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Desperately Seeking Daddy
Arlene James
Fabulous FathersWANTED: HUSBAND TO RESCUE HARRIED MOMShe had quit high school to get married and raise a family. But Heller Moore's dreams didn't exactly come true. Divorced and working two jobs to keep up the payments on her trailer home, the single mom hardly had any time to spend with her kids.ENTER ONE DASHING BACHELORIn less than a month Jackson Tyler charmed her cynical children and told her no-good ex-husband to wise up. But though Heller was drawn to this Prince Charming, dare she trust in happily ever after?He's the FABULOUS FATHER of her kids' dreams–and the husband of hers!



Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u2cb34610-0d50-5c42-908c-ff330b4735cb)
Excerpt (#u7538641d-c594-52c9-beff-aa8f110b8b74)
Dear Reader (#u10c2f22b-a7c3-58c7-ba63-874c2d96aa90)
Title Page (#ufbf831a3-54cc-56eb-980b-572df87a2c0d)
About the Author (#u74e60928-b23b-5096-bc13-fd9dda277717)
Chapter One (#u735c0e7a-a348-55c9-865d-5c3318d299c0)
Chapter Two (#u41d1c5c2-bdaa-5a79-b389-a5cfa26d59fc)
Chapter Three (#u667b05e0-2a95-5969-b26d-2711c4c9971b)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)



“You must think I’m an awful mother,”
she said, lifting tearful eyes.

To his surprise, he thought Heller Moore was utterly beguiling, beautiful and brave. “Uh, no. No, it’s obvious you’re doing the best you can.”

She smiled at Jack. “Working two jobs and being a mom to three kids is definitely all I can handle right now. Problem is, I have to try to be a dad, too.”

He said it before he thought. “Then maybe your son was right to advertise for a father. I—I mean, that’s one thing the boy does understand, that you can’t do it by yourself. Otherwise he wouldn’t be trying to find you a husband and we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

Heller studied him pointedly for a few moments and said, “I know why I’m here, but I’m not quite certain why you are.”

And then he surprised them both by replying, “Maybe I mean to apply for the position.”
Dear Reader,

In Arlene James’s Desperately Seeking Daddy, a harried, single working mom of three feels like Cinderella at the ball when Jack Tyler comes into her life. He wins over her kids, charms her mother and sets straight her grumpy boss. He’s the FABULOUS FATHER of her kids’ dreams—and the husband of hers!
Although the BUNDLE OF JOY in Amelia Varden’s arms is not her natural child, she’s loved the baby boy from birth. And now one man has come to claim her son—and her heart—in reader favorite Elizabeth August’s The Rancher and the Baby.
Won’t You Be My Husband? begins Linda Varner’s trilogy HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS, in which a woman ends up engaged to be married after a ten-minute reunion with a bad-boy hunk!
What’s a smitten bookkeeper to do when her gorgeous boss asks her to be his bride—even for convenience? Run down the aisle!…in DeAnna Talcott’s The Bachelor and the Bassinet.
In Pat Montana’s Storybook Bride, tight-lipped rancher Kody Sanville’s been called a half-breed his whole life and doesn’t believe in storybook anything. So why can’t he stop dreaming of being loved by Becca Covington?
Suzanne McMinn makes her debut with Make Room for Mommy, in which a single woman with motherhood and marriage on her mind falls for a single dad who isn’t at all interested in saying “I do”…or so he thinks!
From classic love stories, to romantic comedies to emotional heart tuggers, Silhouette Romance offers six wonderful new novels each month by six talented authors. I hope you enjoy all six books this month—and every month.

Regards,
Melissa Senate,
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Desperately Seeking Daddy
Arlene James


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

ARLENE JAMES
grew up in Oklahoma and has lived all over the South. In 1976 she married “the most romantic man in the world.” The author enjoys traveling with her husband, but writing has always been her chief pastime.

Chapter One (#ulink_fefae4b3-a9ba-5d93-8ef5-c031a720a488)
It was as common a sight to Jackson Tyler as his own face in the mirror—a crayon portrait of some small artist’s favorite subject on notebook paper. In his five years as a primary and elementary school principal, he had seen thousands of such. What set apart this slightly lopsided rendition was its location. It had been pinned—not upon some lightly scuffed school corridor wall—but at waist height amid the jumble of the large, square, community bulletin board mounted upon the brick facade of the Lake City Grocery. Curious at seeing the familiar in such an unexpected place, Jack shifted the sack of groceries he’d just purchased into a more comfortable position and strolled over for a closer look. Ignoring the protest of his left knee, he crouched down to study this young person’s artwork.
Despite the awkward positioning of the drawing in relation to the edges of the paper, it was, without question, a masterpiece, an unusually piquant rendition of, Jack felt certain, a real woman’s face, a woman with enormous blue eyes that tilted upward at the outer edges, a rather pointed chin, and a great deal of long, light brown hair with bangs that covered her eyebrows. Interesting. Even given the young artist’s above-average expertise, Jack’s experienced eye told him he was looking at the work of a child on the underside of nine, a conclusion bolstered by the youngster’s deficiency in spelling. Jack first read the left-handed block printing with a chuckle, then sobered as the implications sunk in.

