely no good. No good at all.

ABBY WATCHED THE MINUTE HAND on the clock in her living room tick by until it reached six-thirty, a half hour past when Connor was supposed to have arrived with Jaye for her first private lesson.
She picked up her own violin and played a few notes before becoming distracted. Had Jaye and her uncle forgotten? That seemed unlikely considering the talk Abby had with Jaye after strings class that afternoon. Abby had made it clear that she wouldn’t stand being lied to, nor would she keep any future misbehavior from Connor. Jaye had nodded mutely, then asked Abby not to change her mind about giving the private lessons. So then where were they?
Abby’s duplex apartment in Wheaton, a less attractive but more affordable area than Silver Spring, was about five miles and fifteen minutes north of the elementary school on a good day. Had Connor and Jaye gotten caught in unexpectedly heavy rush-hour traffic? If so, why hadn’t they called? And why was she so anxious at the prospect of seeing Connor again that she kept checking the front window every five minutes?
She parted the mini blinds, spotted the silver Porsche in front of her duplex and jumped back so they wouldn’t see her peering out at them. When the doorbell rang, she made herself wait a good ten seconds before pulling open the door.
Jaye stood on the stoop in front of Connor, her lower lip trembling and her face streaked with tears. Forgetting her anxiety at seeing Connor, Abby quickly ushered the nine-year-old inside. “Jaye, honey, what’s wrong?”
Jaye dipped her blond head, her thin shoulders shaking. Abby’s eyes raised to Connor. He was dressed in an expensive tailored suit, the same way he’d been the other times she’d seen him, but the similarities ended there.
His hair was disheveled, as though he’d been running his fingers through it. Smudges appeared under his eyes, and he seemed at a loss.
“She’s been like this since I picked her up at the school,” he explained. “Granted I was a little late—”
“Fifteen minutes late,” Jaye interjected.
Connor finished the sentence at the same time. “But it was only fifteen minutes.”
“I was the last one there,” Jaye said unhappily.
Abby rubbed the girl’s shoulder, silently conveying that she understood. She had experience dealing with children of this age. Promptness might not seem like that big of a deal, but every minute counted when a child was waiting to be picked up.
Especially a child whose mother had left her and hadn’t come back. Couldn’t Connor see that?
“I’m sure your uncle didn’t mean to be late, Jaye,” Abby told the girl in a soothing voice.
“He’s late all the time,” Jaye said.
“Some of the time,” Connor clarified.
“And now we’re late for the lesson.” Jaye glanced at the clock, which showed the time at twenty-five minutes before seven. “There’s only ten minutes left.”
“I don’t usually do this.” Abby never did this. “But you’re my last lesson of the day. How about we go until seven-twenty. That way, you won’t miss a minute.”
Jaye’s tears stopped flowing. “Really? You’d do that?”
“I most certainly will. Go over to the sofa and take your instrument out of the case. Will you do that, Jaye?”
“Sure,” she said and headed away from them.
“Thanks,” Connor said. “You’re saving my life.”
He looked so relieved that she nearly let him off the hook but realized she couldn’t. For Jaye’s sake. “This is a one-time thing,” she said quietly. “From now on, you need to get her here on time.”
He swiped a hand over his brow and lowered his own voice. “I don’t have the kind of job where it’s that easy to leave at a prearranged time. Clients call. They’re paying me for my time. I can’t just hang up on them.”
“You’re going to have to figure something out,” she said.
“I know that. I just don’t know what it’s going to be.”
His vulnerability touched a chord deep inside her. “Maybe we can talk about it later. But for now, Jaye’s waiting for her lesson. You can pick her up at about twenty after seven.”
“Would it be okay if I stuck around?” He lifted his portable computer. “I have a couple things I need to check online. Any flat surface will do. Your kitchen table would be great.”
She glanced at the still-sniffling Jaye. She sensed that something more serious than Connor showing up late was bothering her. Jaye would never reveal what it was if she thought her uncle could overhear.
“I find that my students do better without their parents—or in this case, their uncle—in the room.” She nodded toward the door. “Seven-twenty.”
She expected him to argue, but instead he asked, “Any suggestions on a place I could go for forty-five minutes?”