HUSBAN WANTED
FOR PRETTY LADY WITH 3 GOOD CHIDREN
WORKING TO MUCH
NICE SMART TIRD
CALL 555-1118
ASK FOR CODY

Some sensitive little person had been moved by a working mother’s exhaustion to advertise for aid in the form of a husband. Jack sensed a child in distress and a mother who was going to be very embarrassed.
Oddly disturbed, he took the “ad” from the bulletin board, slipped it into his grocery sack, pushed up to his full, considerable height and walked rapidly across the parking lot to deposit all in the back seat of his sensible, late-model sedan. He hoped for both child’s and mother’s sakes that no one else had bothered to investigate as closely as he had. He would hate for a child’s misguided attempt to help an overwhelmed parent to result in crank calls, derision, or—God forbid—even danger, and he felt himself to be in a unique position to head off disaster. It was, he felt, his duty, if not his responsibility.
After stopping briefly at his apartment to put away the groceries, Jack took the drawing and drove down the street to the sprawling blond brick building set high on a grassy knoll. Some neighborhood children were playing in the sand beneath the vacant swing set, and Jack made a mental note to ask the custodian to rehang the swings. They were always taken down at the end of the school year for routine repair and maintenance, but Jack knew from experience that the custodian would not rehang them until he was told to. Old Henley considered a fully equipped playground an open invitation to aggravation during the summer. Jack considered it a necessary service to a neighborhood lacking a decent city park.
Using his key and alarm code card, he let himself into the empty building and walked blindly down the darkened hall with ease. He knew every square inch of the school building inside and out, not from necessity but from sheer delight. He loved it here. He loved the building, the employees, the teaching, the organizing, even the problems, everything—but especially the children. He always missed them when they were gone, the humming, bubbling, laughing, shouting tumult of two hundred or so little bodies vying for space and attention and knowledge. This early in the summer vacation, the building was almost always empty, but soon the custodial staff would start to ready the building for resuming classes. Later the administrative staff would gradually begin planning and organizing until classroom assignments were again finalized and teachers themselves would return to begin sedately setting up their individual rooms and forming teaching plans. Every available resource would be divvied and balanced and parceled and traded until everyone had what was needed to educate, entertain, engage and otherwise meet the sundry needs of every student. Meanwhile he had the place to himself.
He unlocked the door to his secretary’s office, flipped on the overhead lights and booted up the computer that took up the entire side board of her desk. In short order he had pulled up the appropriate cross-referenced file on one Cody Swift Moore, eight years old, recently promoted to the third grade. Before going any further, Jack went to the file cabinet in the corner and looked up the sheet of photos that contained Cody Moore’s gap-toothed, grinning visage. Oh, yes. He remembered Cody well as a bright boy in clean, worn clothing, whose hair was sometimes not combed as neatly as usual and whose nose often ran relentlessly. He was one of those children on the cusp, an “at risk” child who somehow had thus far managed to have what he needed to thrive, but just barely.
Returning to the computer, Jack pulled up and printed out Cody Moore’s complete file, then carried both the printout and the portrait into his own office for perusal. Turning his chair at an angle, Jack lowered his six-foot-twoinch frame into its welcome embrace, leaned back and propped both feet on the corner of his desk. Idly massaging his left knee, he began to read.
It was just as he had suspected. Cody’s parents were divorced. He and a younger sister and a baby brother lived with their mother. No information was given on the father, but the mother’s name was listed as Hellen, a possible misspelling of a familiar but uncommon name in this day and time. No home phone number was listed, and the address given was a particular lot in Fairhaven Mobile Home Community. Jack knew it well.
One of the older such communities in the area, it lacked the modern amenities of the newer, tightly controlled parks that had sprung up along the interstate that connected Dallas and Fort Worth with what had once been “the country.” There were no swimming pools, meeting halls or game rooms in Fairhaven, no central post boxes, no newspaper kiosks, no picnic grounds, not even paved parking pads, or curbs and gutters for that matter. Yet he had always found the haphazard collection of older mobile homes inviting. Nestled beneath tall, stately shade trees, they were more homey than the fenced, cemented, landscaped, carbon-copy, postage stamp lots with their modern modular homes surrounded by sun decks, car ports, satellite dishes and storage sheds that resembled oversize doll houses.
Fairhaven looked like a place where a kid could play in the dirt with a spoon in some secret, shady bower that belonged to no one and everyone, building dreams and inventing games with easy freedom. It also looked like a place of last chances, where disaster was held off with one hand and survival clutched at with the other. The turnover in rentals was a sometime weekly thing. Odds were even money that the address was no longer valid.
Jack laid aside the papers and groomed his mustache with gentle strokes of his left index finger, thinking. He decided upon his approach, picked up the telephone receiver and punched in the digits written in crayon. A young woman’s voice greeted him at the other end of the line.
“Hello. My name is Jackson Tyler. Have I reached the Moore residence?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” He identified himself as the school principal and said that he was trying to update school files, which was perfectly true. “Are you by chance Cody Moore’s mother?”
She was not. She was the baby-sitter.
“Could you please tell me, then, how I can contact Mrs. Moore?”
“You mean, like, now?”
“Yes, please, if that’s all right.”
He was told that he would find Cody’s mother at the cashier’s counter of the Downtown Convenience Store. “But she don’t like to take phone calls down there.”
“I see. Well, thank you for being so helpful.”
“Sure. Want me to tell her you called?”
He considered. “It’s not necessary. I’ll get in touch.”
He hung up, logged off the computer in the other room and left the building.
Lake City was a small town on one of the most popular lakes in Texas. The recreation areas that serviced the town had been built by the Corps of Engineers. It was a short drive to the corner of Lake Street and Main—a prime location for a convenience store, given its gas pumps, lottery machines and drink coolers. It was without a doubt the busiest place in town, especially during summer.
Jack had to wait while a carload of swimsuited teenagers and a truck towing a pair of jet skis on a trailer got out of his way before he could even turn onto the lot. Vehicles were parked three deep at the curb, many of them linked to various types of water craft. Every gas pump was occupied, and a line had formed in front of the air compressor. Jack left the car well out of the gas pump lanes, locked it and walked across the hot pavement. He held the door open for a trio of women with a number of small children in hand, then slipped inside.
The cashier’s station was the hub of the store. It was a square of glass cases, polished chrome and Formica counters staffed by a single individual—a petite woman with a triangular face set with enormous, almond-shaped eyes and framed by a long, lush fall of light ash brown hair. Jack had little doubt that he was looking at Hellen Moore. Cody had captured his mother well—as well as possible with crayons and an untrained hand.
Jack saw at once that she was skilled at juggling half a dozen customers at any given time. Had she not been, she wouldn’t have lasted ten minutes in this madhouse. Unfortunately this was neither the place nor the time for the discussion he had in mind. Nevertheless he was in no way deterred. He had come this far, after all. He got into a line of customers and patiently waited his turn, which was more than could be said for some others.
“Hey, move it up there!” yelled a shirtless young man with blond hair straggling about muscular shoulders. He shook his head and flexed his muscles with impatience, his bare feet shifting restlessly as he moved a six-pack of beer from one hand to the other.
“Keep your shorts on, pal,” came the smooth rejoinder, “since that’s all you’re wearing.” She’d delivered the line without even looking up, ignoring the chuckles it elicited while punching prices into the cash register with one hand and placing articles into a paper bag with the other. “That’ll be six sixty-eight. Out of ten. Six sixty-nine, seventy, seventy-five. Seven. Eight. Nine and ten. Thanks. Come again. Next.”
She turned to the line on the other side of the checkout and began punching in a new set of numbers, while the previous customer moved away from the counter and was replaced by a new arrival from the line.
“You got first aid supplies in here?” someone called out from across the room.
“In the corner next to the ice machine,” she shouted, then dropped her voice to a more moderate level. “You owe me six cents, ma’am. That’s all right, forget the penny. Just remember when you hit that next pothole that the state didn’t get their full share. I’ll be right with you, sir. Want your candy in a sack, hon? That’s one, two, three, four, five at three cents a piece. Exact change. A cashier’s angel! Suppose there’s a patron saint? Saint Quick Stop, maybe?”
And so it went for a solid quarter hour, nimble fingers flying, answers, comments and wisecracks tossed out with dry humor and quick wit. In the midst of the chaos, she kept her cool, refused to be pushed by those who had nothing more taxing to do than wait their turns and complain about it, and made every movement a study in efficiency.
Jackson found himself watching her with interest and growing pleasure. He liked that wealth of light ash brown hair. It hung almost to her waist, thick and shining, with what, upon closer examination, appeared to be a smattering of individual silver hairs. She wasn’t exactly beautiful. Her facial features would never be called classical. Yet to Jack it was an extremely interesting face, with a broad forehead and delicate, pointed chin; thin, tip-tilted nose; and a small but mobile, rose pink mouth. She couldn’t stand more than five feet and two or three inches, petite but not really dainty, with small hands and short, almost blunt fingers. Beneath the open, oversize, cotton smock, faded T-shirt and worn blue jeans was a solid, compact body with all the requisite curves—ample curves and in comfortable proportions. Moreover she carried herself with confidence and pride, standing with back straight, shoulders squared, legs spread slightly, as if ready to take on all comers and expecting to walk away a victor. All in all, a very interesting woman. Very interesting.

Business was relentless, but as always she stuck with it, handling several tasks at once, keeping every sense alert and ignoring the physical discomfort of sheer exhaustion. The latter was especially difficult, given that her feet felt as if the soles had been pounded by metal rods, her back ached unrelentingly and her hand was cramping. Worse, she needed to make a visit to the ladies’ room, despite having confined her fluid intake for the whole morning to a few sips of badly needed coffee.
She winced inwardly even as she wished a regular customer good luck on the lottery ticket he had just purchased and turned to quirk a brow at the big, good-looking fellow who’d been blatantly staring at her from the moment he’d entered the store. He smiled, holding her gaze, and she barely resisted the urge to thin her lips in a gesture of disdain. The last thing she needed just now was a flirt. She kept her manner brisk.
“What can I do for you?”
He leaned forward slightly as if fearing that she couldn’t hear him from that great height. “My name’s Jackson Tyler.”
As if she cared. With neither the time nor the inclination to chat, she turned her back on him and started ringing up cigarettes, sodas and snacks for three women and a mob of kids.
He cleared his throat and said from behind her, “I’m, uh, the elementary school principal.”
“That so?” She counted six sodas at sixty-five and one on sale at forty. Make that two. She jerked her head at one of the mothers. “The little one in back there is about to drop her drink.” The little girl screeched like a banshee when her anxious mother rescued it from her too-small hands. No one paid her the least mind. Anyone with experience with a kid that age knew that most of them were banshees.
“The thing is,” Jackson Tyler was saying in his deep voice, “I need a moment of your time.”
“Don’t have a moment,” she said over her shoulder, whipping open a sack and dropping packets of cigarettes and candy bars into it. “Is that everything, ladies?” Receiving a nod in the affirmative, she gave the women their total and continued sacking while a whispered conference took place, bills and coins trading back and forth.
“You are Hellen Moore, aren’t you?”
He was persistent, she’d give him that. “Hellen? No.” She shook out another brown paper bag and began carefully setting cold drinks inside.
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed and puzzled. “Well, do you happen to know where I might find her?”
“Couldn’t say. Who gets the receipt and the change? Watch the bottom of that bag. Those bottled drinks sweat right through them in no time.”
She turned back to the big man, her gaze flicking over him in the seconds that it took those three mothers to start their brood toward the door. She was almost sorry that she couldn’t spare the time for a little banter. He looked like a pleasant sort, prosperous, cool and neat in soft tan slacks and a green-and-white-checked shirt with short sleeves and a button-down collar. His straight, golden blond hair had been parted just so, but was too fine and thick not to fall over his forehead. Soft hazel eyes were set beneath straight, thick brows the same bronze brown as the neatly trimmed mustache. He had a full upper lip and balanced features too large for any other face, any face without those brick jaws and that square, jutting chin. Ah well. No help for it.
“I’m kinda busy here,” she said bluntly. “Want to move along?”
He flattened enormous hands on the countertop and expelled a breath. “This is important. I was told that I could find Mrs. Moore here.”
She folded her arms, wondering if she was going to regret this. “I’m Mrs. Moore.”
“Cody’s mother?”
She was definitely going to regret this. “That’s right.”
“Isn’t your name Hellen?”
“No.”
“No?”
She rolled her eyes. “The name is Heller, all right? H-E-L-L-E-R. Now spit it out, bud, or disappear. I’m working here.”
“Yeah, she’s working here,” put in a wise guy from the other side of the counter.
She shot him a deadly look. “Put a clamp on it, youngster, and I’m going to need ID on the beer.”
“Uh, I must’ve left it in my other pants.”
“Yeah, right, and I’m a fairy princess, which makes you the toad. Better luck next time, and put it back in the cooler where you got it.”
He stomped off in disgust, sixteen if he was a day. She shook her head. Kids.
“Maybe you didn’t understand me the first time,” the big guy said. “I’m the principal at your son, Cody’s, school. Name’s Jack Tyler.”
For the first time, his urgency touched her. “Something up with Cody? School’s out, for pity’s sake. What could be wrong?”
He looked distinctly uncomfortable, the tip of one finger stroking his mustache. “Look, I’d rather not discuss it here. What time do you get off work?”
“Late.”
“Oh. Well, what time do you start in the morning?”
“Early.”
“I could meet you in my office at eight.”
Eight. She’d have to leave the house an hour early, lose a whole hour of sleep, leave the kids that much longer. She sighed, dead on her feet already, with eight hours still ahead of her and knowing that she would be aching in every bone come morning. Jack Tyler seemed to take her hesitation as a lack of concern. He put on his principal’s face, the one he must use when doling out discipline. She’d have taken issue with that assumption on his part—if she hadn’t been busier than a starved cat in an aviary. Cody was her oldest—a good, solemn little boy who sometimes got strange ideas. Oh, Cody. Cody, honey, what have you done? No use thinking on it now. She wouldn’t know what was up until Jack Tyler chose to tell her, and she didn’t believe in borrowing trouble. She had plenty already, thank you. Just living was trouble.
“I must insist on a conference,” Tyler stated firmly.
Heller sighed and nodded. “Okay.”
“I’ll expect you in the morning at eight, then.”
“Eight,” she confirmed, following him out the door with her eyes even as she smiled at the next person in line. Her son’s principal was limping, but it wasn’t her problem. “What’s this,” she quipped, winking at the elderly gentleman who pushed forward a pint of milk and a banana, “moo juice and monkey pod?”
“Health food,” the old man replied, a twinkle in his eye.
“Dollar fifteen.”
He forked over two bucks and gave her a good look at his dentures. “Keep the change.”
“Ooh, a true gentleman! Thanks.”
The jaunty tone was so practiced that it was second nature, a useful trait for a single mother with too much worry and too little of everything else. She’d buy something sweet for the kids with her extra eighty-five cents, a small treat for Betty to give them with their lunch tomorrow, something to let them know that Mom was thinking of them—a package of cherry licorice whip, maybe, something they wouldn’t recognize as a pathetic attempt on her part to give them what other children routinely took for granted.
Her manner was a little softer with the next few customers, her eyes glistening with a brightness that no one watching her would have taken for tears. She couldn’t have said herself why she had to beat down the impulse to cry. Maybe it was the combination of a new worry and a small kindness. Maybe it was the unending weariness of working two jobs just to keep body and soul together, and maybe it was the vision of a future that was merely the present all over again, never changing—unless it was for the worse.