“There’s a public library a half mile down the road. It has lots of cubicles, all with flat surfaces.”
He tipped a nonexistent hat to her, said goodbye to a nonresponsive Jaye and left. Pasting a smile on her face, Abby turned to the girl. “Are you ready for your lesson?”
Jaye nodded, but made no move to pick up her violin from the open case. Abby lifted the delicate instrument, turning it over while she examined it. It was a rental from a popular music store, adequate for a beginner but not of the caliber Abby suggested for her more serious students. For now, though, it would do.
She handed the violin to Jaye. The girl took it but didn’t lift the instrument onto her shoulder the way Abby had taught her in class.
“What’s wrong, Jaye?”
“I already told you. Connor was late picking me up.” Jaye’s lower lip thrust forward, but the way it trembled betrayed that something more serious than her uncle’s tardiness distressed her.
“Okay,” Abby said, sensing that Jaye would clam up if she tried to force a confidence. “If that’s all it is, then let’s start the lesson.”
Jaye nodded, but her violin remained at her side. Staring at a point on the carpet, she said, “Remember when I told you my mother was dead? Well, I said that because I wish she was dead.”
Abby swallowed a cry of dismay and forced herself to speak in gentle, even tones. “You don’t mean that, honey. Whatever your mother’s done, she’s still your mother.”
“I hate her.” Jaye sniffed but didn’t cry. “She left me with Uncle Connor.”
“Your uncle seems okay to me.”
She shrugged. “He is okay. But he doesn’t have time for me. He doesn’t pick me up from school till six o’clock and half the time he’s late.”
“He has to work, Jaye.” Since Abby had taken Connor to task for putting in too much time at the office, she found it surreal that she was sticking up for him. “I imagine he’s doing the best he can. He didn’t plan on you coming to live with him.”
“He doesn’t want me any more than my mom does.”
Although Connor’s life would obviously be easier if his niece hadn’t come to live with him. Abby couldn’t let the girl paint him with such a negative brush stroke. “He’s your uncle, Jaye. I’m sure he loves you.”
“Then why can’t I come home after school and be with him?”
“I told you, Jaye. He has to work. And you’re not old enough to stay home alone.”
“I’m too old to hang out with the babies at day care.”
“Surely there are other children your age there.”
“They don’t want me there. They’re all boys. They barely talk to me. And they won’t let me play with them.”
Abby swallowed a sigh because she well understood how it felt not to be wanted. Jaye’s situation was doubly difficult. Not only had her mother left her, she was meeting with rejection in every direction she turned. “Have you talked to your uncle about how much you dislike the school-based day care?”
She nodded. “He says it’s the best he can do and that I need to stick it out.”
Abby had a sense that she’d regret her next question, but couldn’t keep from asking it. “I can’t promise anything but would you like me to talk to him for you?”
Jaye nodded eagerly, making Abby feel marginally less apprehensive about the offer. “Oh, yes, please, Miss Reed.”
Abby smiled at her. “When we’re not at school, you can call me Abby.”
Jaye smiled back. “Okay, Abby.”
“Now are you ready for the lesson?”
Jaye nodded.
“Settle the instrument into playing position and let’s do a D scale. Remember to keep your fingers curved and the bow flat on the strings.”
Her lower lip thrust forward in concentration, Jaye did exactly as she was told.
For the next forty-five minutes, Abby tried to focus on the techniques involved in giving a student her first lesson. But every time Jaye played a scale, Abby’s mind wandered to Connor and the conversation she’d promised to have with him.
She wasn’t sure why, but she had the strong impression it wouldn’t go her way.

CONNOR STOOD OUTSIDE THE DOOR of Abby’s duplex a few minutes before he was due to pick up Jaye, listening to the sounds of his niece playing the violin.
She wasn’t anywhere close to a performer’s level of proficiency, but he recognized that she was playing a song.
He felt an odd pride that Jaye could coax any sound at all from the instrument, let alone identifiable notes. Maybe Abby was right. Maybe she did have a talent for the thing.
Not wanting to interrupt the lesson, he tried the door and found it unlocked. He slipped inside, making a mental note to tell Abby that she really should use her dead bolt. Jaye stood in front of a music stand, her concentration fully engaged. Abby was off to one side, looking over her shoulder.