Jack gritted his teeth, determined not to look at his watch again. It would only tell him what he already knew. She was late—and getting later by the second. He told himself again that she would definitely show. The subject of this conference was her own son, after all. Of course she would come. He looked at his watch.
Thirty-five minutes! Where the devil was that woman? Sleeping in? Sipping an extra cup of coffee? If she didn’t care enough about her boy to expend just this much effort on his behalf, then he was wasting his time trying to help.
It wasn’t his problem, anyway. He couldn’t force her to listen to him. Fact was, he wasn’t even certain what he would have said. Well. So. That was that, then.
He leaned back in his comfortable leather desk chair and expelled a long, cleansing breath. Okay, what now? Might as well do something useful since he was already here. He consulted his calendar, thumbing through the daily pages. The few items on his agenda were either already in the works or simply held no interest for him. Oh, well. He was supposed to be on vacation for the next couple of months, anyway. He’d do something fun, maybe call up some of his old teammates, set up a fishing trip or two, talk about old times. He could even drive down and hang around training camp when that started—except he really didn’t want to. He’d lost his enthusiasm for football even before he’d pulverized his knee.
He laid his head back and closed his eyes, waiting for a good idea to come to him. He thought of movies he wanted to see and books he wanted to read and letters he ought to write. Problem was, he didn’t want to do any of those things just then. Golf. He’d get out the clubs, rent a cart and make a day of it. All he needed was a partner, someone who could get away on the spur of the moment and hit the links. He picked up the phone and started calling some of the other educators he knew. The three he caught at home, he also woke. He put down the phone with a mutter of disgust, snatched a pencil from the hand-painted cup presented to him at the end of the year by Mrs. Foreman’s first-grade class and began bouncing the eraser on the edge of his desk, tapping out words and phrases in Morse code. When he realized that he was tapping out H-E-L-L-E-R, he threw the pencil at the trash can. It ricocheted off the rim and flew into the corner, the lead breaking off.
Blast that woman! Didn’t she know her kid was hurting for her? Didn’t she realize that Cody could see her struggle, that it scared him? He was a little boy who desperately needed some reassurance. Jack pushed his hands over his face, telling himself that it wasn’t his job to see that the kid had his fears eased. His job was to educate children, not baby-sit them. But just how well could a worried little boy learn?
Jack bit back an oath, the sound coming out as a choked growl, as he launched himself out of his chair and left his office, slamming the door behind him. No woman, he reflected savagely as he strode out of the building and toward his car, was ever more aptly named than Heller Moore.
The place took about five minutes to find. He sat in his car next to the mailbox, which clung to a leaning metal post and bracket by a single screw, and just looked around for several minutes. The house itself, a mobile home sitting up on cement blocks, was small and sagging and rusty in places, but it had a neat, orderly look about it, a certain aura of “home.” The far end sat smack up against the trunk of an old cottonwood tree. A hickory that had been planted too close to a wide side window stood at an odd angle, its upper branches literally lying on top of the structure’s metal roof, while its lower ones jutted out over the rickety stoop. The back of the long, narrow lot was a tangle of woody shrubs and withered cedars. Someone had tied bows to one of the bushes with strips of cloth.
Leaving his car parked at the side of the street, Jack got out and walked hesitantly across the yard to climb a trio of steps to the stoop. He paused, combing his mustache with his fingers, then abruptly sent out a fist and rapped on the door. He heard a muffled voice speaking unintelligible words. It sounded as if Heller Moore might have tied one on the night before. He raised his fist and rocked the door repeatedly in its frame. Suddenly the door swung open and a large brunette with long, stringy hair waved a hand at him before disappearing inside.
Jack stuck his head into the dim interior. “Hello?”
“What do you want?”
The croaking voice came from his left. He looked into a small, open kitchen to his right. A round maple table with a scorched spot, four rail-backed chairs and a painted wooden high chair took up almost all the space, leaving a mere path in front of the L-shaped cabinet and stove. The enamel on the sink was chipped, the countertop faded. An empty plastic milk jug and an open sleeve of crackers sat in the middle of the chipped yellow stove. An assortment of cereal boxes were lined up neatly across the top of a small, ancient, olive green refrigerator. Jack stepped inside and turned in the direction of the voice.
The living area was little more than a wide hall. A worn, brown, Early American-style sofa with small, round, ruffled throw pillows sat against the wide window, over which ugly green vinyl drapes had been parted to allow the sunlight into the room. A small coffee table had been pushed up beneath the window on the opposite wall. Upon it rested a small television with rabbit-ear antennae wrapped in strips of tin foil, a can of wildflowers at its side. A brown, oval, braided rug covered most of the pockmarked linoleum. A half-eaten bowl of popcorn had been tipped on its side, spilling fluffy white puffs of popcorn across the clean brown rug. The fake wood paneling on the walls gleamed with fresh polish. The glass in the windows shone crystal clear. A dark, narrow hall led, presumably, to the bedrooms. It wasn’t much, but it was somehow welcoming.
The brunette was lying in a heap on the couch, her face turned into a pillow. A thin blue blanket was crumpled at her side. She was wearing pink knit shorts which had long ago lost their shape and a huge T-shirt sporting a cartoon character front and back.
Jack cleared his throat. “I’m looking for Heller Moore.”
The brunette rolled over to stare at him. Her face was puffy, her eyes rimmed with smudged mascara. She pushed her lank hair out of her face and said, “She ain’t here.”
Jack’s eyes roamed around the dingy room. “Where is she?”
The brunette sat up and gave a shrug. She looked him over frankly, then smiled. He saw to his surprise that she was considerably younger than he’d assumed. “Who’re you?”
The question irritated him. “Seems to me you should have asked that before you opened the door.”
She shrugged again, unconcerned, and said, “I don’t know where Heller is. She didn’t come home last night.”
Jack felt the taste of acid in his mouth. Why was he surprised and, yes, disappointed? He shook his head. “You tell her Jackson Tyler was here.” He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open. Extracting a card, he laid it on the arm of the sofa. “You tell her to call first chance she gets, either number. Understand?”
The big girl nodded and picked up the card. “You’re from the school?” she asked, but Jack ignored her, turning back to the open door as a rusty old behemoth of a car bounced up into the yard and came to a halt.
Heller Moore gathered her things and got out from behind the steering wheel. She leaned against the side of the car for a moment, head back as if absorbing the sunshine, then she straightened and walked around the front end of the car. Jack moved into the doorway and lifted his arms above his head, bracing them against the frame. She was at the foot of the stoop before she looked up. Shock and something else registered in her face.
“You!” she exclaimed.
Jack bared his teeth in a smile. Heller Moore had come home, and he meant to give her a welcome she’d never forget.

Chapter Two (#ulink_784c5e2e-1498-5943-999c-891cd8a3c61e)
Heller shook her head. She should have known she’d find him here. Well, she admired his dedication. Pity she was too tired to tell him so. With a sigh she climbed the steps and endured his glare until he decided to move out of her doorway. She went inside and carefully draped the clothing she’d worn to the store the day before over the back of the chair at the end of the kitchen table. She looked around the room, acutely aware of how small and shabby it must appear in Jack Tyler’s eyes. She grimaced at the sight of the popcorn bowl turned over in the middle of the living room rug.
“Betty!” she scolded disapprovingly as she moved across the floor. She stooped and began cleaning up the mess. “I’ve asked you time and again to pick up after yourself.”
“Sorry,” Betty grumbled. “But it just happened. I knocked over the bowl when I got up to let him in.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have knocked it over if you hadn’t left it sitting in the middle of the floor,” Heller pointed out. She picked up the bowl and started toward the kitchen with it, only to walk straight into Jack Tyler. She bounced off his chest, one hand clutching the popcorn bowl, the other pushing hair out of her face. “Oops. Sorry.” She sidestepped and walked around him. As she carried the bowl into the kitchen, she said over her shoulder, “I’m a walking zombie this morning. My replacement didn’t show up, so I had to work a second shift at the nursing home.”
“Nursing home?” His voice sounded startlingly deep and resonant in such small quarters.
She turned to look up into his face. My, he was big and undeniably handsome. She suddenly felt rumpled and plain in her faded green uniform. She lifted a hand self-consciously to the back of her neck, then scowled. What was wrong with her? She’d decided long ago to let the world take her at face value. What did she care what anyone thought as long as she knew that she was doing her dead-level best? If she looked like something the cat had dragged in, it was because she’d been up all night working in an effort to support her family. She fixed Jack Tyler with a cold glare. “We can’t all be school principals,” she informed him tartly. “Some of us have to make do as convenience store clerks and nurse’s aides.”
To her surprise, his hazel eyes gleamed sympathetically before he looked away. “It must be difficult for you,” he said quietly, “working two jobs.”
Difficult didn’t begin to describe her personal daily grind, but she found herself wanting to reassure him. She shrugged. “I manage.”
She heard the slap of bare feet on the bare linoleum of the hallway floor and looked in that direction just as Cody wandered into view. His ash brown hair stuck up at odd angles. His bare chest looked painfully thin, the knobs of his shoulders protruding awkwardly before dwindling into stringy arms. There was a small hole near the elastic waistband of his threadbare briefs. She watched him knuckle the sleep from his eyes and felt a surge of motherly love. His big, hazel gaze wandered the room briefly before settling on her. He smiled, his eyes lazily moving on. Suddenly, recognition flooded his face.
“Mr. Tyler?”
“Hello, Cody.”
His mouth dropped open, his eyes growing impossibly large in his small face. He shot a panicked look at his mother. “Am I in trouble?”
Heller hurried across the room to slide an arm about his narrow shoulders. “No, of course not.” Yet, she didn’t know what Mr. Tyler wanted. She eyed him uneasily. It must be important, for him to visit her twice in less than twenty-four hours, and he had said that it involved Cody. She tightened her embrace, as wary in her way as Cody, when Jackson Tyler walked forward and bent at the waist, his big hand reaching out to cover the top of Cody’s head.
“Must be a shock to wake up and find the principal in your home,” he said, humor softening the tones of his deep voice, “but you don’t have a thing to worry about. I just want to talk to your mom about a certain advertisement you drew.”
Cody’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Really? Oh, boy! I knew it’d work!”
“Now don’t blow things all out of proportion,” Tyler warned gently. “This business isn’t nearly as simple as you seem to think.”
“What business?” Heller asked, puzzled. “What advertisement? What are you talking about?”
Jack Tyler straightened and slid a glance down at Cody, his thick brows lifting. “Didn’t tell her, hmm?”
Cody shook his head. “She’s too selfish suffishenly,” he said with dead certainty.
Tyler chuckled. “Selfish suffish—Ah. I’ll remember that. Self-sufficient types can pose problems.”
Cody grinned, and Jack Tyler winked conspiratorially. Heller folded her arms and began tapping a toe, too exhausted to exercise her patience. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on here?”
“Exactly my intention,” Tyler said, glancing around at the small room. He stroked his mustache and seemed to reach a decision. “How does breakfast sound?”
She blinked at him. “Breakfast?”
He nodded. “If you’re going to work two jobs and stay up all night, you ought at least to eat properly. I’ll have you back within the hour, promise.” He made a small gesture in Cody’s direction. “And it’ll give us a chance to talk—in private.”
Heller looked down at Cody’s bright, expectant face. He gazed at Jackson Tyler with an oddly covetous expression. What on earth was going on here? Well, there was only one way to find out. She pushed aside the physical exhaustion and met Jackson Tyler’s gaze with curiosity.
“Just let me brush my hair and wash my face.”
Cody literally jumped into the air, smacking his hands together with glee. “All ri-i-ight!”
Heller placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Don’t wake your brother and sister.”
He ducked his head apologetically, still grinning. “Sorry.”
“And get dressed. It’s not polite to run around the house in your underwear.”
He nodded compliance. She smiled approvingly and tilted his face up for a kiss. He flung his arms around her neck and smacked her noisily on the mouth. She noted that she didn’t have to bend as far as she had only a month or so ago. He was growing up, this first-born son of hers, and much too quickly from her perspective. She wondered what had put that sparkle in his usually solemn eyes and what it had to do with Jackson Tyler.
“I’ll only be a minute,” she promised, her gaze wandering once more to the big man standing in the middle of her small living room. She turned Cody toward the bedroom he shared with his brother and sister and ushered him down the hall, leaving him at the door with a whispered admonishment to be very quiet. He nodded and slipped inside the room.
Heller hurried on down the hallway to the bathroom. Quickly, she tidied herself, her mind whirling with questions. She wished she had time to change clothing, but she knew that would only delay the answers she needed to quell her concerns. Besides, this was a conference, not a date. She only hoped that whatever Jack Tyler had to say would not threaten the sanctity of her family. God knew they were already holding on by a thread.

Jack waited uncomfortably for Heller Moore to return. Taking her to breakfast had been a stroke of genius. Not only could Heller eat a proper meal in a relaxing setting, he could tell her about the advertisement without embarrassing either her or Cody more than necessary. In addition, it might allow him to deal with the situation without disappointing the boy. He’d read the hope and delight in Cody’s sleepy eyes when he’d mentioned the advertisement and had known what the boy was thinking. It did Jack’s ego no harm to think the kid was pleased with the prospect of him as a stepfather, however unlikely the scenario, and he’d realized how embarrassed the boy would be to learn of his mistake—not to mention his mother’s embarrassment at having his foolish scheme revealed in front of another party.
That other party was even then studying him with narrowed, blackened eyes, as if he were a piece of merchandise on a shelf. He curbed his impulse to tell her to mind her own business, and settled for asking a few politely framed questions in the guise of small talk. In short order he learned that she was the baby-sitter, trading her services for a place to sleep on Heller’s couch, meals and a little spending money. Obviously she didn’t put herself out more than she had to, and she hadn’t displayed excellent judgment in letting him in without so much as a glance at his face or a word of explanation.
He was warning her about the dangers of opening the door to a stranger when Heller returned, still wearing the faded uniform but looking a bit revived. He winced inwardly at the scathing words he’d planned for this small, spunky woman who worked two demanding jobs just to keep her family together in this little trailer. Buying her breakfast seemed a mild atonement for jumping to conclusions. He opened the door for her, noting the quirk of her lips as she marked that small courtesy. Was courtesy such a useless commodity in her life then? It seemed so.
She went straight to his car, waiting beside it with a small, wry smile until he opened the door and helped her inside. Thanking him with a nod of her head and that quirk of her lips, she buckled her seat belt. He walked around the car and slid in beside her. His hand fell automatically to the sheet of paper that lay facedown on the seat between them, but she put her head back, closed her eyes and sighed, exhaustion evident in the slump of her shoulders and the slack muscles of her face. He picked up the paper, folded it and slipped it into his shirt pocket. It could wait until she’d eaten.