Her eyes met his and held. The air between them seemed to charge with awareness, but then she put a finger to her lips. Maybe he’d only imagined the connection because he wanted it to be there. By adamantly refusing his dinner invitation, she certainly hadn’t given him any reason for hope. But hope he did.
Jaye finished the song, a small smile of triumph on her lips. It faded when she caught sight of Connor.
“That was good, Jaye,” Connor said, but the girl didn’t respond. He stifled a groan. What was it going to take for him to build a relationship with her?
“Your uncle’s right. It was good,” Abby told the girl. “You’ll be graduating to more difficult songs before you know it. Just remember to practice at least twenty minutes every day so you don’t forget what we went over.”
“I always practice more than that.”
“That’s great. You know what they say. Practice makes…”
“Perfect,” the two of them said in unison, then laughed.
When Jaye started to pack up, Abby came directly toward him. His pulse sped up until he realized she only meant to hand him a sheet of paper.
“I wrote down the name of a beginning violin book I’d like you to buy before the next lesson. Any of the area music stores should have it in stock.”
“I’ll do it,” he promised, even as he wondered when he’d have the time.
She’d started to retreat when Jaye stopped her with a loud whisper. “Aren’t you going to ask him?”
“Ask me what?” he said.
“Can I use the bathroom, Abby?” Jaye said before she could answer. It didn’t escape Connor’s notice that she used her teacher’s first name, which Abby must have authorized. Good. The child needed a female role model in her life, and Abby fit the bill. The more comfortable Jaye felt around her, the better.
“Sure. It’s upstairs, first door on the right.” Abby waited until the girl was halfway up the stairs before turning to him. “Jaye wants me to talk to you about her after-school care.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why can’t she talk to me about it herself?”
Abby shrugged. “I get the impression she thinks you’ll pay more attention if it comes from me.”
He frowned, troubled by the notion that Jaye thought he wasn’t paying enough attention to her. He knew firsthand how that could undermine a child’s confidence. Connor had grown up in the shadow of a younger brother so athletically gifted he’d stolen the spotlight whenever he’d taken a field or a court.
Their parents had dwelled so heavily on J.D.’s accomplishments that it often seemed as though they had little time left for him and Diana. After J.D. had died, they’d become even more hyper-focused on him. Not that Connor had resented his brother for any of that. He’d loved J.D., too. Everybody had.
“What about Jaye’s after-school care?” he asked Abby.
“She hates it.”
He sighed because he’d expected the answer. “I’m not completely oblivious to what’s going on with her. One of the teachers there told me she wasn’t mixing well with the other students.”
“Then you won’t be surprised that she wants you to make other arrangements for her.”
“I’m ahead of you on that. I already got the names of the day-care centers in the area that can pick her up after school.”
“That’s great.”
“No, it’s not. All of them were full. Since I can’t get off work at three o’clock every day, she’s stuck. I don’t have anywhere else for her to go.”
“Maybe the mother of one of her friends will take her.”
“As far as I know, she hasn’t made any real friends.” He thought of the way Jaye had smiled at Abby and called her by her first name. “Except you.”
“Unfortunately that also doesn’t help you,” she said, “because I can’t take her.”
“Why not?” Now that the solution had occurred to him, it seemed perfect. “I’d pay you.”
“It’s not a matter of money. I give private lessons after school four days a week. A child would be bored to tears.”
“Not a child who loves music,” he argued.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” Abby said slowly.
“You don’t want me, either, do you, Abby?” The small voice came from the staircase. Jaye sat frozen in place on one of the middle steps, looking small and vulnerable. And very, very sad.
“It’s not that, honey,” Abby tried to reassure her. “I’m just afraid you wouldn’t like being here while I was giving lessons.”
The misery in Jaye’s expression ebbed, but only slightly. “I wouldn’t be bored. I could watch TV or play games on your computer.”
“Or, better yet, read and do homework,” Connor added. To Abby, he said, “What do you say? Are you willing to give it a shot?”
A part of him knew he was being unfair to Abby by putting her on the spot, but a bigger part wanted her to agree. Because then not only would Jaye get to see Abby more often, he would, too.