The local cafe had already seen its morning rush and was enjoying the lull before the bustle of preparing for the lunch crowd. Jack waved at the middle-aged waitress sipping a cup of coffee at a table near the kitchen door. She smiled and got up, making her way toward the booth into which he and Heller Moore settled. Heller pulled a menu from beneath the napkin dispenser, murmuring, “I’m starved.”
“Morning, Jack!”
He smiled at the waitress, another one of those women who worked unbelievably hard for far too little compensation and looked it. How long, he found himself wondering, before Heller’s face and hands began to show the kind of wear and tear that this woman’s did? He found the thought unpleasant.
“Good morning, Liz. This is Mrs. Moore.”
Liz cracked her gum and grinned down at Heller. “Yeah, I know you. You work down at the convenience store, don’t you?”
“That’s right.” Heller returned her smile.
Liz pulled out her pad and pencil, ready to get down to business. “What can I get you?”
Heller studied the menu she’d opened. Jack glanced at Liz. “Coffee and Danish for me.”
Heller snapped the menu closed. “Same.”
He reached over and flipped the menu open again. “Order a decent breakfast. I’ve already had one.”
She couldn’t quite hide her relief and pleasure. “If you insist.”
He winked at Liz as Heller went over the choices again.
“Um, I’ll have the Belgian waffle and coffee,” she decided.
“Bring her an order of sausage links and hash browns with that,” he added, feeling positively expansive.
“Oh, it’s too much,” she protested, but Liz had already received her instructions and was walking away.
“And rush it,” Jack called to the retreating waitress. She flipped an acknowledgment with one hand and stabbed her pencil into the jumble of curls atop her head.
“I’m sorry for standing you up this morning,” Heller apologized after a moment.
Jack nodded and shrugged. “I understand. Circumstances beyond your control.”
“I couldn’t call. They don’t allow us to make personal calls from the nursing home, especially long-distance ones.”
He nodded again and asked a few astute questions about the place where she worked, learning that it was a small, private facility in a neighboring community. She liked the old folks, she said, but it was heavy work. Thankfully, it was only four hours most nights. Four hours after standing on her feet all day at the convenience store, he mused silently. The food arrived in record time. He mentally promised Liz a generous tip as he watched Heller wade in with relish. For a small woman, she could certainly pack it in. Two jobs must require twice the nutrition, Jack mused.
They were enjoying final cups of coffee, the table having been cleared, when he drew the folded paper from his pocket and placed it on the table. “I found this posted on that big bulletin board outside the grocery yesterday,” he said without preamble.
She picked it up, unfolded it and stared at what was revealed. He watched her jaw drop and her face turn hot pink. “Good grief!”
He dropped his gaze to his cup. “It’s quite a good likeness, actually,” he said softly. Then he ratcheted up his gaze. “I’m sure Cody didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
She covered her face with both hands, pushed her hair back and sighed, staring down at the crayon markings on the paper. “He wants to help. He knows it’s difficult, being a single parent. I try not to let him see, but—” Her voice thinned and wobbled. In another moment, tears dripped onto the lined paper.
Jack sat stunned for a moment, his heart turning over in his chest. He hadn’t expected her to cry. That was the last thing he’d expected, and he felt helpless to deal with it. To his disgust, the only thing he could think to do was to take her in his arms and promise her that all would be well. But he couldn’t do that. He hardly knew the woman. He settled for fishing a paper napkin out of the dispenser and thrusting it at her. She took it, sniffed and dried her cheeks.
“You must think I’m an awful mother,” she said directly, lifting tearful eyes.
To his surprise he thought she was utterly beguiling, beautiful and brave. He gave his head an awkward shake, as much to dislodge the thought as to deny hers. “Uh, no. No, it’s obvious you’re doing the best you can in difficult circumstances. I just thought I ought to try to spare you and Cody as much discomfort over this little incident as I could. He wouldn’t realize how dangerous it could be, posting your telephone number publicly, or that you’d feel…well…”
“Mortified ought to about cover it,” she said, shredding a corner of the flimsy napkin. After a pause, she went on. “It’s the divorce.” She laid her hands on the table and moved her head slowly side to side as if trying to find words to explain what she didn’t understand herself.
“Cody’s father was never much good at providing for us, so it’s no surprise that he doesn’t pay his child support. But at least he was there with the children when I had to be away from them.” She sighed and lifted a hand to her forehead. “Then I’d come in from work exhausted, and he’d want his night out on the town, his good time, and we’d argue, which was all the excuse he needed to storm out and drink up every extra cent I could pull together.”
She dropped her hand and smoothed out the napkin, studying it as if it held the secrets to the universe. “It wasn’t the drinking or the carousing I couldn’t stand,” she went on softly. “I didn’t like it, but I could stand it What I couldn’t abide was the infidelity.” Her voice dwindled to a whisper, so that Jack found himself leaning forward to catch every word. “A woman’s self-esteem can’t take very much of that, you know. But Cody wouldn’t understand that. All he knows is that it seemed easier when I wasn’t alone, and for the children perhaps it was.” She sighed again and closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”
Jack cleared his throat, uncomfortable with this intimate new knowledge. He’d never understood how any man could cheat on his wife and face himself in the mirror, but to cheat on this woman? That ex of hers must give new meaning to the word idiot. On the other hand, what did he really know about it? He pushed a hand over his face, realizing that he wasn’t being very logical. He swept a gaze over her and gulped. He was definitely letting appearance—that was to say, attraction—sway his judgment. Realizing that he had to say something in response, he grasped the first harmless thing that entered his head.
“D-divorce is difficult for everyone involved.” Oh, brilliant. Tell her something she doesn’t know. “S-sometimes it’s simply the lesser of two evils.”
She nodded. “That’s true.”
He felt a surge of confidence and plunged on. “Cody can’t be expected to understand that, though.”
She sighed. “I know. It’s just…” She agonized for a moment, biting her lip, then blurted, “I couldn’t stand being married to someone who used and abused me.” She leaned across the table, imploring him to understand. “Carmody took my money and spent it on other women! It didn’t matter to him that the children and I did without. To him, life is all about having fun, and I know that attitude too well to believe I could defeat it. I grew up with that attitude. My father worked only so he could afford to party, with no thought for his children and our needs, and that suited my mother just fine so long as she could party with him.
“But I’m not like that, and I don’t want my children to be like that. I thought the divorce would be best for all of us, but maybe I just rationalized that to ease my conscience. I wanted the divorce and I got it. And now my children are suffering for it.” Her gaze dropped forlornly to the crayon drawing.
Jack impulsively covered her hand with his. She looked up suddenly, tossing her hair back. Her pale blue eyes were wide with shock. He quickly pulled his hand away, his gaze skittering around the booth as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. “Uh, you…you did what you thought best. N-no doubt you were right. In a situation like that, what other choice was there?”
She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “If only Carmody would pay more attention to the children. If he’d just help out now and again financially…” One slender brow arched in irony. “He didn’t do that when we were married. Why would I expect it of him now? Yet my children need their father. I just don’t know what the answer is.”
“Maybe you just keep doing the best you can,” he said.
Her mouth quirked up on one end. “You think I’m doing the best I can, then?”
He blinked, realizing how much he’d revealed by that one less-than-helpful statement, and looked down at his cold cup. “You were thinking of working three jobs maybe?”
She shook her head, smiling at that. “No. Working two jobs and being a mom is definitely all I can handle. Problem is, I have to try to be a dad, too.”
He said it before he thought. “Maybe Cody had the right idea, after all.” His own words knocked Jack back against his seat. “I—I mean, that’s one thing Cody obviously does understand, th-that you can’t do it by yourself. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be trying to find you a husband, and we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”
She cocked her head at that, studied him pointedly for a few moments and said, “I know why I’m here, but I’m not quite certain why you are.”
He was careful to think before he replied this time, and he quickly came up with a number of possibilities. He could say, for instance, that his being here was just part and parcel of his job, that he felt a genuine responsibility for the children who attended his school, that he couldn’t ignore the wordless plea of a troubled little boy. He could even say it was simple courtesy or curiosity or pure happenstance. Instead, he heard himself saying, “Maybe I mean to apply for the position.”
For the longest moment she stared as if frozen. Jack felt the very same way, as if he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think. Then slowly the implications of what he’d said crept over him. He didn’t know this woman! Was he so lonely, so empty, that he’d let a misspelled ad drawn in crayon decide his destiny? Did he need his own family so desperately that he’d settle for merely being needed himself? A deep, bitter sense of shame engulfed him. He felt his face burn hot and closed his eyes. He would’ve bitten his tongue off if it had meant being able to unsay those careless words.
Then suddenly she burst out laughing. Jack stared at her, his mouth open, while the sound of her laughter, so bright and cheerful and healing, built and built. It was rather funny—absurd, in fact. His mouth wobbled; he brushed his mustache with his fingertips to still it, but the smile broke free, and a chuckle followed it. That chuckle felt so good that he gave himself up to it. When the merriment played out, she wiped her eyes and braced her elbows on the tabletop.
“I needed that.”
He nodded, feeling sheepish, as an uneasy new awareness tightened the lines of her face. He glanced at his watch without paying the time any real attention and slid out of the booth. “I’d better pay the check and get you home.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
He made short work of it. Within the minute they were in the car again. She laid her head back and closed her eyes. After a bit he noticed that a smile hovered about her lips. He allowed himself to feel a little gush of pleasure at that. He’d embarrassed himself, but if he’d saved her some embarrassment in the process…well, somehow that was enough.
He brought the car to a stop in front of her house, wondering if he would have to wake her, but she immediately lifted her head and gave him a clear-eyed look.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
He glanced away, not wanting her to see how that pleased him. “Unnecessary. I’d have done the same for any of my students.”
“I can see that,” she said, smiling warmly. She lifted her hand, Cody’s folded portrait clutched in it. “I’ll try to make him understand that this isn’t a solution.”
He nodded. “Just remember to thank him for trying to help.”
“I will.”
She opened the car door and started to get out, but Jack found that he wasn’t quite prepared to let it end like this. He caught her hand in his, and when she stopped to look back at him, he gently pried the folded paper from her fist.
“I’d like to keep this, if you don’t mind.” He grinned. “I have a kind of collection. Kids have such a funny way of viewing this wacky world of ours, you know, and I find it comforting to remind myself of that from time to time.”
“You keep it then,” she said, and got out of the car.
He resisted the impulse to kill the engine and walk her to her door. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, but not the wisest, perhaps. He wouldn’t want to plant false hope, not after all he’d said, first intimating that she might truly need a husband and then blurting that perhaps he would apply for the position! No, far better to just keep his seat.
She closed the door and backed away, bending a little to look at him through the window and fold her hand in a kind of wave. “Bye.”
“Goodbye.”
He watched her turn and walk across the dusty yard to the stoop. She climbed the steps, opened the door and paused to wave once more before going inside. He slipped the folded crayon drawing into his shirt pocket, then started the car down the street, telling himself it was over. He’d done his duty. It was all anyone could expect of him, all he ought to expect of himself.
But he couldn’t help remembering the way Cody’s face had lighted up when he’d believed that Mr. Tyler was there to court his mother, or the exhaustion and regret in Heller Moore’s eyes when she’d admitted that she couldn’t do it all alone. He couldn’t help thinking, either, that Cody’s conclusion was right, despite his method of trying to solve the problem. She did need someone, someone who would appreciate her strength and determination, her honesty and spunk. Someone who loved and enjoyed kids. Someone who wouldn’t cheat.
He shook his head, surprised at himself. Was he honestly contemplating involvement with Heller Moore? What if he did see her again? Would he find that she wasn’t the woman he thought her to be? Would disappointment lead to regret? He’d been disappointed before, bitterly so. Perhaps he ought to consider that a lesson learned and let well enough alone. Perhaps he ought to find someone with whom he had more in common. Another educator? Yes, that was the kind of woman in whom he should be interested. A safe, sensible, middle-class lady with her life together and time to consider him and his needs. He’d give the matter some serious thought, he promised himself. Someday.

Heller caught the baby by the ankle and pulled him back into the middle of the bed.
“Sit still, Davy,” Cody scolded, shaking a finger at his little brother.
Davy plopped onto his bottom, stuck his tongue out and waggled his head side to side. “Sit, you’se’f!” He fell back, laughing in two-and-a-half-year-old glee.
Cody scowled. “Why don’t you go in the other room, Davy? I’m trying to talk to Mama.”
At the very suggestion of being parted from his mother, Davy lunged up and threw his arms around her neck from the back, crying out, “No-o-o!”
Heller patted his chubby arms, swaying beneath his weight against her back. “It’s all right, honey. Just settle down now so I can talk to your big brother.” She stifled a tired sign and smiled down at Cody’s pouty face. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say, son? Marriage isn’t like a garage sale, Cody. You can’t just post notice and take your best offer.”
Confusion dulled his hazel eyes. “But, Mama, Mr. Tyler’s a real nice man. He don’t drink or nothing, ‘cause he’s always telling us how dangerous it is, and he likes kids. I know he does! Even when you’re bad he still rubs you on the head and stuff. He don’t even cuss when he’s mad!”
Heller didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She shook her head, hoping to shake some new idea into it, but all she could do was repeat what she’d already said. “Mr. Tyler is a very nice man, Cody, but he would no more marry some woman he met through an advertisement than he would…cuss in front of you children.”
Cody’s thin brows drew together. “I don’t see why not, if he likes you.”
Heller rolled her eyes, then clamped down on the impulse to tear at her hair, closing her eyes and pulling in a deep breath instead. Calm again, she smiled. Davy drummed his knees against her spine, turning the smile to a grimace. She pulled him around into her lap and tucked his head beneath her chin. “There’s one thing you haven’t taken into consideration, Cody,” she told him smoothly, “and that is that I don’t want to get married again.”
He cocked his head to one side. “How come? Don’t you like Mr. Tyler?”
Flabbergasted, Heller just stared at him for a moment. Davy slid down her lap, flopped over and eased himself onto the floor, where he promptly began running circles around Cody. She caught him and pointed him toward the door. He ran screaming down the hallway, then turned around and headed back. Heller pulled Cody to her side, an arm draped around his shoulders. “Cody, honey, it doesn’t have anything to do with Mr. Tyler.”
“But don’t you like him?”
“Yes, of course I do, but that doesn’t mean I want to marry him.”
“How come?”
She searched for the right words. “You have to have a special feeling for the person you want to marry.”
“What kind of special feeling?”
“Well, it’s kind of like…” She thought suddenly of that moment back at the café when Jack Tyler had covered her hand with his and electricity had shot up her arm, practically knocking her out of her seat. She shook herself, alarmed. Man, she really had to get some sleep! She hugged Cody and said, “I can’t explain it, Cody, and I know you were trying to help me when you put up that advertisement, but please, please don’t do anything like that again. All right?”
He set his mouth glumly, but then nodded.
She kissed the top of his head. “Thank you, sweetheart. I love you so much.” She tilted his face up with one fingertip. “You’re all I need, son, you and your brother and sister.”
He put his arms around her neck and mumbled against her shoulder, “I love you, too, Mom.”
“I know you do, and I’m so glad.” She ruffled his hair. Davy burst through the door, squealing like a stuck hog, and threw himself against the bed. Heller caught him by the arms before he fell to the floor and bent down low to hug him. “Okay, who wants to take a nap with Mommy?”
Cody snorted with disgust. “Huh! Not me. Davy, you want to take a nap?”
Davy squirmed free of his mother’s hold, shaking his head so hard his eyes wobbled.
“Go on then,” Heller said, getting up and throwing back the bed covers. “Betty will give you a snack, then I’ll make us lunch before I go to work.” She crawled into the bed, settled back onto her pillow and tossed the covers over her lower body. “Kiss-kiss.”
Cody smacked her, then held up Davy so he could smear his mouth against her cheek. Heller smiled and closed her eyes. Cody tiptoed out, herding Davy ahead of him, and quietly shut the door. Davy yelled fit to raise the dead and ran down the hall.
Heller turned over, already drifting into a badly needed sleep. She tuned out Davy’s grab for attention and Cody’s troubling questions and the knowledge that she would have to rise again in less than two hours. A picture formed before her closed eyes. Jack Tyler. She saw that silly little grin he’d worn as he’d sat there across the table from her, heard the flip—yet almost serious—way he’d said, “Maybe I mean to apply for the position.”
She felt again the lurch of her heart, the spurt of euphoria and then the immediate, crushing, bitter return to reality. For the briefest of moments she had actually believed him, and then the absurdity of it had hit her, and she had laughed at that silly little woman inside of her, that undying romantic, that foolish, hopeful, needy woman who could believe, even for a moment, that a man like Jack Tyler would seriously want to build a life with a woman like her. She had laughed at herself.
She wasn’t laughing now. And in her heart of hearts, she knew she never had.