Jaye held her body tautly, with her shoulders hunched, as though expecting a blow. It couldn’t be more clear that she expected to be rejected.
Abby realized it, too. Connor could tell by the way her mouth softened while she regarded the child.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s give it a try.”
“Do you mean it?” Jaye’s voice held a mixture of hope and suspicion.
“I mean it,” Abby said. “I’m only at your school one day a week, but the rest of the time I’m across the street at the middle school. I’ll collect you at three and bring you here. Your uncle can pick you up when he gets off work.”
Jaye’s face creased into a rare smile. She jumped to her feet and scampered the rest of the way down the stairs, not stopping until she flung her arms around Abby’s waist.
Abby stroked the girl’s hair, exchanging a look with Connor above Jaye’s head.
He smiled at her, more sure than ever that she was a woman he wanted in both of their lives.

CHAPTER FOUR
JAYE HELD THE EMPTY BOX of brownie mix, little lines of concentration appearing on her forehead as she read the directions on the back. “It says we should add two eggs.”
Abby opened the refrigerator door, retrieved the eggs from the tray and put them down on the counter next to the mixing bowl. “You know how to crack them, right?”
The girl’s eyes rounded. “Of course. I added the right amount of oil and water, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. In fact, you’re a natural in the kitchen. Want to tell me how you got to be that way?”
“My mom taught me some stuff,” Jaye mumbled.
Abby would have liked to pursue the subject, but the girl picked up an egg and kept talking.
“You tap gently on the edge of the bowl,” Jaye said, explaining to Abby the fine points of cracking an egg. The girl’s tongue stuck out slightly as she focused on the task. “Then you let the egg guts slide inside it.”
“Egg guts,” Abby repeated. “You do have a way with words as well as brownies.”
Jaye giggled, something that had been happening more as the first week of their new arrangement wore on. It was Friday, the fifth day they’d been together but the only one in which Abby hadn’t taught lessons.
So far, the arrangement had worked far better than Abby had expected. Because of Jaye’s penchant for attracting attention, she’d feared that the girl would disrupt her lessons.
But Jaye proved adept at entertaining herself. She usually chose to stay in the room where Abby gave lessons, but even that caused no problems.
Connor Smith was the one causing a problem.
He was just so…sexy.
Abby wasn’t sure when she’d started to associate that description with him, but now that she had she couldn’t get it out of her mind.
She noticed small things about him, such as the way he gave her his undivided attention, as though nothing were more important than what she had to say.
She found herself appreciating the simple act of breathing because of the clean, male way he smelled.
And his mouth… His mouth was sheer masculine perfection. More than once, she’d daydreamed about how it would feel to kiss him.
Not that kissing him would be smart, considering how she felt about his work-centered lifestyle.
Besides, despite his invitation to take her to dinner, which he hadn’t repeated, she was relatively certain he had a girlfriend. Relatively certain, but not positive.
“Should I pour the batter into the pan now?” Jaye asked. “I already sprayed it with cooking spray.”
Abby brought her attention back to the girl. “Go ahead.”
Jaye poured, assigning the task the same attention she’d given everything else. When she finished scraping the batter from the mixing bowl into the pan, she carefully set the pan into the preheated oven.
“One more hour,” Jaye announced.
Abby tilted her head quizzically. “Are you sure? I thought the brownies only took forty minutes to bake.”
“I meant one more hour until Uncle Connor comes to get me.” Jaye thrust out her lower lip. “I wish I could stay here with you tonight.”
“Your uncle hasn’t seen you much this week. I’m sure he wants to spend some time with you.”
Jaye made a face. “He’d probably rather go on a date.”
There couldn’t have been a more perfect opening to find out if Connor was involved with anyone. “Is your uncle still seeing that woman who used to pick you up from after-school care?”
Jaye made a face. “I didn’t like her. She was mean to me. She wanted me to move out so she could move in. But she’s gone.”
It was news to Abby that Connor had been dating someone seriously enough to contemplate living with her. It was probably also none of her business. Except now that she was spending so much time with Jaye, anything involving the girl was sort of her business. Or so she told herself.
“Is he dating anyone new?”