Chapter Three (#ulink_d291d60d-52c2-512f-9809-a739b1e9dee0)
She was right in the middle of it with Carmody when Jack Tyler opened the door and walked in. Her heart did an immediate swoon, which only served to ratchet up her temper another notch. She jerked her glare back to Carmody and got right in his face, leaning over the counter so far that her toes barely touched the floor.
“You have some nerve, Carmody, waltzing in six months behind on your child support and asking to borrow my car! Are you out of your mind?”
The object of her wrath bobbed on the balls of his feet and slung thick, pale blond hair out of eyes that one moment looked green and the next blue. “You’re never gonna give me a break, are you? I’m behind on the child support because I don’t have a job!”
“That’s funny,” she retorted, dropping back onto her heels and folding her arms. “You play almost every night!”
“For drinks, Heller! For drinks! I haven’t had a real paying gig in a year—because I don’t have transportation!”
“And you expect me to provide you with transportation?”
“Who else am I gonna ask? Besides, it’s to your benefit.”
She bulged her eyes. “My benefit? How do you figure that?”
He dug his hands into his pockets, causing his jeans to sag on his lean frame, and ducked his head. It was his whywon’t-you-believe-me look. “I’ll give you half my pay,” he promised solemnly.
Anger momentarily gave way to sheer need. God knew an extra buck would come in more than handy around her house. But Carmody’s promises were like water under the bridge, gone and forgotten—especially by him—in less time than it took to recite the alphabet. She shook her head. “Half of nothing is nothing, Carmody. Besides, how do you expect me to get around without my car?”
“I’d be glad to give you a ride anywhere you want to go,” said a deep, familiar voice.
A thrill shot through Heller. She suppressed it ruthlessly, sticking up her chin and glaring at Jack.
He lifted a cold, unopened soft drink, as if justifying his presence, and muttered, “Couldn’t help overhearing.”
Carmody danced closer, ready to seize the opportunity. “There you go, sugar. Problem solved.”
“Oh, shut up!” she snapped, turning her attention back to Jack. Carmody leaned a slim hip against the counter and prepared to observe. Heller ignored him. “You taking me to raise, Tyler?”
He sat the soft drink on the counter and flicked his gaze over her. “You look full grown to me.”
Heller caught her breath, then let it out again slowly, determined not to overreact. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carmody take an agitated step closer to the bigger man, then fall back again. She pursed her lips against a smile. Jack would make two of Carmody, standing easily four inches taller and outweighing him by sixty, maybe seventy, pounds. Carmody’s continued proprietary air irritated her, so she leaned into her side of the counter and smiled up at. Jack Tyler.
“The thing is, I get off here at nine, and I have to be at the nursing home by nine-thirty, and that gives me just a half hour to change and get there.”
“No problem,” Jack said lightly, cutting a glance at Carmody.
“There. See?” Carmody grinned, holding up both hands. Then he suddenly lunged over the counter, snatched Heller’s purse off the shelf where she kept it and stuck his hand into the side pocket.
“Carmody!” She made a grab for the purse, but Carmody came up with the keys and danced back out of reach. “Damn you, Carmody Moore!”
“You won’t regret this!” he called, pretending she had agreed as he scurried toward the door. He shot a look at Jack, then grinned broadly at Heller and pushed through the door. “I’ll have the car back by morning, I swear!”
Heller beat a fist on the countertop. “Oooh! That…man, that…worm!”
“Want me to go after him? I can stop him.”
She had no doubt that he would do it or that he was capable, but she couldn’t quite believe that he had made the offer. What was it to him if Carmody all but stole her car? He was too good, this man. Too good to be true?
She realized that he was waiting for an answer. “No, I guess not.” She shrugged. “There’s a chance of getting some money out of him, I’d be foolish to pass it up.”
Jack popped the top on the soft drink can and took a swallow. “What does he do?”
“Oh, he thinks he’s some kind of musician, guitar mostly, a little drums. He sings some, too, when he can borrow a hat.”
“A hat?”
“It’s Country music.” She made a face. “Supposed to be, anyway.”
He chuckled. “So the ex is a sometime C & W musician.”
“And a full-time bum.”
“Which is why he’s the ex.”
She wrinkled her nose. “He should’ve been a ‘never was,’ but I was stupid at seventeen.”
He gulped and abruptly set down the can. “You were seventeen when you married him?”
She nodded disgustedly. “Home was hell, and I was in luv.” She grimaced. “Anyway, I thought I was.”
He lifted both brows and seemed to think about it. “Well, at least you have the kids.”
She smiled. “Yeah. I wouldn’t take a million dollars for my kids. They’re it, you know?”
He canted his head, turning the soft drink can in circles with his fingertips. “I can imagine.”
She nodded, and folded her arms across her middle. She didn’t know why she said it, but she did. “I was pregnant with Davy when we split. Came home in the middle of the day sick and caught him in my bed with some slut he’d picked up in a bar.”
He stared, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw. After a moment he looked away. Then he picked up the soft drink can. “Bum is a mild word for a man who would do that.”
She nodded, then she shrugged, keeping her eyes averted. “Ah, well. Done and gone. That’s how I think of Carmody Moore, done and gone.”
“In your car,” he muttered wryly.
She had to laugh. “It’s your fault, you know. If you hadn’t offered me a ride…”
He slugged back the cola and crushed the can in his fist. “I can still go after him.”
He was angry, angry at Carmody; she could see it behind his eyes. A kind of brightness burned there, bringing out the yellow spokes in mottled gray and green irises. He was angry for her. Had anyone else ever been angry for her? She shook her head, telling herself that this man would be angry over any injustice, however small, however far removed from him personally.
“I—if he doesn’t bring it back by morning, I’ll call the cops,” she said softly.
“Your choice.”
“Yeah. Um, I am going to need that ride.”
He waved a hand dismissively, then dug into his pocket, pulled out a dollar bill and slapped it onto the countertop. “No problem.”
She pushed the dollar bill back at him. “Hey, if I can’t give away a few soft drinks after all these years, well, I may as well quit, huh?”
He tossed the crushed can into the trash container behind the counter and shoved the dollar back into his pocket. “Nine o’clock, right?”
She smiled, trying to ignore the heavy beat of her heart. “Right.”

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