“I don’t think so.” Jaye pointed to the clock, which showed that it was nearly five o’clock. “Would it be okay if I watched Nickelodeon? There’s a funny show on at five o’clock that I like.”
“Go ahead,” Abby said.
Jaye was still watching television forty minutes later when the oven timer beeped, signaling that it was time to take the brownies out of the oven. Fifteen minutes after that, when they’d cooled enough for Abby to cut them, the television was still on.
The telephone rang. Half expecting it to be Connor saying he’d be late, Abby picked it up, ignoring the sudden racing of her heart.
“Hello.” Her voice sounded slightly breathless.
“Hey, girlfriend. What’s happening?”
Abby’s heartbeat returned to normal at the sound of her friend’s voice. Some years ago she’d met Rae Ann at a pottery-making class. In spite of the fun they’d had, making pottery hadn’t caught on with either of them, but their friendship had blossomed. “I’m baking brownies.”
“For a man?” Rae Ann asked.
Abby laughed. Rae Ann had a one-track mind. “For one of my students. What’s up?”
Abby cradled the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she cut the brownies.
“I called about tomorrow night. Did you line up a date yet?”
“I already told you, Rae Ann, I’ll come but I’m not bringing a man with me.”
“Oh, come on, Abby. We’re all bringing dates. That’s the entire point of getting together on a night we don’t usually meet. It’s supposed to be something different, something fun.”
Abby used a spatula to start transferring the brownies from the baking pan to a Tupperware container. “I can have plenty of fun without a man.”
Rae Ann sighed dramatically, and Abby imagined her rolling her eyes. “Listen to yourself, Abs. You might as well become a nun with an attitude like that.”
“You know I like men as much as any of you.”
“Then what’s your problem?”
Abby paused. “I don’t have anybody to ask.”
“Nonsense. Open your eyes and smell the testosterone. There are men everywhere. You can’t tell me that one of them doesn’t ring your bell.”
“Well,” Abby said slowly and licked her lips. She could hardly believe she was going to bare her soul to Rae Ann, not when she’d hardly admitted as much to herself. She could hear the television playing in the next room and figured it was safe to talk. “There is somebody.”
“Who?” Rae Ann demanded. “And when can I meet him?”
Abby smiled. “I didn’t say we were going out, Rae. I said I’m attracted to him.”
“You mean he gets you hot?”
“Okay. Yes. He gets me hot.”
“What does he look like?”
“Tall, dark and luscious. He has the most beautiful mouth God put on a man. I can’t look at it without fantasizing about kissing him.”
“How about his body?”
Abby put down the spatula, the brownies remaining in the pan forgotten. “I can’t say for sure because he’s always wearing too many damned clothes, but I’m betting there’s some prime beef under there.”
Rae erupted into laughter. “So who is this mystery man?”
“The uncle of one of my students. He’ll be by any minute to pick her up.” She lowered her voice. “I swear, Rae, lately when I see him, my heart races so fast my head can hardly keep up.”
“So why don’t you bring him?”
“Oh, I couldn’t. He’s the sophisticated type. He wouldn’t come with me to something like this.”
“Wanna bet?” asked a low-throated, masculine voice.
Abby’s eyes flew to the entrance of the kitchen, where Connor leaned negligently against the door frame.
She closed her eyes in mortification. What was he doing here on time? His usual modus operandi was to show up anywhere from ten to twenty minutes late, although he usually called to let her know when he wouldn’t be on time.
Something clanked, and it took her a moment to realize she’d dropped the phone. She heard Rae Ann’s panicked voice coming over the line. “Abs, what happened? Are you all right?”
Connor’s gorgeous mouth curved into a smile. Her heart raced, exactly the way she’d described to Rae Ann.
She bent to pick the phone off the floor. “Rae, I gotta go. I’ll call you back later.”
“But—”
Abby hung up, cutting off her friend. She wet her suddenly dry lips.
“Jaye let me in,” he explained.
“I figured that. Um, exactly how long ago was that? I mean, how long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to hear that you want to see what’s under my clothes.”
She felt her face flame. “I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about the uncle of one of my other students,” she said with as much haughtiness as she could muster.
“Okay. But in case you were talking about me, in the spirit of fairness, I’m going on record as saying I’d like to see what’s under your clothes, too.”

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